I'm Stealing Tampons

The ADHD tax: shame, mental exhaustion, and financial hardship

Dear Nurturing Neurospicy Mamas reader: Thanks for supporting my Substack! This is a space to share personal stories and build community around themes of neurodiversity, parenting, mental health, and self/community care.

I tend to write here about what’s weighing on my heart and mind. If you have ideas of topics related to parenting, neurodiversity, and community care you’d like to see explored more in this space, please let me know.

Also, *** Check out my new Substack blog, The Memory of Soil! *** Subscribe now for human stories and essays that discuss culture, identity, and privilege in the Americas - sharing what brings us together, and examining what tears us apart.

A Novel Introduction

---

Author’s note: This post took me weeks to write and finally decide to publish. Years of shame are wrapped up in my experience around ADHD and finances. But now I swallow my pride and post these words, raw and real, in the hopes they’ll help someone else feel better about their own neurodiverse relationship with money, within a culture that tells us we’re moral failures if we can’t get ahead financially — and stay there.

Ten-Dollar Tea

“Are both of these teas mine?” I asked the barista, returning to the drink pickup location. Holding one cup of green tea in my hand, I pointed at a second cup sitting on the bar, obviously confused. After grabbing the first cup, I’d noticed that, scrawled on the side it, someone had written “GT x 2”.

“It looks like they are… did you order two drinks?” The kind woman behind the counter replied.

“I hadn’t intended to,” I said. “It’s just me here.”

“It’s ok, the cashier must have misheard you. I’ll refund your card for the second cup. You can keep it if you want, though.”

“Oh wow, thanks,” I replied, smiling and returning to my laptop by the window.

That barista had no idea how relieved I was. While I had been horrified at the idea that one cup of green tea was now priced at over $10, I was more horrified at how much money this felt like to me at the moment.

Less than an hour prior to ordering the tea, I’d been at the local grocery store, dumping the contents of our family change jar into the CoinStar terminal, trying to come up with enough cash to spend a few hours writing at the coffee shop, and get both kids a haircut before our paychecks went through tomorrow. The kids’ hair salon was having a two-for-one deal that expired that day, and I couldn’t afford to miss it.

$15 vs. $31 for a haircut was a big deal right now.

The “ADHD Tax” is Real and All-Encompassing

Speaking for myself here as an ADHDer, I’ve never been great with finances. I didn’t realize my poor money management had to do with neurodiversity until I was late-diagnosed in 2024, though — I just thought I was a disorganized mess.

Throughout my adult life, my ability to manage money has paralleled my ability to manage time. I can’t seem to quite conceptualize either one properly. I often underestimate how much something will cost, and overestimate the amount of funds I have available. Things like hidden fees, taxes, and subscription costs trip me up time and time again.

The modern world is a minefield for anyone with ADHD. If online shopping doesn’t take you out with the click of a button, all the shiny yet unnecessary impulse purchases at the grocery store (or basically any capitalist establishment) will. I dare any ADHder to walk into a CostCo and not come out with one unplanned purchase. It’s a near-impossible mission for us folks who live for the next dopamine fix.

a dopamine junkie’s worst nightmare

Someone here on Substack catalogued how much they’d lost on subscription fees in recent history and how much they’ve sunk in their “hobby graveyard”. (and also wrote a beautiful post about the ADHD tax and how it’s impacted their life). If I were to delve into these topics, I’d likely discover similarly disturbing truths. Despite setting alarms and calendar reminders to quit free trials, I somehow still end up with mystery subscriptions on my bank statement. And yes, our garage and basement are full of reminders of hobbies past — from photography to painting, jewelry making to African drumming.

I’ve tried making spreadsheets and creating budgets, only to struggle to maintain them, lose or forget about them, and/or grow bored and stop caring about boring (yet essential) things like living within my means. It’s not that I live extravagantly or purchase frivolous things, it’s more about rebelling against the confines of bookkeeping.

Yet poor budgeting, random subscriptions, and impulse grocery store purchases certainly aren’t the only financial culprits.

Chronic disorganization and time blindness often affect my ability to find things when I need them - and take care of the things I have.

I can’t begin to explain how many times I’ve gone and purchased an item, only to discover later that I already had that same thing. I’d simply forgotten I had it, or couldn’t recall where it was.

And then — how about all those broken and ruined things? I can count offhand the past month’s casualties: a shattered door frame, two destroyed blinds, a torn window screen, a kid’s bedroom carpet stained with slime and nail polish and clay, a table carved with a butter knife and written upon with a Sharpie.

