The Dumb Kids Use Computers

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When I was in grade school, I was the reading kid.

You know the type.

Top reading group.
A-plus student.
The one teacher asked to help other students.
The one who felt pretty confident… at least when words were involved.

Math?

That was a different story entirely.

I struggled.
I got tutored.
And in sixth grade, back in 1975, my school introduced something new for kids who needed extra help in math:

Computer class.

Now, to be clear, this was not the exciting, cutting-edge, “the future is here” kind of computer class.

This was the “you need help, so go work on math problems on the computer” kind of class.

At least, that’s how I understood it.

One day, my teacher reminded me, “Kaydawn, don’t forget to go to your computer class.”

And then one of the boys in my class said:

“Only dumb kids go to computers.”

Kids can be cruel.
Kids can be careless.
And sometimes, kids say things that lodge themselves into places we don’t even realize are vulnerable.

At the time, I don’t know that I consciously believed him.

But somewhere along the way, I think part of me did.

Because here’s what I’ve come to realize:

That moment may have shaped more than how I felt about math.

It may have quietly influenced how I felt about technology, learning new things, and even my own intelligence.

Logically, I know how ridiculous that sounds now.

Computers are everywhere.
In our homes.
In our cars.
In our pockets.

We use them for work, connection, creativity, problem-solving, and yes… blogging.

No one hears “she uses a computer” and assumes incompetence.

And yet, old beliefs don’t always disappear just because they no longer make sense.

Sometimes they just get quieter.
They hide underneath frustration.
Avoidance.
Self-doubt.
That subtle voice that says, “This is probably not for you.”

Looking back, I wonder if part of me hasn’t resisted technology because I’m bad at it…

…but because some small, younger part of me learned to associate it with feeling dumb.

And maybe avoiding it felt safer than risking that feeling again.

Funny how protection can sometimes look a lot like procrastination.

Or stubbornness.
Or “I’m just not good at this.”

The truth is, we all carry stories.

Things people said.
Moments we misunderstood.
Labels we accidentally accepted.

And sometimes, without even realizing it, we keep living as though those stories are still true.

This blog, in many ways, is me challenging one of mine.

Not because I have something to prove to anyone else…

…but because maybe I still have something to prove to myself.

That I am capable of learning.
Capable of changing.
Capable of questioning beliefs that never deserved permanent residence in my mind.

I can’t be the only one carrying around an outdated story.

Maybe yours isn’t about computers.

Maybe it’s about your body.
Your worth.
Your voice.
Your intelligence.
Your lovability.

Whatever it is, maybe it’s worth asking:

Who told me that?

And more importantly…

Do I still believe them?

Because maybe the problem was never that we were incapable.

Maybe we were just still listening to someone who didn’t know what they were talking about.

Turns out, I was never dumb.

I was just still listening to a sixth grader.

I have a feeling I’m not the only one.

What outdated story are you still carrying around… and who told you it was true?

Grace, Growth, and the Small Wins We Forget to Celebrate

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There’s something I’m realizing lately:

I am often far better at giving grace to other people than I am to myself.

If a friend is overwhelmed?
I get it.

If someone I care about drops the ball?
I understand.

If life hits hard and they’re doing the best they can?
Compassion. Every time.

But me?

Oh no. Apparently, I should have it all figured out, stay motivated, never procrastinate, heal perfectly, show up consistently, and possibly also become a morning person.

(We all know that last one is unlikely.)

Somewhere along the way, many of us learned to treat our own humanity like failure.

We minimized our progress because it wasn’t big enough.
We dismissed our effort because it wasn’t perfect.
We overlook growth because we’re too focused on how far we still have to go.

And honestly? That’s exhausting.

I’m starting to think grace is about making room.

Room to be a work in progress.
Room to celebrate small wins.
Room to acknowledge that maybe getting out of an old pattern is worth noticing, even if it’s not dramatic.

Maybe grace is recognizing that healing, growth, discipline, and change are usually built in tiny, unremarkable moments that don’t always look impressive from the outside.

And maybe… maybe we deserve to celebrate those moments more.

Not in a “everyone gets a trophy” kind of way.

But in a “hey, I handled that better than I used to” kind of way.

I’ve been quietly sitting with the idea that we may need to get better at documenting our wins—not just the giant, obvious milestones, but the subtle victories too.

The days we paused instead of spiraling.
The moments we chose kindness over criticism.
The times we kept going.

Maybe those count more than we think.

