ADHD is usually described as something wrong inside a person. This catalog starts from the other side. Most of the friction in a day with ADHD lives in the space between a person and their surroundings: the drawer without a label, the bill that arrives on paper, the meeting without an agenda, the street without a bench. That space can be designed.
ADHD Tools is a catalog of 124 ways to redesign it. Each entry moves one demand out of the head and into the world: into an object, a place, a routine or another person. I make it with ADHD, for ADHD, and I want it to be as useful on a bad day as on a good one.
Knowing is rarely the problem.
The psychologist Russell Barkley describes ADHD as a difficulty of doing what one knows, more than of knowing what to do. Advice fails when it arrives only as information. Help has to be present at the point of performance: at the door when leaving, on the desk when starting, on the wall when the week is planned. Every entry here is a way of putting help in that place.
Friction is a design material.
A key with no hook, a cable with no home, a task with no first step: each is a small failure of design, not of character. Designers remove friction from products every day. I apply the same attention to an ordinary life, one object, room and routine at a time.
Clinical guidance already says so.
The UK's national guideline on ADHD, NICE NG87, describes environmental modifications: changes to seating, lighting and noise, headphones against distraction, shorter periods of focus with movement breaks, spoken requests backed by written instructions. For children, it recommends trying them before medication. In that sense, this is a library of environmental modifications, collected, tested against experience and written down.
Three rings.
The diagram at the foot of the page is the map. A person sits at the center. The first ring is the self: brain, body and the tools of thinking. The second is the rooms where days happen: the desk at home, the home itself, the workplace. The third is the shared world: the neighborhood, the city, other people. The further out a tool sits, the less it depends on one person's effort, and the more it becomes a question for families, employers, planners and voters.
Fig. 1. The catalog as three rings. The model owes a debt to Urie Bronfenbrenner, who drew human development as a set of nested environments.
Medication belongs here, but it is not the whole map.
Part of ADHD is neurochemistry, and clinical care has its place in the first ring. Much of the rest is arrangement. A catalog of pills alone would describe ADHD as a private medical problem; a catalog that refused them would deny a well-established treatment. Both belong in the same view.
The cheapest version comes first.
Of 124 entries, 66 cost nothing to try and 95 have nothing to buy. A shelf, a habit or a bench is often enough. When an object is worth buying, its description is written before any product is chosen.
Every tool has a failure mode, and I print it.
A robot vacuum fails on a cluttered floor. A habit tracker fails on the first broken streak. A calendar fails when it holds appointments but no tasks. Each description names the moment its tool stops helping, because a tool without a limit is an advertisement.
No hacks.
The goal is ease, not output. The catalog does not promise productivity, normality or a better version of anyone. It uses plain words, avoids pep talk and marks the strength of every claim: clinical guidance, research, common experience or design reasoning.
A catalog, on purpose.
The form is borrowed. In 1968 the Whole Earth Catalog called itself “access to tools” and printed its selection rules at the front. In 1974 Enzo Mari published Autoprogettazione, drawings for furniture anyone could build from boards and nails. Both treated tools as a way of changing how people live, and both gave the knowledge away. This catalog publishes its rules in the FAQ and asks nothing in return.
Honest about money.
Some entries, 29 in all, link to a product through an affiliate link, and the site earns a commission when someone buys. That is its only income. A commission never decides what is listed, and every such link is marked where it appears.
Written with machines, signed by a person.
The descriptions are drafted, critiqued and rewritten in a back-and-forth between me and AI tools. Each version is kept with its origin, human, AI or hybrid, and nothing is published until I approve it. I would rather show that process than hide it.
The page is part of the tool.
The clock in the corner counts only the time you actively spend here, for the time blindness ADHD often brings. One entry per category opens on arrival, so the range is visible without a wall of text. There is no feed, no account and no notification. Codes are permanent addresses: when an entry is retired, its number stays retired, and the gaps record the editing.
What comes next
ADHD Tools works today as a free public website. With support, its next phase would:
test entries with people with ADHD through structured trials and interviews, and publish what fails as well as what works;
translate the catalog into French and Dutch;
print it: a pocket edition and a poster of the three rings, for clinics, schools, libraries and workplaces;
release the catalog as open data, so clinicians, teachers and designers can reuse and adapt it.
Orson Everaert October 2026
Russell A. Barkley, Taking Charge of Adult ADHD, 2nd ed. (Guilford Press, 2021).
