What It's Like to Run a Business With ADHD

The challenges, hidden strengths, and real behind-the-scenes of neurodivergent entrepreneurship.

I’ve heard that when neurotypical people wake up, they can just… do things.
They get their coffee, make breakfast, maybe get a workout in. They put on their shoes and get out the door.

If that’s you—amazing. Truly.
But this essay isn’t for you.

This is a love letter to anyone struggling with ADHD, mental health, chronic illness or anything that makes your day to day life harder.
To say: You’re seen. You are so, so loved.
Because today, I’m having a really hard ADHD day. And if you’re in it too, you’re not alone.

Last night I didn’t sleep well.
I was on TikTok too late—yep, I’ll admit to that.
(And side note: I somehow ended up on Appalachian Trail TikTok. Would not recommend. It's terrifying. People sharing stories about stalkers and wild animal encounters… I literally slept with the light on. I’m a grown woman. Still scared of the dark.)

So, I wake up—and already I’m behind. And I have to fight every single urge in my body not to grab my phone.
And sure, I know that’s a lot of us. But when you have ADHD, it’s like your brain is begging for dopamine. Anything to get that little hit of feel-good. It’s not just distraction—it’s survival.

I’d say I’m about 80/20 these days. This morning I didn’t grab my phone right away. So, yay. Progress. But with no sleep, everything still felt ten times harder.

Let me walk you through what it’s like just trying to get breakfast.

First of all, I go downstairs and try to make myself something. But here’s the thing—I have a massive aversion to food most of the day. Like, I don’t want to eat. I barely remember to eat until I’m nauseous or feel like I’m going to throw up.
We could write a whole essay just on ADHD and food. But for now, I’ll just say—feeding myself is hard.

So, I make coffee.
While I’m making coffee, I’m also washing dishes.
And checking my phone.
And thinking of 8,000 things I need to do today.

Here’s a real look into the ADHD brain: it’s Monday, and I want to make a to-do list. Sounds simple, right?
But I’ll think of one task—say, “email Courtney”—and that reminds me I need to create a flyer. And then I remember I haven’t confirmed a venue. Which reminds me to text Clayton. And then I realize I never bought ice for this weekend. And then I open my calendar.
But I never wrote down the original thing.
And now I have five tabs open in my brain. And nothing’s getting done.

This is why I share from the middle.
From the process.
Not the polished outcome.
Because I think if more of us talked about this stuff—what it really looks like to live with ADHD, or whatever our thing is—there’d be more awareness, more compassion, and way less shame.

Especially for solopreneurs.
Because I run Free Life alone.
And I’m so grateful I get to do that. But also—it’s hard.

I was late diagnosed with ADHD.
And getting that diagnosis was both life-changing and painful.
It helped me make sense of so much.
Why I always felt like I was behind.
Why basic adulting felt like climbing a mountain.
And it helped me stop calling myself stupid.

Because for most of my life, I felt so stupid.
And shame? Shame is like the background noise of an ADHD life.
It’s still something I’m working through.
But I know now—I’m not dumb. I’m not lazy.
My brain just works differently.

Okay, so back to the day. I’ve managed coffee. Maybe breakfast.
Now I want to get outside and move. I love walking and running—it helps my brain, my body, my mood.
But even getting out the door is a challenge.

I watch my husband—who is neurotypical (thank God!)—just… put on workout clothes and go.
And honestly? I’m jealous.

Because for me, I see every single step involved in leaving the house.
Get the clothes. Find the shoes.
Oh wait, there’s cat puke next to the shoes. I should clean that up.
And then maybe I spill something.
And then I remember I need to order more trash bags.
And before I know it, it’s been an hour and I haven’t left.

And here’s the thing—some people might say, “Just don’t get distracted.”
But the reality is, if I don’t clean the cat puke now, I might not come back to it.
Because that task will disappear into the ADHD void, and I won’t think of it again until I step in it barefoot at 10 p.m.

So unless there’s urgency… or competition… or dopamine involved?
Tasks don’t always get done.

Which brings me to another pattern I’ve noticed: I overbook myself.
Because the only way I seem to get things done is if there’s an event on the calendar.
If I have a happy hour, or a meeting, or a pop-up—I show up.
But backend stuff like inventory, bookkeeping, emails?
Forget it.
Unless there’s a deadline or someone waiting on me, it’s really hard to make myself do it.

So I end up stacking my schedule with events.
Because those get me moving.
But that also means I leave no space for rest.
And today?
Today I don’t have anything scheduled. I did that on purpose.
And now I’m sitting here with a mountain of to-dos and no momentum to start.

That’s what today looks like.

If you’re reading this and relate to any of it—whether you’re neurodivergent, a small business owner, in recovery, or just trying to make it through your day—I hope you feel a little less alone.

You’re not lazy. You’re not broken. You’re just wired differently.

And we’re figuring it out.
One scattered, sacred, imperfect Monday at a time.

So here’s what I want to say:

If all of that sounded like I was complaining—I’m not.

Because yeah, ADHD is hard. But also? I’ve learned to stop beating myself up and start naming what’s true:

I don’t know if I’d call my ADHD a superpower, but here’s what I can say: it’s given me some pretty incredible gifts.

Like the fact that I can meet 20 new people at an event, hold space for their stories, remember the details of their lives, and still run the whole damn show.

Or how I can see patterns in the world—problems, gaps, possibilities—and zoom out in a way that feels almost effortless. I didn’t realize for the longest time that most people don’t think like this. But I do. And it’s how I built Free Life.

I’m a big picture thinker. A visionary. I can hold a massive idea in my head and feel where it wants to go.

Execution? Details? Not always my strong suit. But that’s why I have a team.
Shoutout to Courtney, my brilliant web designer, and Natalie, my admin angel—y’all help me turn the chaos into beauty.

So here’s what I want to leave you with—two things:

One, if you’re neurodivergent, if you live with ADHD, a mental illness, a chronic condition, or anything that makes daily life a little heavier—I see you. I’m rooting for you. I’m an imperfect founder and leader doing the damn thing, building something I couldn’t have dreamed of five years ago. You can do your thing, too.

And two, in the most neurodivergent way possible… I’ve finally named this Substack.

It’s been nameless since I started it in April because I couldn’t commit to anything (lol), but as of today, I bring you:

In Process.

Because that’s what I am. That’s what we all are.

These essays are a place to share from the messy middle.
They’re about being human, being real, and staying in the process.
Here, we’ll talk about mental health, ADHD, social health, creativity, entrepreneurship, recovery, cultural commentary, and what it means to build a better world by becoming better humans.

If that sounds like your jam, I’d love to have you here.

Please consider subscribing—and if you’re able, becoming a paid subscriber. It’s $8/month, and it helps me continue to show up vulnerably, tell these stories, and create space for a world that’s just a little kinder, a little more honest, and a lot more human.

We’re in process.
Together.