And maybe giving grace—to ourselves and others—isn’t weakness.

Maybe it’s how we keep growing.

So here’s your reminder (and honestly, mine too):

Celebrate the good.
In yourself.
In others.
In the tiny things.

Because life is hard enough without constantly moving the finish line.

And sometimes…

The victory is simply noticing you’re doing better than you were before.

Caught myself

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Caught Myself

It’s Sunday night.

I’m exhausted. The kind of tired where even thinking feels like work.

And I don’t have a great idea for this week’s post.

Which—if I’m being honest—felt like the perfect out.

“Just skip this week.”
“Do something better tomorrow.”

I almost went with it.

That’s kind of how my pattern works. It doesn’t usually look dramatic. It looks reasonable. Logical, even.

And that’s what makes it so easy to follow.

But tonight, I caught it.

That quiet shift from “I’m tired” to “I’m not showing up.”

So this is me interrupting it.

Not with something great.
Not with something impressive.

Just… something honest.

Because apparently, this is what practice looks like for me right now.

Catching it.
And choosing differently.

Perfect? No.
But I caught it.
And that feels like something.

Practice Doesn’t Care If You Feel Like It

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I say this to my clients all the time:

“Any change takes practice.”

We usually laugh about it, because now some of them beat me to it. Before I can even say the word “practice,” they’re already smiling like, I know, I know… practice.

It’s a good reminder.

Turns out, I don’t just teach this… I have to live it

This week, I didn’t feel inspired to write.

Not even a little.

No big ideas. No meaningful insights. Nothing felt worth putting into words. And if I’m being honest, it didn’t take much for my brain to start offering me reasons to skip it altogether.

And honestly? That’s kind of my pattern.

If it’s hard, or inconvenient, or not coming easily, there’s a part of me that starts looking for the exit.

“Maybe skip this week.”
“No one will notice.”
“You can do better next week.”

All very reasonable. All very convincing.

But here’s the problem.

Practice doesn’t care if I feel like it.

It doesn’t care if I’m tired, or uninspired, or mildly annoyed that I have nothing profound to say. It doesn’t wait for motivation to show up and get me going.

It just quietly asks the same thing every time:

Are you going to show up or not?

I think sometimes we believe that if something matters, we’ll feel driven to do it.

But in my experience, the things that matter the most are usually the ones that require the most practice… and the least amount of feeling like it.

Consistency isn’t glamorous.

It’s sitting down when you don’t want to.
It’s writing something that isn’t your best.
It’s doing it anyway.

So here I am.

Not inspired. Not particularly eloquent. Definitely not perfect.

But I showed up.

And right now, that feels like enough.

Perfect? No.
Acceptable? Yeah.
Still here? Also, yes.

Why Not Ourselves?

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I had a thought this week… follow me for a minute.

I was talking with a client about forgiveness. They were working through some pretty deep betrayal, and we were discussing how, if we choose to move forward and forgive, we eventually have to find ways to let go of anger and resentment.

Not all at once. Not perfectly. But over time.

We talked about how it takes practice. Repetition. Even a little bit of that “rewiring your brain” stuff.

And then I kept thinking about it after the session.

Because here’s the question that stuck with me:

Why are we so willing to practice forgiving others…
But so resistant to forgiving ourselves?

We talk about how holding on to resentment in relationships creates distance, tension, and disconnection.

But we don’t always talk about what happens when that resentment is turned inward.

When we hold grudges against ourselves.
When we replay mistakes.
When we refuse to give ourselves grace.
When we “beat ourselves up” and call it accountability.

That creates conflict, too.

Just… inside.

And I don’t think self-forgiveness is all that different from forgiving someone else.

It takes time.
It takes intention.
It takes practice.

It probably feels uncomfortable and unnatural at first.

And maybe—just like with others—we don’t have to jump straight to full forgiveness.

Maybe we start with:
“I don’t have to punish myself forever for this.”

I’m a therapist by profession, so I get to have these kinds of conversations often. And honestly, they don’t just help my clients—they help me. They give me a chance to slow down and really think about how I’m showing up in my own life, too.

This isn’t meant to be a therapy blog or a list of steps to fix anything. It’s just me, sharing what I’m learning and noticing along the way, in real time.

Because if I believe in showing up for myself (which I talk about a lot here), that probably includes learning to let go of my own resentment, too.

Still working on that one.

But I think it’s worth practicing.

And maybe that counts as a win.

