Elliot and the Great Cereal Crisis
A short story about overthinking, perfectionism, and the quiet power of “good enough”
Preface:
Most people think setting a boundary means starting a fight. Or losing someone. Or watching the relationship snap like a rubber band pulled too tight. But what if that isn’t true?
What if the thing we’re most afraid to say is the very thing that could heal the dynamic?
This short story isn’t about yelling, slamming doors, or dramatic walkouts. It’s about a chipped mug, a quiet kitchen, and one mother who dares to ask for what she needs—without apology.
And how her son responds might just surprise you.
Elliot and the Great Cereal Crisis
Elliot stood in aisle 7, paralyzed.
He had come in for cereal. Just cereal. But the wall before him held 47 types of cereal. Forty-seven.
Some had fiber. Some promised happiness. One even claimed to boost spiritual wellness with ancient grains.
Elliot read every box. Twice. He Googled “best cereal for adulting,” “cereal with least regret,” and “why is decision-making so hard.”
He put Honey Nut Cheerios in his cart. Then swapped it for granola. Then pulled out his phone and made a pro-con list.
Twenty-five minutes passed. A kid screamed in the next aisle. A clerk started restocking the oatmeal.
Elliot stood there, sweating lightly under the fluorescent lights, thinking, What if I pick the wrong one? What if I buy one and miss out on the cereal that could've changed my life?
Finally, he left without buying anything.
In the car, he stared at the steering wheel and whispered, “This is why I can't trust myself with Costco.”
The Cheerios of Acceptance
Back home, Elliot texted his friend Lena, who could pick a restaurant in under a minute—a real-life unicorn.
“Why do I freeze up over stupid stuff like cereal?”
She replied instantly, like she’d been waiting for this moment:
“Because your brain thinks ‘right choice = safety’ and ‘wrong choice = doom.’ You’re not indecisive. You're trying to avoid regret with military precision.”
Oof.
Then she followed up:
“Try this: Next time you go, set a timer for 5 minutes. Pick the first cereal that meets your top 2 needs. That’s it. It’s not a test—it’s breakfast.”
Elliot wasn’t sure if he wanted to hug her or block her.
Still, the next morning, he went back. Same aisle. Same 47 cereals. He pulled out his phone. Set a timer. Five minutes.
Top 2 needs? Crunchy and doesn’t taste like sadness. Boom—Honey Nut Cheerios. Into the cart. No take-backs.
Walking to the checkout, he felt the panic rise like steam—but then remembered Lena’s voice:
“You didn’t make the perfect choice. You made a kind one.
Now go eat like a person.”
At home, he poured the cereal. Took a bite.
It was…fine.
And “fine,” it turned out, was freedom. Because “fine” left room for his day to matter more than his breakfast. “Fine” didn’t judge. “Fine” didn’t follow him around like a ghost of better choices. “Fine” tasted a lot like peace.
What This Has to Do with AuDHD and Neurodivergence…
Researchers call this kind of thinking maximizing—a tendency to overthink every decision in search of the best possible outcome. People with autism or ADHD often get labeled indecisive or slow, but what’s actually happening is a deep desire to avoid regret, failure, or getting it “wrong.”
And while it can be helpful in big decisions, maximizing burns a lot of mental fuel when it shows up at the grocery store. Or when picking a major. Or replying to a text.
The Bottom Line
If you—or someone you care about—takes forever to make decisions, spirals into cereal-related dread, or leaves stores empty-handed, here’s the thing:
You’re not broken. You’re just a maximizer.
Here’s how to make peace with that:
Set a time limit.
Pick the first thing that meets your top 1–2 needs.
Stick with it.
Tell yourself: “It doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs to be kind.”
That’s not settling. That’s self-trust.
If this story hits home… I’d love to hear about your own “cereal aisle” moments. Hit reply, leave a comment, or forward this to someone who needs it.
You never know—maybe their Cheerios are waiting too.
P.S. This research article inspired this story.