Downsizing With a Neurodivergent Family: Lessons in Trust, Frustration, and Letting Go

Many parents find themselves redefining “home” as family life shifts and adult children spread their wings. When that journey includes neurodivergent partners (and, let’s face it, half a lifetime’s worth of stuff), moving gets a lot more interesting. If you’re contemplating a move—or just struggling to declutter with your ADHD loved ones—I hope our story will make you feel seen, understood, and maybe even make you laugh a little at the chaos.

The Decision to Downsize

Our kids: young adults living in different cities and countries, following their own adventures. My husband: on a sabbatical, launching a new career project. Me: working full-time and craving a fresh start after decades in the same house. So we said yes to less space, new energy, and a simpler way of living.

Going from a sprawling 3,000-square-foot house to a cozy 1,200-square-foot apartment? Exciting in theory. Terrifying in practice. Downsizing in midlife was always going to be emotional, but I didn’t anticipate just how much our different neurological wiring would colour the process.

Letting My Partner Take the Reins (Sort Of)

Since my husband was on a career break, he offered to plan and coordinate the move. I’ll admit I was skeptical. We’ve been together for 30+ years. I know how many hobbies, gadgets, and collections he accumulates. As someone with ADHD and a tendency to leave everything to the last minute and a not-so-secret love of stuff, organization has never been his strong suit.

But I decided to trust him and let go. I kept replaying in my mind everything I’ve learned as an ADHD coach about accepting different strengths in relationships and the importance of allowing partners to operate in their own way. He said he would deliver it then trust his process, so to speak.

Reality Versus Reality: The Slow-Motion Five-Month Move

Five months ticked by. Progress was…minimal. Every time I expressed concern about our timeline, I was met with defensiveness, justifications, and a laundry list of micro-achievements (“But look, I sorted the screws!”). Meanwhile, the to-donate pile barely budged, and our moving deadline loomed closer. My panic level started to rise.

It’s summer, and both kids, aged 21 and 24, are home. Each has their own attachment to mementoes—childhood games, instruments, books, and endless bins of treasures. They sorted, slowly, in between catching up with friends and enjoying their break. Sometimes it felt like I lived in an alternate reality from the rest of the family. They all seemed…unbothered.

“We’re Almost Done”—But Are We?

The closer the moving date, the more I started to question my own perception. Was I being too controlling? Was my “importance-focused” way of tackling projects the only “right” way? If my family said, “We’re almost done,” was I missing something, or should I make an eye appointment?

I’ve worked with enough ADHD families to know that stress can spur a flurry of activity…just not always before the official deadline. My husband, especially, thrives in chaos and has high stress tolerance—things that make me want to run screaming. 

Time-blindness, poor time estimation, and a strong “I’ll do it myself” streak: classic ADHD characteristics, and yet every time I’d try to intervene, I’d get the classic “it will get done.”

The Expected, Last-Minute Heroics

Moving day arrived. Was everything packed? Not quite. Was everything sorted, donated, labelled, or sold? Not really. But somehow, with resourcefulness, humour, and a last-minute extension (thanks to my husband’s legendary charm with the new owners), it happened.

Boxes were stacked, memories sorted, and some are still waiting in storage for “future us” to decide what to do. Did it unfold the way I would have liked it? Not even close. But it worked—because we are nothing if not adaptable.

Lessons (and a Little Spa Time)

Here’s what I learned (or maybe relearned, with extra humility):

• ADHD brains rarely get motivated by “importance” alone. They spark into action when interest or urgency peaks—often much later than I’m comfortable with.

• Trying to control, prod, or “remind” my husband and kids didn’t change the outcome—except to make me more anxious.

• Sometimes the best thing I could do was step back, trust (even reluctantly), and channel my energy elsewhere.

• Laughter, flexibility, and plenty of self-care were essential survival tools.

The New Chapter

We’re settling into our new, smaller space. Some belongings will be sorted…eventually. But we’ve gained something more important—another reminder that brains, lives, and families aren’t always neat, but with enough love and adaptability, they’re always enough.

If you’re navigating a big life change with your neurodivergent family, know that your frustration and your laughter are both valid. The move won’t look like anyone else’s, but you’ll find your way—on your own terms.

Here’s to new beginnings, imperfect transitions, and the beauty of letting go of both stuff and expectations.