29 pm and the living room is quiet, except for the blue light of a laptop and the small red numbers on a microwave in the kitchen. Sophie knows she should close her emails and move to the sofa, where her partner is already half-asleep in front of a series. Her brain knows the workday is over. Her body doesn’t move.
Her cursor hovers over the “shut down” button. She scrolls instead. Checks one last message. Then another. Ten minutes later she’s still there, stuck in a strange in‑between space. Not really working. Not really resting.
We talk a lot about motivation, productivity, even laziness. We talk far less about this invisible friction that appears *just* at the moment we change activity. And for some people, that micro‑moment feels like a wall.
The hidden mental cost of switching from one thing to another
Watch someone struggling with transitions and you won’t always see chaos. From the outside, it can look like “taking ages to get ready” or “dragging their feet”. Inside, it feels more like an internal gear stuck between two speeds.
The brain is still wrapped in the previous task: the open tabs, the half-finished thought, the emotional residue. The next activity is there, waiting, but too far away to touch. The distance is not time, it’s mental energy. Moving across it costs more than it looks.
Some brains pay that cost much more heavily than others.
Take Mark, 34, working from home, no kids, good job, apparently “all the time in the world”. His official workday ends at 5.30 pm. Realistically, he closes his laptop at 7.15 pm, on the nights where he wins the battle with himself.
What happens in those 105 minutes? Not real work. Not real rest. He answers a stray email, then scrolls on his phone, then stares at the wall. His partner hears him say “I’m coming in a minute” at least four times. He’s not lying. He really thinks he’s about to move.
Research on “switching costs” shows that shifting tasks can briefly drop our efficiency by up to 40%. For people with ADHD, anxiety, autistic traits or chronic stress, that cost isn’t brief. It lingers. Every transition feels like lifting a mental weight no one else seems to feel.
At the heart of this lies executive function: the set of brain skills that organise, start and shift actions. When those circuits are overloaded or wired differently, the start and stop buttons glitch. You know what to do. You might even want to do it. The engine just doesn’t turn over on cue.
There’s also grief in micro-form. Moving from one activity to another often means letting go: of a sense of control at work, of the comforting numbness of your phone, of the identity you wear in that moment. Your brain resists that tiny loss, especially if the next activity feels uncertain or less rewarding.
So the real struggle is not laziness. It’s trying to cross a mental bridge that keeps stretching as you step on it.
Small levers that make transitions less brutal
One very concrete trick: don’t jump from “deep work” to “totally different activity” in a single movement. Insert a tiny “buffer task” between the two. Think of it as a mental decompression chamber.
For Sophie, that buffer is a two‑minute ritual. She writes down the exact sentence “Tomorrow, I start with…”, closes her notebook, then physically pushes the chair back. That’s it. No meditation. No perfect routine. Just a clear full stop, then a small physical cue.
This short bridge tells her brain: the task is parked, not abandoned. The open loop is closed enough to let go. That tiny gesture shrinks the invisible distance between working and resting.
There are also a few classic traps that make transitions harder than they need to be. One is starting the next activity too vaguely. “Exercise more” is not a transition, it’s a fog. “Put on trainers, walk to the end of the street” is an action the brain can grab.
Another trap: judging yourself harshly in the exact moment you need softness. People who struggle with transitions often whisper things like “I’m useless” or “Everyone else manages this”. That shame loads the mental bridge with even more weight.
Be gentle and oddly specific instead. Swap “I should do the dishes” for “I will just carry the plates to the sink”. Some days, that’s already a victory. And yes, Soyons honnêtes : personne ne fait vraiment ça tous les jours, avec une discipline parfaite et Instagram‑compatible.
“The problem is rarely knowing what to do,” notes Dr Emily Harris, a UK clinical psychologist specialising in executive function. “The problem is moving from knowing to doing, especially when your nervous system is already running hot.”
For many readers, this lands in a single emotional frame: On a tous déjà vécu ce moment où le simple fait de se lever du canapé pour aller se coucher ressemble à une expédition lunaire.
- Start with one tiny “buffer ritual” today, not a full new routine.
- Reduce self-criticism in the exact minute of transition.
- Make the very next step cartoonishly small and concrete.
Living with a brain that hates changing gears
Once you see transitions as a mental load rather than a simple decision, your whole day looks different. The messy bit between tasks is no longer a personal failure; it’s terrain you can learn to cross more kindly.
Some people begin naming their transitions out loud: “I’m finishing work now.” “I’m shifting to parent mode.” That tiny narration creates a line between chapters. Others play a specific song for each change of role, like a private soundtrack that cues the next scene.
The goal is not to become a machine that glides smoothly from gym to emails to bedtime reading. You are not a productivity robot. You are a human with a nervous system that has limits, memories, fears and habits stitched into it.
When someone in your life seems “slow” to get going or oddly resistant to tiny changes, you might be watching a hidden battle with transitions. They’re not choosing to annoy you. They’re wrestling with an internal gear that catches and grinds at the exact moment they need it to shift.
And if that someone is you, the first step is not to push harder. It’s to notice the friction, give it a name, and experiment with the smallest bridges you can build between one moment and the next.
| Point clé | Détail | Intérêt pour le lecteur |
|---|---|---|
| Les transitions ont un coût mental réel | Changer d’activité active les fonctions exécutives et peut faire chuter l’efficacité | Comprendre pourquoi même de petits changements peuvent épuiser |
| Les “buffer tasks” aident à changer de mode | Insérer un rituel court entre deux activités réduit la friction intérieure | Outil concret pour rendre la fin de journée, les soirées ou les week-ends plus fluides |
| La douceur fonctionne mieux que l’auto-critique | Réduire la honte et fragmenter les tâches en micro-étapes facilite le passage à l’action | Alléger le quotidien sans viser une discipline irréaliste |
FAQ :
- Why do I freeze when I need to switch tasks?Your brain is trying to disconnect from one mental “mode” and load another. If you’re tired, stressed, neurodivergent or anxious, that change can feel like lifting a very heavy weight.
- Is this the same as procrastination?Not exactly. Procrastination is about delaying tasks over time. Transition difficulty is about the specific moment of switching from one activity to another, even when you actually want to do the next thing.
- Could this be a sign of ADHD or autism?It can be, especially if transitions have always been hard and affect many areas of your life. That doesn’t mean you have a diagnosis, but it might be worth talking to a professional if it’s causing real distress.
- What’s one small thing I can try today?Pick one daily transition that feels sticky – for example leaving work, or going to bed – and design a two‑minute buffer ritual that clearly marks the end of the previous activity.
- What if I live with someone who struggles with transitions?Offer more warning before changes, avoid shaming language like “you’re so slow”, and suggest tiny next steps instead of big vague demands. Curiosity goes a lot further than criticism.