I mean, I’m sure everyone’s little kids do these things to some extent. They break and ruin things. But do they manage to destroy something pretty much every day?

I don’t want to shut down the flow of creativity in our neurospicy household. But as much as I try to contain it, somehow it seeps out. Everywhere. Destroying everything in the process. It’s like, we can’t have nice things.

Final thought — many of us with terrible money skills have partners that help temper us, that balance out our weak points. But my partner also has ADHD - perhaps worse than mine. Our artist temperaments drew us to one another, and have also been our financial downfall.

Skating on Thin Financial Ice: A Back Story

Four years ago, my husband and I were actually financially secure. We sold our house in the Pacific Northwest, which we’d had the sense to buy before the market exploded, and bought a new one in Colorado for a comparable price - yet with a higher mortgage.

After paying off all our debt, funding the move, and covering closing costs on both ends, we still had tens of thousands of equity left in our savings. So much, in fact, that we were able to buy a decent second vehicle out of pocket. I had a great job with good benefits, and we couldn’t find good childcare, so my husband took care of the kids and volunteered a while, not worrying immediately about finding employment.

Quickly, though, our situation changed. A tornado hit our neighborhood less than two years after we bought the house. While we weren’t hit directly, our house suffered a lot of damage. Though our insurance covered the bulk of it, we found ourselves paying out of pocket for one small thing after another. Eventually, we had to take out a home equity loan to cover repair costs and replace our failing deck.

After a few months, we finally found decent childcare for our toddler, and my husband went back to work full time. He bounced from job to job, working for three different companies in the health care sector before deciding that his long-term career choice was a flop. After nearly two decades as a phlebotomist, even with nursing assistant (CNA) and medical assistant (MA) certifications, his hourly wage increase each year was less than a dollar. it was becoming clear that he would likely never make more than $25-30 an hour in this field, a wage that frankly isn’t affordable in our area (thanks a lot, careers that are mainly dominated by women and so pay less by design — ahem, health care, teaching, childcare, etc).

To make matters worse, after COVID, the health care industry had become increasingly stressful, with people leaving the field in flocks while remaining staff were spread thin. He didn’t want to become a manager, so if he were to go anywhere in the field, he’d either have to go back to medical, PA, or nursing school.

After two years flailing and earning a minimal amount, my husband finally decided to switch careers. He joined a plumbing company searching for apprentices. Everyone reassured him he’d make great money in plumbing. “Six figures after a year, no problem!” people gushed right and left. And while he loved the field, the large company he worked for paid based on commission. He drove hours every day, lucky to complete a couple of jobs that each might make $20-50. He sunk thousands in tools and transportation costs. His base pay hovered around minimum wage.

Eventually, he left that company and went to another one. At first, it appeared to be better. Soon, however, it became apparent that now the field was flooded with job seekers and young folks wanting to go into the trades, and plumbing was not the lucrative out-of-the-gate career it once was.

Meanwhile, three months after my husband started with the new plumbing company, I got laid off. I’ve written plenty about that experience here already — along with the ADHD and corporate burnout that accompanied it.

One Pawn Down

With this turn of events, we not only lost my six-figure income, but we found ourselves spending upward of $1,000 more per month in additional health insurance premiums and prescription costs. We figured we could skate by (barely) for a few months on unemployment, but soon, that too will end.

Don’t Count Your Chickens

The thing that really did us in financially over the past year wasn’t any of these things I’ve mentioned – the ADHD tax, tornado, the home repairs, me losing my job, health care costs, or my husband’s struggle to make a living wage that supports our family.

It was our careless financial planning based on anticipated inheritance, and the financial betrayal of my mother-in-law.

No part of me desires to write about this topic. It feels gross and way too personal, but I’m compelled to get it out of me. I suppose I want to share our story partly so no one else ends up in the same boat.

In November 2024, my husband’s grandmother died. He and his mother were the only direct living relatives, and she was rather wealthy. We had anticipated inheriting a decent sum of money, enough to pay off our debt. It was a small portion of the overall estate. However, before her death, my mother-in-law had convinced her mom to change the terms of the trust and name her as the sole recipient of the family’s wealth.

We didn’t know this.

When my husband’s grandmother died, we rushed out to help my mother-in-law. We dropped everything, pulled the kids from school, and drove halfway across the country. We came to help with the burial, cleaning out the house, and whatever else my mother-in-law might need, including emotional support. We assumed goodwill, and that the trust would cover our expenses, and lost time at work, at a bare minimum.

