You've had the idea for two years.
Maybe three. You can't quite remember when it started — only that you've been carrying it around like a folded piece of paper at the bottom of your bag. You've tweaked it. You've parked it. You've explained it to three different friends in three different versions, each one slightly better than the last, none of them written down anywhere you can find now.
You know it's good. That's almost the worst part. You know it's good and you still can't get it out of your head and onto a page and into the world.
That's the loop.
The loop is not a character flaw
If you have ADHD, you already know the shape of this. Idea → excitement → research → planning → naming things → buying a domain (or 3) → designing a logo → reading what other people have done → realising yours isn't quite right yet → tweaking → losing momentum → guilt → silence → shame. Then six months later, the idea wakes you up at 4am and the cycle starts again.
This is not procrastination in the way most people mean it. This is not laziness or even a shit idea. This is an ADHD brain doing exactly what it's wired to do: chase the dopamine of the new idea, lose interest at the boring middle bit, and start again somewhere shinier.
Nobody told me this. So for a long part of my life I have been blaming myself.
Stop.
What's actually happening when you can't launch
Three things, usually, all at once.
The dopamine has moved. The idea was exciting at the start because it was new. Now it's not new anymore — to you. (To the world it doesn't exist yet, but your brain doesn't care about the world. It cares about novelty.) So the same task that lit you up in week one feels grey by week three.
You can't see the next step. Or rather, you can see thirty-seven next steps, all at the same level of importance, and your brain refuses to rank them. So you do nothing. Or you do the easiest one — usually something creative, like the logo — and call it progress.
You're alone with it. This is the big one. You're holding the whole idea in your own head, by yourself, with no external structure. ADHD brains do not do well with no external structure. We need scaffolding. We need someone to look at the thing with us. We need a deadline that isn't self-imposed (because self-imposed deadlines slide off us like water off a duck).
None of that is a flaw. It's just how the wiring works.
The thing that actually shifts it
Not another planner. Not another course about productivity. Not the Pomodoro technique — you've tried it and the timer just made you anxious. Not even an infinite amount of post it’s!
What shifts it is being in a room with other people who already get the shape of your week, and doing the next small ugly step on the thing while they do theirs.
That's it. That's the unlock.
I know because I built three businesses in my head before I built one in the world, and the only one that made it out was the one I worked on in front of other people. Not in a fancy mastermind. Not in a coaching programme that cost £2,000. In a small online room, with my camera on, with three other people working on their own things at the same time.
The accountability is part of it. The witness is bigger.
Why £10 changes everything
When something is free, your ADHD brain knows it's free, and treats it accordingly. You sign up. You don't show up. There's no cost so there's no consequence and no consequence means no urgency.
When something is £500, you can't afford it. So you don't sign up. So nothing changes.
Ten pounds is the sweet spot. It's enough that you put it in the diary. It's enough that you turn up. It's not enough to feel like you've bet your future on it. It's the price of two coffees if you’re lucky.
What Loop Breakers actually is
It's an online room. Tuesday mornings, 10:30 UK time, 90 minutes. Up to ten people, all neurodivergent, all working on their own thing.
We say what we're doing. We get on with it (with a few prompts and chats along the way). We come back at the end and say what happened and what’s next. That's the shape.
It is not a course. It is not a coaching programme. It is not me teaching you anything. I am one of the people in the room, working on my own thing, alongside you.
£10 a seat. £5 if money is tight — just email me, no questions.
The first one is on Tuesday 5 May 2026.
If you're not sure
That's fine. Read this paragraph slowly.
You are not failing. You have not wasted the last two years. The idea hasn't gone anywhere — it is still there, in the folded piece of paper at the bottom of your bag. Nothing has been lost. The only thing that has happened is you have been trying to do it alone, in a brain that does not work well alone, and getting tired.
The room exists for the loop. Bring the thing. Bring the half-built website. Bring the three half build websites. Bring the funding application you opened in October and have not opened since. Bring the book you've been writing in your head for four years. Bring the blog post.
We'll do the next ugly small step together.
- Nici x
Cover image: Hilma af Klint, The Ten Largest, No. 3, Youth, 1907. Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.