Sooner or later, we learn that we aren’t always the masters of our own ship. The very concept of “self-control” implies that we are two entities: the self who is controlling, and the self who is being controlled. For those of us with ADHD, not only do we have trouble steering the ship, but we can feel like a hostage tied up, gagged, and shoved in the brig by a pirate. But somehow, the pirate is also us.

My personal struggle with self-control usually has to do with screens. These days, it’s YouTube or Wikipedia binges, where I’ll be interested in learning about something or another, and I’ll go down a YouTube rabbit hole, opening up extra tabs to Google whatever I’m watching and read more about it. Soon I have 20 tabs open, all with more rabbit holes to follow. The problem is, there are usually other things I want to be doing, like working on a creative project, or other things I really should be doing, like sleeping.

It’s easy to justify this to myself: I’m learning, and learning is good. It’s not like I’m just playing video games until 3 AM, like I did as a teenager. No matter the manifestation of the behavior, though, the impulse is the same. It’s not just authentic interest or desire; there’s an addictive, compulsive quality to it, and it overrides larger goals and intentions I had set for myself – goals which, after I snap out of my possession, I still want to pursue. 

In the moment, I think to myself, “well, I can be a little flexible on this goal. I know I said I’d go to bed by 11, but this thing I’m reading about online is so interesting, and of course learning about interesting things is good for me and worth doing. And I have to do it now, because I’m in the zone.” 

This is pure rationalization. I’m not really choosing to stay on the computer. I’m sucked in, and I can’t pull myself away. The same rationalization takes me to 11:30, because it’s just another 15 minutes, and another 15 minutes again. Then 11:45, and then eventually 1:30 AM. Then the next morning I sleep too late and feel groggy all day. I tell myself “I need to go to bed earlier, because waking up early makes my brain work so much better, and I have more energy to do the things that matter to me.” And the process repeats.

In these moments of inner conflict, I feel split in two: there’s “me,” and then there’s some sort of inner voice that feels like an “other.” When I’m sucked into an internet rabbit hole late at night, it feels like I want to stay online watching more YouTube videos about theories of consciousness; that’s what I really want to do. There’s a pesky inner voice saying “this isn’t what you should be doing; you said you’d go to bed at 11. Go to bed! You know you’ll feel better in the morning.” Sure, that voice was “me” when I made the goal, but now what I truly want to do is stay online. The “me” that wants to stay online is the one that actually feels like the self, so of course I know better than that inner voice, who might have been me earlier in the day, but that me didn’t know how interesting what I’m reading about is, and if he’d known, he surely would have said “well okay, you can stay up late this time.”

I noticed something curious, though: at 1:30 AM, when I’d finally pull myself out of the grip of internet stimulation and get to bed, I’d be lying in bed thinking “God, it’s so late, why didn’t I go to bed on time? That’s what I meant to do, but I was sucked into the internet.” At that moment, when the computer is closed and I’m trying to sleep, I am the one who wants to be in bed early, and the one who wants to browse the internet is the “other.” The one browsing the internet isn’t me, it’s some sort of possession. Anyone who’s struggled with addictive or compulsive behavior will understand this feeling. It’s a curious sensation of flipping between being two different people. As soon as I break the spell and I’m not “in the grip” anymore, I no longer feel like that inner voice who wants me to go to bed early is the “other;” it feels like me, and the impulse to stay online feels like the “other.”

So, which one is the “real me?” Is it the one who sets my bedtime goals, or is it the one who, in the moment, truly understandsjust how much I “need” that extra knowledge? Is it the one who wants to eat well, or the one who, in the moment, has some hidden insight about why eating a bag of Cheez-Its for lunch is actually the most rational thing to do, and in any case, I deserve it, because I had a busy day, and it’s cheese, and I love cheese, and isn’t life about being happy and enjoying things?

Each “self” is a part of me, but only one of those two selves is coming from a big-picture perspective. I call these two selves the “momentary self” and the “holistic self.” The momentary self is what I feel like I want in the moment – because “the moment” is the only thing in my field of vision. The holistic self, in contrast, takes into account everything else, not “instead of” the moment, but including the moment. The holistic self takes into account my personal goals, my desires for growth, the future I want to create, the person I want to become, and what I’ve learned over time makes me truly happy. The holistic self is the real me because it’s the complete me, not just one small fragment with blinders on each side, blocking out both past and future.

In the moment, the impulse feels like the real me. It’s present, it’s tangible, it’s more emotionally salient – and it’s attached to my sense of self. But, after I’ve broken free of the impulse, the “other” me feels like the real me, because everything I had blocked out of my consciousness while in the grip comes back online. We have to recognize that the feeling of self, while in the grip, is an illusion. The feeling that I’m rationally bargaining with myself (“five more minutes,” “one more cookie”) is also an illusion. It’s a strange thing to fathom, at first: the sense of self can be hijacked. Realizing this, though, is the first step to freedom.

Saying “no” to the momentary self and “yes” to the holistic self feels completely wrong when contemplating it. It feels like swimming against the stream. Really, it feels like listening to an authority figure, which is the last thing any of us ADHDers are inclined to do. I suspect that this pattern comes from childhood, when there was always conflict between what we wanted to do and what our parents and teachers told us we had to do. What we wanted to do was play, and what our parents wanted us to do was usually something boring or uncomfortable. We often felt like authority figures didn’t truly have our best interests in mind, and were just forcing us into a mold.

We experience our “inner parent” the same way we experienced our actual parents when we were children. It’s hard to break out of this pattern, but the big difference is that the inner parent is also us, and the goals we’re trying to adhere to were created by us – not based on what someone else wants, but based on what we most want. 

With the inner child/inner parent dynamic, it’s not a matter of forcing ourselves to do what “someone else” wants when we really want to do what we want. Instead, it’s a matter of getting ourselves to do what we most want, when, in the moment, we’re compelled to do what feels good in the moment, blind to our true, holistic desires. Even in the case of obligations like cleaning, cooking, or running errands, the holistic self is still in service to our own happiness. Fulfilling these obligations makes our lives more orderly, therefore allowing us more time/ability to pursue our goals, and preventing a pile-up of tasks later on that will add stress to our lives. 

At first, this takes trust. Everything about it feels wrong. It requires a leap of faith, but once we take that leap, we are rewarded with something greater than pleasure: freedom. I’ve found in my own life that, over time, this becomes easier and easier. Trust is replaced with knowledge. We start to see behind the illusion; we catch the momentary self in its trickery. We learn that the discomfort of breaking free is not proportional to the pull of staying in the grip. The thought of saying “no” to the momentary self is much worse than the actual sensation. We realize that staying in the grip is not freedom, it’s slavery. Ultimately, the reward of self-mastery becomes more salient than the reward of momentary pleasure.

After a while, we also start to reap real benefits in our lives. More and more, we are able to actually carry out the plans we set for ourselves. The house is clean, the dishes are put away, we’re making progress on our goals and projects, we’re no longer scrambling because we’re running late, we have more time for our friends and family – and for ourselves. Our perspective of our lives, and our locus of control, expands beyond the immediate present and stretches into the future. Instead of feeling like life is something that happens to us, we feel like we are happening to life. This is the ultimate reward: no longer feeling like a hostage tied up and gagged, but like the captain of our own ship.