We should have known better.

Financial pieces aside, uncovering more layers of my mother-in-law’s untreated alcoholism, penchant for cruelty, and likely narcissism, has not been a fun journey. I have not ever written about it before, though there is plenty to say. My husband’s childhood has the makings of a memoir along the lines of The Glass Castle, should he ever choose to write it out. It’s a miracle he ended up as functional as he did given the circumstances.

But as far as our finances were concerned, my mother-in-law never paid us back for the bulk of our expenses – for the family traveling back to help, for my husband traveling back two other times, and taking two unpaid months off work to help her at her request.

Time to Start Stealing Tampons?

So here we are now, in the red, living paycheck to paycheck.

Truth be told, we don’t really have it that bad, compared to many (most) folks. Worst case scenario, we could sell our house and pull out the equity. Our extended families also have wealth (thanks to those generations of white privilege).

In the meantime, though, how do we survive on a shoestring? My dream of teaching fitness classes and yoga — and writing on Substack — has so far not succeeded in paying the bills (imagine that 🤣). Even though I am finally tapping into something that feels authentic and real.

Must I return in desperation to the corporate world, likely burning myself out again, in order to keep us financially afloat? The answer, at least for now, appears to be yes.

We’ve reached the place where we realize, something has to give. Wishful thinking and creative ideas are not going to pay our bills. We either have to earn more, or spend less, within this rigged system called capitalism.

Yes, we should have made sure we had “passive income” and investment accounts. We should have balanced our budget better. Perhaps waited to replace our failing deck until we could do so without financing the cost. You know, all the things sensible, prudent, non-ADHD people do. People who aren’t over-optimistic about their finances and seduced by the latest shiny object.

For the time being, though, I’m making hyper-affordable meal plans that include lots of rice and beans and spaghetti. I even returned the menstrual supplies I’d purchased last week. I figure, I probably have a few old tampons buried in purses somewhere, right? For this next month, those will have to do.

And maybe I’ll swipe a few tampons from public restrooms for good measure. They’re out there for people like us, right?

One Bad Decision Away from Financial Ruin

My heart goes out to everyone whose ADHD — or unfortunate life circumstances — have set them back financially. But I’m afraid there are a lot of folks in the U.S. who don’t have compassion toward those who have suffered financial hardships.

Because our our lack of safety nets, millions of people in this “civilized” country, the U.S., live on the edge. Without health insurance, a person can easily go bankrupt if they receive a grave diagnosis. Yet, millions don’t have it, or can’t afford it. Childcare is wildly unaffordable, parental leave nonexistent, and taxes and cost of living keep rising. Nothing for average folks is subsidized, for that would be “socialism” (but don’t get me started on how much we manage to subsidize billionaires).

To top it off, many have an attitude exactly like that of my mother-in-law. It’s both a poverty mindset, and a “screw you” to everyone else.

For though she lived for years with nearly nothing, thanks to addiction and mental health issues, now that she has wealth she intends to hoard it all.

This mindset is: to each their own, and f&*$ you – if your life is a mess, it’s not my problem. If your kids are hungry and you can’t afford to feed them, you shouldn’t have had them. If your job won’t pay you a living a wage, you should find ways to reduce costs, or try eating one tortilla and a scoop of beans. Buy one pencil instead of two. Forget luxuries like holidays, birthday parties, and travel.

If you’re poor, you deserve it. You are a moral failure who should be ashamed of yourself — and you deserve to be miserable, too. Tighten the belt and grab those bootstraps. No frills for you - forget that once-a-month coffee or ice cream cone. And your kids don’t deserve sports or extracurricular activities, by the way.

My POV: we need to find a new way in this country. A way where we move beyond the binary thinking of “socialism” and “capitalism”. Where we acknowledge the benefits of a society that supports people down on their luck, even if they’re a temporary burden. And where we acknowledge how many of us are one poor decision — or turn of bad luck — away from losing it all.

Will we ever get there, in this present climate? I’m not sure. But I hope, in writing this, to shed some light on the real-life challenges of living with the “financial blindness” of ADHD.

---

Dear Readers: Thanks for your support!

If you enjoyed this writing and would like to support my work you can:

• ❤️ Like my post

• ☕️ Buy me a virtual coffee

• 💡 Leave me a constructive comment

• 💌 Share, recommend, or restack this post

• 💵 Become a paid subscriber (access to all archives and exclusive content for paid subscribers coming in 2026)