My MO is changing

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I almost quit today.

Not in a dramatic, throw-my-hands-up kind of way. Just the quiet, familiar thought:
“Yeah… this is too much. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

My blog subscription thing wasn’t working (or so I thought). Friends were trying to support me, and I couldn’t even get the subscribe button to cooperate. It felt frustrating, a little embarrassing, and very tempting to just… walk away.

Because if I’m being honest, that’s kind of my pattern.

When something feels confusing or I don’t immediately know how to fix it, my brain goes straight to:
“Maybe this just isn’t your thing.”

But today I didn’t quit.

I asked for help. I stayed in it. I kept clicking around, even when I felt completely lost.

And you know what the problem was?

Spam.

The emails were going to spam.

That’s it.

All that frustration, all that self-doubt… and it was a spam folder.

Which feels very on brand for life, honestly.

But the win isn’t that I fixed it.

The win is that I didn’t quit on myself.

I’m starting to realize that confidence isn’t about always knowing what you’re doing. It might actually be about staying when you don’t.

Also… maybe I’m not as bad at things as I’ve decided I am.

Wild thought, I know.

Anyway, if you tried to subscribe and didn’t get an email, check your spam folder. Apparently, that’s where all the important things go 😅

And for me?

I think this counts as a win.

Procrastination Stole My Brain… So Here We Are

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Procrastination Stole My Brain… So Here We Are
Imperfect follow-through still counts

A few years ago, I wrote this:

I have learned that procrastination is a thief.
Let it into your life, and it will rob you of time, energy, peace of mind, and self-confidence.

And today—ironically—I had a whole train of thought building on that idea.

It was good. Insightful. Probably blog-worthy.

And now?

Gone.

Vanished somewhere between “I should write that down” and “I’ll do it in a minute.”

Which, honestly, feels a little fitting.

Because procrastination doesn’t always show up loud and obvious.
Sometimes it just quietly takes things from you.

A little time here.
A little energy there.
A little bit of mental space.

Until suddenly, the thing you meant to do… the thought you wanted to hold onto… the version of yourself that felt capable and on top of things…

is just out of reach.

That’s the part I don’t think we talk about enough.

It’s not just about getting things done or not getting things done.

It’s about what it slowly chips away at over time.

Your peace of mind.
Your confidence.
Your trust in yourself.

And yet…

Here I am.

This isn’t the post I planned earlier.
It’s not as polished or thoughtful as it could have been.

But it exists.

And maybe that matters more.

Because maybe the goal isn’t to never procrastinate.

Maybe the goal is to not let it take everything.

So tonight, this is my small act of taking something back:

I showed up anyway.

Late.
A little scattered.
Definitely not perfect.

But I kept a promise to myself.

And that counts.

So if today got away from you—if your energy dipped, your focus wandered, or your ideas slipped through your fingers—you’re not alone.

Let’s just practice this:

Show up anyway.

Even when it’s messy.
Even when it’s late.
Even when it’s not what you planned.

Because procrastination may be a thief…

…but it doesn’t get to take everything.

Not if we decide it doesn’t.

But first… maybe just a small nap.

Procrastination Math

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When I was in middle school and high school, my mom went to the beauty shop every Saturday. And yes, that’s what it was called back in the day — the beauty shop.

She would be gone for about three hours, and before she left, she would give me a list of chores to accomplish while she was gone.

This is where my advanced mathematical abilities came into play.

I would carefully calculate how long each chore should take. Then I would subtract that number from the three hours she would be gone and determine exactly how long I could wait before starting.

Side note: I have never been good at math.

As you might imagine, this system seldom worked.

I would miscalculate the time (shocking), get distracted, or decide that something else was suddenly very important. Inevitably, the chores would not be finished when she got home.

Looking back, I realize this has been a recurring theme throughout my life.

School work.
Housework.
Work work.

If something can be procrastinated, there is a good chance I have tried.

And yet here I am. It’s Sunday night. 10:00 p.m.

Working on my weekly post.

Apparently, I am still practicing procrastination math.

But I’m also working on something new — a mantra I’m trying to adopt:

I keep promises I make to myself.

This post is short, but it’s here.

Perfect? No.
Acceptable? Pretty much.

Let’s keep working on this journey together, my friends.

Well… after a nap.

Many naps later

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****UPDATE**** I did indeed write this post yesterday. Due to some technical difficulties, I did not get it posted. So, in full transparency, I am a work in progress. With that said, here is yesterday’s post.

