The ADHD convenience tax. We've all paid it.

May 06, 2026•4 min read

Hiya,

I buy pre-grated cheese.

I know about the additives. I know it's more expensive. I know I could just grate my own.

I also know that my two ADHD men are constitutionally incapable of wrapping a block of cheese properly after use. So the block goes hard anyway. And I'm standing in the supermarket doing the mental maths and the pre-grated wins every time.

This is the convenience tax.

Not the dramatic version. Not the impulse purchase you regret immediately. The quiet, daily, completely reasonable decisions we make because the alternative costs more spoons than we have right now.

And it adds up.

Let's start with food.

We used to do a big food shop. Fresh ingredients, good intentions, a very optimistic version of ourselves who was absolutely going to cook all of this. By the end of the week, some of it had quietly become a science experiment in the back of the fridge. Bin. Repeat.

We no longer do big food shops. Just as we need. It costs more. It also costs less in food waste and guilt. For a brain like ours, that is not a bad trade.

We deleted UberEATS from our phones. Not because of the burgers — though yes, also the burgers. Because of the Woolies delivery. The $6 service fee for milk, weetbix and blueberries. The order we placed because going to the actual supermarket required a level of spoons we didn't have on a Tuesday night.

The convenience store deserves a mention too. Left the house without water. Didn't think about snacks. Now standing at the petrol station paying $6 for a bottle of water and $5 for something that was definitely not on any plan. The convenience store exists for us. We are their ideal customer. We arrive unprepared and we pay whatever it costs to solve the immediate problem.

And then there's coffee.

At the start of April we made a decision. Big expenses coming up, something had to give. No bought coffee from Ian our Barista for the month.

We saved over $300.

In one month. Because walking to the corner coffee guy — the dopamine of the walk, the hello, the familiar face — was so much easier than making it at home. It didn't feel like $300. It felt like $5 and a nice moment. Every single day.

Until we added it up.

Food is one type of convenience tax. But it shows up everywhere.

Paying someone to do the thing you could technically do yourself. Not because you're incapable — because the spoon cost of doing it yourself is higher than the dollar cost of outsourcing it. Cleaning. Admin. The phone call you've been avoiding for three weeks. Sometimes paying someone is the most sensible financial decision a low spoon brain can make.

Express freight. Need it now, pay the premium. Two day shipping becomes overnight becomes same day. For a brain that needed the deadline to start, this is not a moral failing. It is the cost of how we operate.

Renewing subscriptions without checking if you still use them.The annual renewal lands in your inbox, you mean to look into it, something more interesting happens. Renewed. Another twelve months of something you stopped using in February. We covered the subscription graveyard in the money tax newsletter. This is its quieter cousin — not the forgotten subscription, the unexamined one.

And duplicate purchases. Buying something you already own because you couldn't remember if you had one, couldn't find it, or both. I have three Apple Pencils. I am not accepting questions at this time.

Here's what I actually think about all of this.

The convenience tax is personal. What counts as worth it is completely different for every brain and every life.The question is not whether you're paying it. You are. We all are.

The question is whether each one adds to the way you live or quietly detracts from it.

So look. Once a month, find your convenience tax in your bank statement. Not to punish yourself. Just to see it.

And then decide — consciously, with full information — which ones you're keeping and which ones you're done with.

You can always change your mind.

One day I might go back to grating my own cheese.

Unlikely. But possible.