This. DP has ADHD and instantly forgets anything he’s told; visibly tunes out of conversations if there’s the slightest distraction - which can be anything from the bin lorry going by to the sun moving behind a cloud. He narrates everything he’s doing out loud (instead of just doing it) so I have zero daydream space, eg “right, so tonight I’m cooking X, so I’ll go to the shop and buy Y, so that tonight I can cook X, and when I’ve cooked X, I’ll do that other thing that I keep not doing but talking about.” Pause while he puts his shoes on. “Right, I’m going to the shop. Do we need anything for dinner?”
We have a meal plan on the fridge, a list of meals we could choose from should things go awry (forgetting to defrost something), the person’s name written next to the meal they’re cooking, a shared google calendar, phone reminders and yes, he’s medicated, but nothing actually makes a difference except my going on strike and refusing to be the office manager, social secretary, and remembering person.
Eg I used to be in charge of buying DD’s clothes because I claimed child benefit, but we don’t qualify for it anymore and since we’re both on parental leave but with unequal amounts of dare time (EBF baby), he said he’d do it. He ordered clothes to our old address, then a bunch of useless stuff, then the wrong sizes; he’s had to return things, call customer service, go to the shops anyway, has missed a dozen basic things (knickers, tights), the wrong sizes, etc. I AM NOT GETTING INVOLVED.
He manages at work because he creates systems that work for his brain; he manages certain household tasks because he does the same thing, whether it’s a regular phone reminder or changing the way the task is done (eg he never does the dishwasher at the end of the day for unloading the next morning, even though that makes the most sense to me and makes for a tidier life, imo - he does it at what looks to me like random, the kitchen is often messy, but he does do it). To a certain extent you have to make your peace with ADHD being the “price of admission” to having a relationship with him: the bad that you take with the good. Because medication helps but it doesn’t cure.
I let small things go - I will never have a tidy house with all the cupboard doors shut - but the not listening, and the wanting me to be the brains of the outfit that he can consult like I’m bloody Google, enrages me. I’m a writer and my job depends to a large extent on being able to daydream; it’s compromised by doing his share of the mental load. I don’t know what the answer is here. Probably not “stew on it constantly than explode in perimenopausal rage every so often.”
You’re not alone. It’s really hard. I’ve often thought of starting a similar thread.