If someone were to crack open my laptop or phone and glimpse the sheer number of open tabs, notes, apps, and emails, they might think I’m drowning in a sea of digital clutter. And, honestly, they wouldn’t be wrong. But what looks like chaos on the surface is a mirror to the way my neurocomplex mind operates—fast, fragmented, endlessly curious, and always hungry for connections. This isn’t just a quirk of personality; it’s an intrinsic part of how I process the world.
Let me walk you through what it’s like to live with a "browser tab brain."
Tabs on Tabs on Tabs: A Reflection of My Inner World
Let’s start with the most obvious example: the 300 tabs open on my laptop. Each tab represents a thread of curiosity, a rabbit hole I dove into, or a problem I wanted to solve. They’re not just random web pages—they’re mental bookmarks for questions and ideas that feel too important to close, even if I know I may never revisit them.
Fear of Lost Opportunities: Closing a tab isn’t just deleting a page; it feels like shutting the door on a possibility. What if that tab holds the key to the insight I’ve been chasing? What if I’ll need it later and won’t remember how to find it?
Mental Overcommitment: My brain often says "yes" to more questions than it has time to answer. Each tab reflects an intention I couldn’t fully honor, a curiosity I couldn’t satisfy.
In many ways, my open tabs are an external representation of my internal state—an overflowing inbox of ideas, half-finished projects, and unsolved mysteries.
Notes Everywhere: The Overflow System
When my brain can’t contain the sheer volume of thoughts, it spills into the digital world. That’s why I have 40 Notepad windows open at any given time. These notes aren’t essays or neatly organized ideas; they’re fragments—snapshots of insight, reminders, and questions. They’re how I offload the mental overflow.
A Brain That Never Rests: My thoughts rarely follow a linear path. Instead, they branch out in every direction, often interrupting themselves before I can close the loop. My notes are an attempt to freeze those fleeting ideas before they disappear.
A Place for Everything (But Not Really): While my notes provide some relief, they also create a secondary chaos—a fragmented system of half-thoughts that rarely get consolidated. They’re both a solution and a symptom of the way I think.
The Information Firehose: 200 Emails a Day
I wake up every morning to a tidal wave of emails—newsletters, updates, offers, and messages from colleagues, friends, and strangers. These aren’t just distractions; they’re the inputs I’ve invited into my life. My inbox reflects my insatiable desire for information, connection, and inspiration.
Subscriptions to Possibility: Every newsletter I sign up for, every mailing list I join, represents a piece of the puzzle I think I need. It’s as if I’m saying, "Maybe this will help me understand myself better," or "Maybe this will spark my next big idea."
Decision Fatigue: The problem is, my brain struggles to filter these inputs. Instead of acting on the information, I often feel paralyzed by the sheer volume of options.
Apps Fighting for Attention: My Digital Battlefield
The multitude of apps on my phone—each pinging with notifications, updates, and reminders—is another layer of this ecosystem. They reflect the tools I use to manage my chaos, but they also compete for my limited bandwidth.
Each App Is a Role: My apps are like employees in a company, each responsible for a specific function—organizing my notes, tracking my habits, communicating with others. But as my mental workload grows, even the most sophisticated tools start to feel like clutter.
The Fight for Focus: While these apps offer solutions, they also demand attention. They’re both my allies and my adversaries in the battle for productivity.
Why My Brain Works This Way
The "browser tab brain" isn’t just a personality trait; it’s a feature of my neurocomplexity. Here’s why:
Rapid Thinking: My brain processes information quickly, which means I’m constantly jumping from one thought to the next. While this speed is a gift, it also makes it hard to stay focused on any single task.
Overexcitabilities: My intellectual and emotional intensity amplifies everything—my curiosity, my need for closure, and my fear of missing out. I can’t just dip a toe into a topic; I have to dive in headfirst.
Executive Functioning Challenges: Like many neurodivergent individuals, I struggle with prioritizing, organizing, and finishing tasks. My mind is brilliant at starting things but often struggles to follow through.
A Need for Connection: Whether it’s browser tabs, emails, or apps, everything I engage with represents a connection—to an idea, a person, or a possibility. My brain thrives on these connections, even if they overwhelm me.
How I’m Learning to Manage the Chaos
I’ve realized that I can’t change the way my brain works, but I can find ways to work with it. Here’s what I’ve been experimenting with:
Triaging Tabs: Each day, I spend a few minutes reviewing my open tabs and closing the ones that no longer feel relevant. It’s a small step, but it helps reduce the mental clutter.
Centralized Note-Taking: Instead of scattering my thoughts across 40 Notepad windows, I’ve started using a single tool to consolidate my notes. This gives me a clearer view of my ideas and helps me prioritize.
Email Boundaries: I’ve begun unsubscribing from newsletters I no longer read and setting rules to filter less important emails. My inbox still overflows, but it’s slightly more manageable.
Digital Decluttering: Once a week, I review the apps on my phone and delete the ones I no longer use. This forces me to be intentional about how I engage with technology.
The Gift in the Chaos
Despite the challenges, I wouldn’t trade my "browser tab brain" for anything. It’s what makes me creative, innovative, and endlessly curious. It’s why I can connect ideas that others might never see, why I thrive in ambiguity, and why I’m so passionate about understanding myself and the world around me.
If my mind didn’t work this way, I wouldn’t be the person I am. Yes, it can be exhausting to live in a world where my thoughts never stop, where ideas collide like atoms in a particle accelerator, and where the simplest task can feel like navigating a labyrinth. But it’s also exhilarating. This chaos is the engine of my creativity, the fuel for my relentless pursuit of meaning, and the reason I can engage deeply with ideas that others might skim over.
The tabs, the notes, the emails—they’re not just clutter. They’re evidence of a mind that refuses to settle. They’re the fingerprints of someone who sees possibility everywhere, even when it’s overwhelming. They’re reminders that my brain isn’t broken; it’s just wired differently.
What I’ve Learned About Myself
This journey of embracing my "browser tab brain" has taught me some profound truths about who I am and how I move through the world:
Curiosity Is My Superpower: While others might see my open tabs and notes as chaos, I see them as a testament to my insatiable curiosity. My brain doesn’t just want to understand the world; it wants to inhabit it fully, to explore every corner and uncover every secret.
Perfection Is a Myth: For years, I thought I needed to "fix" myself—to become more organized, more linear, more focused. But I’ve realized that my value doesn’t come from fitting into a box; it comes from the unique way I think and create. My chaos isn’t a flaw; it’s a feature.
I’m Not Alone: Through self-reflection and connecting with others, I’ve learned that many neurodivergent individuals share this experience. We’re not "too much"; we’re just different. And that difference is something to celebrate, not suppress.
A Message for Others Like Me
If you’re reading this and resonating with my experience, know this: You’re not alone, and you’re not broken. The world might not always understand the way your mind works, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Your chaos is a gift, even if it doesn’t always feel that way.
Lean into your curiosity. Embrace your intensity. Find tools and strategies that work for you, not for the neurotypical world. And above all, give yourself grace. Living with a "browser tab brain" is a challenge, but it’s also a profound opportunity to create, connect, and contribute in ways that only you can.
Closing the Loop
As I write this, I’m glancing at the tabs still open on my screen. There’s one about a research paper on neurodivergence, another about an AI tool I’ve been meaning to test, and yet another about decluttering techniques (the irony isn’t lost on me). I could close them all, but I probably won’t. They’re not just tabs; they’re extensions of my mind.
And maybe that’s okay. Because while the world might see chaos, I see potential. And I’m learning to love the beauty in my mess.