T.R.I.A.G.E.

Use this when you feel vague dread, realize you’ve been on autopilot for hours or days, don’t know which card you need, or suspect you’re ignoring the rest of your life. Also run it when an alarm you set goes off, when a hyperfocus session ends, and when you stand up after a long sit. Tunnel vision hides the moment you need this card. These triggers don’t wait for you to notice.

This card sits on top of the deck. It catches the blind spots of monotropism (intense, single-track tunnel vision) and of time blindness and object permanence (if it’s not right in front of you, it doesn’t exist).

The AuDHD brain works like a spotlight. Whatever it lands on (a hyperfocus, a crisis, mindless scrolling) blazes, and the rest of the world goes black. You miss that you haven’t eaten, that your posture is wrecking your neck, or that you’ve accidentally ghosted someone you love for three weeks. You find out when the consequences crash into you.

Terminate the tunnel (Hit the Circuit Breaker)

Why (monotropism): You can’t size up your life from inside the momentum of a hyperfocus or an autopilot spiral. Monotropic inertia keeps pulling you forward until you crash.

Do: Physically break the track, now.

Take your hands off the keyboard, or put the phone face down.
Look away from the screen for 15 seconds, out a window or at the farthest corner of the room.
Unclench your jaw, drop your shoulders away from your ears, and let your stomach out.

Rule: Stop what you’re doing completely before you ask what’s wrong.

Why (time blindness, object permanence): Anything out of sight slips out of working memory. The dread is often a loose thread in the background that some part of you is still tracking.

Do: Sweep the edges of your life in 30 seconds.

Clock and body: What time is it, really? When did I sit down? When did I last eat and drink? Am I holding in pee or ignoring hunger?
People (the abandonment check): Did I leave someone hanging? Has a partner, family member, or friend felt neglected or shut out while I’ve been in my cave? Check the facts too. Open your messages. See who’s waiting on a reply, and when you last talked to each of your closest people.
Surroundings: Is my space chaotic? Are dishes, trash, or half-done chores around me quietly driving up my cortisol?

Rule: Only spot what’s on the radar. Don’t fix it all now. The exception is any body need that takes under a minute, like peeing or drinking water. Do that now.

Identify the primary malfunction (Diagnostics)

Why (alexithymia): AuDHD people often treat the wrong problem. They force willpower onto a task when they’re sensorially flooded, or obsess over a life choice when they’re just lonely.

Do: Match your state to one of these. Each has a feeling and a look from the outside, because the feeling may be hard to read.

Flooded: Sensory input buzzes, emotions are raw, or an RSD spike just went off. (You feel like an exposed nerve.) Looks like: snapping at people, covering your ears, rereading one message.
Frozen: The pressure to act is high and the guilt is loud, but your body won’t start. (You feel glued to the couch.) Looks like: the same tab open for an hour while you scroll.
Deciding: You’re spiraling over a fork in the road, like a job, a move, a purchase, or a big pivot. (You feel commitment claustrophobia.) Looks like: twenty comparison tabs open, or polling everyone you know.
Spiraling with People: You’re convinced someone hates you, or masking and social demands have drained you. (You feel drained or unsafe around people.) Looks like: drafting and redrafting a reply.
In a Live Conflict: An argument is escalating with the person in front of you, they’re reading malice into your words, or every answer you give gets used against you. (You feel cornered.) Looks like: raised voices, repeating your point in new words, correcting their facts.
Overwhelmed by Kids: Children’s noise, touch, or meltdowns are pushing you toward one of your own. (You feel about to snap.) Looks like: raising your voice to match theirs, lecturing a crying child, flinching at every touch.
Nothing’s loud: None of the six fits. You’re running fine, and the radar list is the work.

Rule: Pick the loudest malfunction.

Acknowledge the drift (Send the 10-Second Lifeline)

Why (RSD, out-of-sight guilt): If the sweep showed you’ve accidentally neglected someone, the guilt will poison whatever you do next. Don’t wait until you have “enough energy for a full conversation.” Waiting turns into months of silence.

Do: If the sweep found no one, this step is done. Otherwise, write an easy, guilt-free patch text now:

“Hey, I’m caught in a heavy brain-fog/busy tunnel right now, but I love you and I’m thinking of you from my cave. No need to reply.”

If you’re Flooded, send it after R.E.S.E.T. That card’s rule is to send nothing until the surge passes.
Otherwise, send it now, before you fix yourself.

Rule: Ten seconds to patch the leak. Don’t open their reply yet.

Gauge your actual battery (Reality-Check Capacity)

Why (interoception): AuDHD optimism loads eight hours of executive work onto a battery sitting at 4%. The battery is also hard to feel, so check the evidence before you trust the feeling.

Do: Check the evidence first: hours since you last ate, hours since you last slept, hours of masking today, and what the last hour actually looked like. Then name your real energy level. These are the same colors you use with people in B.O.N.D.S.

Red (Critical): Under 20%. Sensory overload or semi-verbal. You need a quiet room and headphones. Basic survival only. Cancel what isn’t essential, get into the dark, and eat easy calories.
Yellow (Low): 20% to 50%. You can be around people, but no one, including you, should ask you to make decisions. Simple, repetitive tasks or parallel play only. No hard problem-solving and no social masking.
Green (Capable): 50% or more. You have energy to talk and connect, and room to take on friction or deep dives.

Rule: Plan for the battery you have, however much you wish it were fuller.

Enter the right card (The Routing Desk)

Why: Once you know what’s broken and how much battery you have, stop improvising. Let the card do the heavy lifting.

Do: Pull the one card that matches your diagnosis from step I:

If you are Flooded → Open R.E.S.E.T.
If you are Frozen → Open S.P.A.R.K.
If you are Deciding → Open A.L.I.G.N.
If you are Spiraling with People → Open B.O.N.D.S.
If you are In a Live Conflict → Open D.A.N.G.E.R.
If you are Overwhelmed by Kids → Open K.I.D.S.
If Nothing’s loud → Run S.P.A.R.K. on the radar list.
If your battery is Red → Open R.E.S.E.T., whatever step I found. It needs almost no planning and is built for an empty battery. If you’re in a live conflict, first say the line from D.A.N.G.E.R. G: “I’m flooded. I’m not leaving you. I’ll be back at eight.” If children are in your care, make sure they’re safe first.

Rule: One card at a time. When it’s done, run T.R.I.A.G.E. again.