National Institute for Health and Care Excellence, Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder: diagnosis and management, NG87 (2018, updated 2019).
Urie Bronfenbrenner, The Ecology of Human Development (Harvard University Press, 1979).
Stewart Brand, ed., Whole Earth Catalog (Portola Institute, 1968).
An independent catalog of 124 tools for daily life with ADHD: objects, routines, places, services and people. Each entry describes one way to move a demand out of your head and into your surroundings, and says when it stops working.
Who is it for?
People with ADHD, diagnosed or not, and the partners, families, teachers, managers and colleagues who share their days. Many entries help anyone whose attention is stretched, but they are chosen and written with ADHD in mind.
Do I need a diagnosis to use it?
No. Nothing here requires one, and most entries cost nothing to try. A diagnosis does open some doors, such as medication, formal accommodations and specialist therapy. If you suspect ADHD, ask a doctor about an assessment.
Is this medical advice?
No. This is an editorial catalog, not medical advice. Decisions about medication, sleep disorders, supplements or medical devices belong with a qualified clinician or pharmacist. Health entries say so, and the catalog never suggests doses, schedules or diagnoses.
What do the letters and rings mean?
The catalog is a map, drawn at the foot of the page. You sit at the center. The first ring is the self: A. Brain, B. Body, C. Cognitive. The second is the rooms where days happen: D. Remote Work, E. Home, F. Work. The third is the shared world: G. Neighborhood, H. City, I. Social. The further out a tool sits, the less it depends on you alone.
Why is medication listed next to a notebook?
Because both reduce friction, at different distances from you. Part of ADHD is neurochemistry, and clinical care belongs in the first ring. Much of the rest is arrangement: where things are, what stays visible, who else is involved. The catalog keeps both in one view.
How are tools chosen?
Every entry meets six rules. It names a specific, recurring friction. It works by moving the demand into an object, place, routine or person, not by asking for more willpower. Its mechanism is plausible and agrees with clinical guidance where health is involved. It can be tried small. Its failure mode is known and printed. And it does not repeat another entry in the same ring.
A commission is never a reason to list a tool.
How reliable are the descriptions?
Each description signals how strong its claims are. “Clinical guidance” points to a named guideline, such as NICE NG87 or the CDC. “Studies suggest” means real but limited research. “Many people with ADHD report” means common experience without formal evidence. Everything else is design reasoning you can test yourself, and every number has a recorded source.
Where do I start?
Pick one moment that goes wrong every week: leaving the house, opening email, the laundry pile. Open two or three entries that touch it and try the smallest, cheapest version for a week. Add another only when the first one sticks, or clearly fails.
Will it work for me?
Perhaps not, and that is expected. ADHD is not one experience, and a tool depends on your routines, home, budget, health and the people around you. Every entry says when it tends to stop working, so you can judge before spending time or money.
How does the site make money?
Through affiliate links, and only there. 29 entries recommend a specific product, marked as an affiliate link where it appears. If you buy through one, the site may earn a commission at no extra cost to you. The other 95 entries have nothing to buy. Descriptions are written before any product is chosen.
Who makes it, and is AI involved?
ADHD Tools is made by Orson Everaert, with ADHD and for ADHD. The descriptions are written in a back-and-forth between a human editor and AI tools, with drafts, critiques and rewrites going both ways. Every version is kept with its origin, human, AI or hybrid, and nothing is published until a person approves it.
Why are some numbers missing?
Codes are permanent addresses, like call numbers in a library. When an entry is merged into another or retired, its number is retired too, so links never point to the wrong thing. The gaps are the visible trace of editing: in July 2026, an audit cut 170 candidates down to 124.
What is the clock in the corner?
It counts only the time you actively spend on this page, and pauses when you switch away. Time blindness is a common part of ADHD, and the clock is a small mirror, not a timer to beat. Nothing it shows is recorded.
Why are some entries already open?
On a first visit, one entry in each category opens at random, so the catalog shows its range instead of a wall of titles. After that, the page remembers what you had open, on your device only.
What do you track?
Two anonymous counts: how often each entry is opened, and how often each product link is followed, totaled by day and country. No cookies, no accounts, no profiles and no advertising trackers. The entries you leave open are stored in your own browser.
Does the catalog change?
Yes. Entries are reviewed, rewritten, merged and sometimes retired. Every description keeps its earlier versions, so changes are recorded rather than silent.
