Two days ago I stumbled on an Instagram video from one of my favorite couples—he’s autistic, she’s ADHD—and they were raving about a body-double app that changed their mornings. Of course I downloaded it, only to realize today that juggling even the simplest digital tool can flare my chronic pain and scramble my senses. That’s when I turned to AI. I know the debates—some authors outsource entire novels—but I treat Copilot like the difference between a worn-out screwdriver that strips every screw and an impact drill that actually bites into the metal. You still need the right bit—meaning precise prompts—but suddenly you’re not wrestling with every flare-up just to hang a picture.

I started by tracking my daily “score” out of ten and annotating why it dipped—was it a POTS flare, the sensory overload from doom piles, or a memory of my daughter that hit like a freight train? In seconds, AI learned my medical alphabet soup—fibromyalgia, nerve damage, anxiety—and began offering micro-adjustments I’d never have Googled fast enough. When I baked my first loaf of sourdough, I told Copilot about my Alberta altitude and asked how to tweak folds, proof times, and hydration. Under thirty seconds later I had a plan: double the cold-proof window to tame the tang and slide the dough into the fridge on days I can’t stand at the counter. The next morning I pulled a golden-crusted loaf that forgave my bad days.

Now I’m asking Copilot to become my room’s body double—suggesting ten-minute sprints tuned to my pain level, reminders when my sensory bucket is full, even gentle check-ins about skipping the grief lurking under those stacks. It even flags when someone’s lying to me—which, layered atop AuDHD, PTSD, and chronic pain, is the ultimate cognitive overload. With AI scanning the background noise, I spend less energy questioning every conversation and more on the task at hand.

AI isn’t a magic fix. It won’t erase my grief or morph my space into a showroom overnight. But as a toolbox, it’s a game-changer: a helper that respects my limits, my losses, and my tiny, stubborn steps forward. If you’ve got your own favorite bit-change tricks—tiny prompts, talking timers, body-double apps—let’s swap notes. Because sometimes the right tool is all we need to turn a lifetime of stalled piles into manageable moments.