I see a lot of life hacks on here. Mostly, people say the same thing in different voices at different volumes. I absolutely love it.
But let me start by making one thing very clear: I’ve never really been one to make my life easier on myself. I’m going to bring you a different kind of life hack. It’s one I created myself, and I in no way recommend it.
My neurodivergent, anxiety-riddled brain has always struggled with packing. I’m not sure what I’ve got going on in there, but cooperation isn’t its strong suit. I need to plan obsessively to prepare myself for what’s going to happen. But when I do, I convince myself that writing it down will make it not happen.
“Planning never works the way you want,” my OCD chides. Then anxiety reminds me how much I hate being away from home, how scary the outside world is, and all the things that could go wrong. And it spirals from there.
All the while, I can’t motivate myself to pack; there are too many steps. You have to find a suitcase, unpack it from the last trip, locate the right clothing, probably wash it, remember to put it in the dryer, then fold it, then put it in the bag. Then I think I’ve forgotten something and do it all again.
That many boring tasks in a row, with zero stimulation? Yeah. Good luck getting me to focus long enough to make it from the dryer to the suitcase with the clothes.
I always forget something.
So for a while, I’d sit around panicking, going over lists in my head (but never writing them down, because that would “ruin” the trip for everyone). I’d sit paralyzed, not knowing what to do.
So I started packing in my own way. I call it panic packing. And let me tell you, it works. It’s unconventional and not healthy, but it works for me.
“Panic packing” is my strategy to deal with both the anxiety of leaving the house and my need for pressure to complete a boring task. When I was younger, I tried to pack early, folded all my clothes, was ready days in advance, and still forgot the most basic things. Pants were my favorite thing that I forgot. A trip to Colorado in the winter with only leggings was a very cold adventure.
I’d make lists, I’d try to pack when my parents told me to, to be responsible, but it never worked. So one time, I waited until the very last minute and just shoved everything in my suitcase. No folding, no double-checking, just pure chaos.
And it worked.
If I pack ahead of time, I end up unpacking and repacking to make sure I got everything, which means I usually don’t. Most of the time, I forget something important. Like pants.
Pair that with my forgetfulness and inability to complete multistep tasks, and it’s a recipe for disaster. So instead of sitting there feeling bad, I decided to just… wait until the last possible minute.
Somehow, that panic of being required to leave in 15 minutes drives me into this intense hyper-focus, and I get it done. Every time.
It makes no sense; at least not to most people. It drives my husband bonkers. He very much needs a plan. I convinced myself at a young age that a plan meant something would go wrong, so I avoid making them if I can. I fly by the seat of my pants.
That intrusive thought always seems to still sneak back in — you stink at plans, so you might as well not make them.
Growing up showing horses, I traveled for about a quarter of the year. Weekend trips every other weekend during show season. So I got really good at packing — but in my own way.
Panic pack. Wait until the very last minute to pack. Normally, that means taking clothes out of the dryer 15 minutes before I’m supposed to leave. Folding? As if.
For a while, most of my horse shows involved me staying in my own horse trailer, so I’d just bring a laundry basket of clothes. I’d literally put them in the dryer the night before, start it, and go to bed. Wake up, throw the clothes into the basket, and that was that.
Classy? No. Ideal? I mean, it was easier to see them that way?
Sometimes you just need a little panic to bring things into focus. My struggle with mental health has been mostly alone, so it’s led me to some pretty interesting coping strategies. Are they healthy? Probably not. But do they work? Sometimes.
Most of the time I remember pants, though.
Enjoyed this? May I suggest
M. Drella
Originally posted on Medium