I’ve come to the conclusion that the word “just” is doing an extraordinary amount of work in conversations about productivity, parenting, and executive function.
Just make a list. Just get started. Just set a reminder. Just focus. Just be more organized. Just stop overthinking it.
Well, there we have it. Problem solved. I don’t know why we’ve spent so much time discussing executive function when apparently the solution was sitting right there in a four-letter word.
Someone should really let the experts know.
The funny thing is that most of this advice isn’t necessarily wrong. Lists can help. Reminders can help. Routines, calendars, and breaking tasks into smaller steps can all make a difference.
But there’s a pretty significant gap between knowing what might help and being able to make it happen. And when we start our advice with “just,” we have a tendency to skip right over that gap.
Simple Advice Isn’t Always Easy to Follow
I think one of the biggest misunderstandings about executive function is the assumption that knowing what to do automatically means being able to do it.
If someone knows they need to finish an assignment, why don’t they finish it? If they know they have an appointment, why don’t they remember it? If they know their room needs cleaning, why don’t they clean it?
From the outside, the solution seems obvious. But knowing something needs to happen is only one part of actually making it happen.
There’s figuring out where to start, deciding what matters most, estimating how long something will take, managing distractions, shifting between activities, remembering the steps, and following through.
That’s a lot of work hiding behind a sentence like “just do it.”
And for someone who struggles with executive function, those invisible steps may be the very things making the task difficult.
It’s a little like telling someone who is lost to “just get there.” Thank you. Very helpful. Would you also like to provide directions, or are we operating entirely on optimism today?
“Just Make a List” Is One of My Personal Favorites
I have nothing against lists. In fact, I’m a big fan of lists. I’ve made plenty of them over the years, and some have been incredibly useful.
But I’ve also watched what happens when someone is struggling to organize their thoughts and the immediate response is, “Well, just make a list.”
Okay.
A list of what? Everything that needs to happen? In what order? How detailed should it be? What happens if the list becomes overwhelming? What if the person forgets to look at it? What if they make the list, feel very accomplished about making the list, and then never actually start anything on it?
Not that any of us have ever done that, of course.
The problem isn’t the list itself. The problem is assuming that creating a list automatically solves the challenges involved in using it.
A list might help someone remember what needs to be done while doing absolutely nothing to help them decide where to begin. And sometimes, before we recommend another tool, we need to understand which part of the process is actually difficult.
I’ve Heard Plenty of “Just” Advice as a Parent
Raising neurodivergent kids has given me a particularly complicated relationship with this word. Over the years, I’ve heard variations of advice that sounded wonderfully straightforward.
Just establish a routine. Just make sure they write down their assignments. Just have them check their work. Just hold them accountable. Just make sure they understand the consequences.
And believe me, I understand where some of that advice comes from. Parents need structure. Kids need expectations. Accountability matters, and developing independence is important.
But when a child is already struggling with planning, remembering, initiating, or organizing tasks, repeating what they’re supposed to do doesn’t necessarily give them the skills or support to do it.
I remember how frustrating it could be when the conversation shifted toward what we needed to enforce at home instead of what was happening during the school day.
As though the missing ingredient was simply a parent who hadn’t thought to tell their child to be responsible. Gosh. Why didn’t I think of that?
What I wanted to understand was why something that seemed manageable one day became difficult the next. Why an assignment wasn’t making it from the classroom to home. Why a child who understood the material could still struggle with completing or turning in the work.
Those questions led to much more useful conversations than another reminder to “just be more organized.” Because if a child already knows what’s expected and is still struggling, perhaps we need to look beyond the expectation itself.
“Just Try Harder” Can Be Especially Damaging
This is where seemingly harmless advice can start to carry more weight. When we tell someone to “just try harder,” we’re making an assumption about effort.
We’re suggesting that the primary reason something isn’t happening is that the person isn’t putting enough energy into it.
Sometimes effort really is part of the conversation. I’m not suggesting that every unfinished assignment or missed responsibility has a complicated neurological explanation. But we also need to recognize that effort isn’t always visible.
A student may be working incredibly hard to manage distractions while appearing to accomplish very little. An adult may spend significant mental energy trying to initiate a task that someone else can begin without much thought. A child may be using so much energy to manage the sensory and social demands of the school day that the organizational demands become harder to handle.
From the outside, we see the incomplete task, but we don’t necessarily see everything that happened before it.
And when someone is already putting in tremendous effort, telling them to try harder can leave them feeling as though their best will never be enough.
It’s not exactly the motivational breakthrough we were hoping for.
Sometimes “Just” Is a Shortcut Around Understanding
I don’t think most people offering this advice are trying to be dismissive. Often, they’re genuinely trying to help. They see a problem, recognize a solution that works for them, and offer it. That’s a pretty normal human response.
