There are two versions of me:
The one who says, “I’ve got plenty of time,” and the one who wakes up in a cold sweat realizing that time is gone.
If you’ve never done an entire week’s worth of work in one breathless 36-hour stretch powered by caffeine, spite, and your last remaining shred of serotonin—congratulations. You probably don’t need this.
But for the rest of us? The ones who can’t seem to engage with a task until it’s glaring at us with red, flashing lights and the threat of disappointment? Welcome. Let me show you the only method that has ever worked for my procrastination-prone, ADHD-rattled, creatively chaotic brain:
The False Deadline
Here’s how it works:
I lie to myself. Intentionally. Repeatedly. Without remorse.
If something is due on the 15th, it goes on my calendar as due on the 10th.
If a project needs to be finalized on Friday, I tell myself Thursday.
And the key is: I commit to the lie like my life depends on it.
It’s not just a sticky note. I’ll adjust reminders, block calendar time, even tell other people the fake date. Because I know myself. I know how easily my brain will forget the original due date, especially if it’s more than five days away. I know the real deadline will blur in my memory, and future-me will assume that whatever’s in the calendar is gospel.
And that’s exactly what I want.
Because it’s not just procrastination I’m fighting—it’s ADHD forgetfulness. The cruel combo of “I don’t feel the urgency yet” and “wait, when was that due again?” So instead of trying to fix those things—which, let’s be real, hasn’t happened yet—I play into them. I build systems that don’t rely on me being suddenly better at executive function. I set the trap early, so I can fall into it on time.
It works for everything, not just work.
Trial subscription I don’t want to accidentally pay for? I put the cancel reminder two days before the end date.
A birthday gift I need to buy? Goes in the calendar a full week ahead with a little panic emoji so I actually open the tab and click “purchase.”
Even social plans—if I need to mentally prepare for something on a Saturday, I’ll mark the prep on Thursday. Otherwise I blink and it’s Saturday morning and I’m crying in my sweatpants because I forgot I needed to be emotionally stable by 3pm.
False deadlines give me buffer.
They give me margin.
They let me experience the adrenaline of urgency without the crash of actual failure.
And I know it sounds a little wild—lying to myself on purpose.
But here’s the thing: my brain lies to me all the time.
It tells me I have more time than I do.
It tells me “I’ll remember this later” when I absolutely will not.
It tells me I’ll feel more motivated tomorrow.
It tells me “starting now is pointless, you’re too late anyway.”
So if I’m going to be living in a house of lies, I might as well be the architect.
I might as well build something functional out of the madness.
And no, this doesn’t mean I always hit my false deadlines perfectly. Sometimes I still procrastinate until that deadline becomes its own little panic trigger. But here’s the beautiful part: even if I blow past it, I still have time. I’ve baked in the buffer. I’ve tricked the system. I’m playing 4D chess against myself and for once, I’m winning.
False deadlines have saved me from missing submissions.
They’ve kept me from paying for three more months of a subscription I meant to cancel.
They’ve gotten me to birthdays with actual, thoughtful gifts in hand instead of last-minute texts that say “your present is in the mail” when it is, in fact, still in my brain.
They’re not about pretending to be organized. They’re about surviving in a brain that’s constantly trying to outpace itself.
They’re about finding a way to work with your wiring instead of trying to overwrite it.
They’re about knowing who you are—and setting the stage so your future self can function with a little more grace and a lot less chaos.
So go ahead. Lie to yourself.
Put the wrong date in the calendar.
Set the alarm for the fake finish line.
And when you cross it with time to spare, take a moment. Breathe. Smile. Feel the rare, strange magic of being done early.
Not because you changed.
But because you finally started playing by your own rules.