A few weeks ago I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t fall back asleep.

You know that strange hour of the night where the house is quiet, the world feels paused, and your brain decides it is the perfect time to revisit every idea you’ve ever had?

Somewhere in that sleepless moment, I started thinking about writing again.

Not writing someday.
Not writing when I had more time.
Not writing when I finally felt organized, inspired, productive, or magically transformed into someone who never procrastinates.

Just writing.

So in that quiet moment of insomnia, I made a small promise to myself:

I would write every Sunday.

Simple enough, right?

Except promises we make to ourselves have a funny way of becoming negotiable.

And this morning, the negotiations began.

It didn’t start dramatically. There was no internal battle music playing. No heroic speech.

Just a quiet suggestion from my very reasonable brain.

“You could move writing to Monday.”

After all, it had been a long week.
Sunday mornings are peaceful.
And technically, Monday is also a perfectly acceptable day to write.

But then another thought appeared, and it was far less polite.

“If you move it today, you’ll move it again next week.”

And the week after that.

Not because I’m lazy.

But because I know myself well enough to recognize how easily promises to myself become flexible when no one else is watching.

That moment didn’t feel like motivation.

It felt like resignation.

Not the kind where you give up.

The kind where you finally stop pretending you don’t know what you’re doing.

Clarity has a strange power like that.

It doesn’t come with fireworks or dramatic music. It just quietly says:

“I see the pattern.”

So I opened my laptop.

And many naps later, here we are.

If you’ve ever struggled with procrastination, you might appreciate a TED Talk that made me laugh out loud the first time I watched it. It’s called “Inside the Mind of a Master Procrastinator” by Tim Urban. He describes the battle between the rational decision-maker and the Instant Gratification Monkey living in our brains.

If you haven’t seen it, it’s worth ten minutes of your life:
https://www.ted.com/talks/tim_urban_inside_the_mind_of_a_master_procrastinator

What I love about his talk is how human it is.

Procrastination isn’t usually about laziness.

It’s about negotiation.

The quiet, constant bargaining we do with ourselves.

Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe later.
Maybe when I feel more ready.

But sometimes a small victory happens in a very quiet moment.

The moment we stop negotiating.

The moment we simply keep the promise.

Not perfectly.

Not enthusiastically.

Just honestly.

And sometimes the victory looks exactly like this:

Opening your laptop on a Sunday morning when you’d honestly rather take a nap.

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I Was Going to Start This Blog Yesterday…

But first, a nap.
Then I had to check my email, scroll Instagram, deep-clean the inside of my toaster (??), and organize a drawer I haven’t opened since 2014. You know, the essentials.

So… here we are. A day, a month, maybe a year later than planned — but hey, I made it. And if you’ve stumbled across this corner of the internet, chances are you’ve done the same: finally started something… after doing literally everything else first or nothing at all.

Welcome to But First, a Nap — my official, unofficial space to talk about procrastination, attention-deficit moments, and the deep, undeniable pain of doing absolutely nothing when everything is due.

What This Blog Is (and Is Not)

This is not a productivity blog.
You won’t find color-coded calendars, 5 AM miracle routines, or bullet journal spreads with intimidating levels of precision.

This is also not a motivational blog (though you might leave feeling a little more motivated anyway).

This is a real-life, humorous, sometimes messy look at what it means to live with ADHD, perfectionism, occasional laziness, and the kind of brain that says, “Let’s do everything!” — and then immediately lies down for a bit.

Why I’m Here

Because I’ve spent a long time feeling like I should be “better” at life — more focused, more disciplined, more able to complete a task without first alphabetizing my Spotify playlists.

And somewhere along the way, I realized:
– I’m not lazy — I’m overwhelmed.
– I’m not broken — I’m wired differently.
– And maybe, just maybe, there’s value in showing up honestly… even when the “showing up” takes three tries and a small to medium meltdown.

This blog is my way of writing through that — with humor, with honesty, and without pretending I have it all figured out.

What You Can Expect

– Real stories about the mess of everyday life
– Confessions from a chronic procrastinator
– Moments of unexpected clarity
– The occasional nap-related metaphor (probably too many)
– Zero judgment

If you’ve ever felt like you’re behind before you even begin, or that your to-do list is slowly forming a mutiny… you’re in the right place.

Let’s figure this out — slowly, imperfectly, one distraction at a time.

But first? You guessed it. A nap.

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