The trouble starts when we assume that because a solution is easy for us to implement, it should be equally easy for someone else.
Maybe you can look at a messy room and immediately see where to start. Someone else may see twenty different tasks competing for attention and have no idea which one comes first.
Maybe you can set a reminder and reliably respond when it goes off. Someone else may need a reminder that includes a specific action, enough time to transition, and a way to return to the task if they’re interrupted.
Maybe you can sit down and start working because you know the deadline is approaching. Someone else may understand that same deadline perfectly and still struggle to initiate the work.
The difference isn’t necessarily whether one person cares more. It may be that the same task requires very different amounts of mental effort. And we won’t discover that if we skip the conversation and go straight to “just.”
Better Advice Usually Starts With a Question
One of the things I’ve learned over the years is that asking the right question can be far more useful than offering the quickest solution.
Instead of “Just get started,” we can ask, “What’s making it hard to begin?” Instead of “Just make a list,” we can ask, “Would it help to figure out the first few steps together?” Instead of “Just set a reminder,” we can ask, “What usually happens when the reminder goes off?” Instead of “Just focus,” we can ask, “Is something in your environment making it difficult to concentrate?”
These aren’t magic questions. They don’t guarantee that every task suddenly becomes easy.
But they give us information.
Maybe the person needs clearer instructions. Maybe the task is too vague. Maybe they’re overwhelmed by the number of decisions involved. Maybe the timing is wrong, or the system they’re using creates more work than it saves.
And sometimes the answer really is that they need a reminder or a checklist. Wonderful.
Now we’re offering a solution that addresses the actual problem instead of handing out generic advice and hoping something sticks.
We Can Be Just as Hard on Ourselves
Of course, this isn’t only something other people say to us. We’re perfectly capable of doing it to ourselves.
I just need to get organized. I just need to stop procrastinating. I just need to manage my time better. I just need to be more consistent.
I’ve had plenty of days when I’ve looked at my own list of responsibilities and wondered why I couldn’t seem to get through things that should have been relatively straightforward.
And I can be every bit as impatient with myself as anyone else.
Which is particularly annoying, considering how much time I’ve spent advocating for a better understanding of executive function.
Apparently, knowing better doesn’t automatically mean I stop having unrealistic expectations.
Imagine that.
But I’ve gotten better at recognizing when I’m turning a practical challenge into a personal criticism. Instead of asking why I can’t seem to get my act together, I try to figure out what’s creating the friction.
Do I have too many competing priorities? Am I trying to hold too much information in my head? Have I made the task more complicated than it needs to be? Do I need to step away, break something down, or ask for help?
Those questions don’t eliminate my responsibilities, they make it more likely that I’ll actually meet them.
Support Should Make the Next Step More Possible
This is one of the ideas behind NeuroLocker.
We know that telling someone to “just get organized” doesn’t suddenly give them the tools to manage everything competing for their attention. And we also know that giving someone a productivity tool doesn’t automatically mean it will work for them.
That’s why we’re building NeuroLocker around practical ways to capture information, organize responsibilities, manage reminders, and find support for focusing and following through.
The goal isn’t to create a system that demands perfect consistency or adds another complicated process to someone’s day, it’s to reduce some of the mental work involved in getting from knowing what needs to happen to actually doing it.
And we’re still learning and improving as we go, because a tool only provides meaningful support when it works for the person using it.
That’s an important distinction.
We don’t want to tell people to “just use NeuroLocker” any more than we want someone telling them to “just buy a planner.”
The right support starts with understanding the challenge. Then we can figure out which tools might help.
Maybe We Can Retire “Just” From the Conversation
I’m not suggesting we ban the word entirely. (Although I would be interested in seeing how certain conversations go if we tried.) I’m suggesting we pay a little more attention to what we’re communicating when we use it.
Because “just” has a way of making something sound smaller than it actually is.
It can minimize the effort someone is already putting in, overlook the steps they’re struggling with, and turn a request for support into a conversation about what they should already be capable of doing.
And that’s rarely helpful.
We can still encourage responsibility. We can still have expectations. We can still teach skills, build routines, and help people develop independence. We can do all of that without assuming that something is easy simply because the instructions sound simple.
Sometimes the most useful thing we can offer isn’t another solution. It’s the willingness to understand why the obvious solution hasn’t worked.
So the next time you’re tempted to tell someone to “just” do something, consider asking one question first – What’s making this harder than it looks?
You might be surprised by what you learn. And if the answer turns out to be something that can be solved with a simple checklist? Fantastic. Just don’t start the conversation there.
Talk soon,
Jill
English