For the first three years of running my own business, I woke up at different times every day. Sometimes 7am. Sometimes 9. Sometimes 10, after a late night of.
I was 23 years old, sitting in a Taco Bell parking lot at 11 PM, doing math on the back of a receipt. Not fun math. The kind of math where you’re trying to figure out if you can afford…
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I bombed the most important conversation of my career on a Thursday afternoon. I was negotiating a raise with my boss — the raise I'd earned, the raise I.
I used to be a painfully slow reader. While my friends tore through novels in a weekend, I'd still be on chapter three by Monday. I loved books — I just.
My sister called me one Tuesday night in tears. Not sad tears — frustrated tears. The kind that come from years of being the responsible one, the reliable one,.
I turned 30 in a rented apartment with $2,000 in savings, a career I'd stumbled into by accident, and a vague sense that I'd wasted my twenties. Not wasted in.
My hands were shaking so badly that the audience could see my notes vibrating from the back row. I was giving my first-ever presentation at work — a 10-minute.
I used to think people were unpredictable. My boss would praise my work on Monday and criticize it on Wednesday for what seemed like the exact same thing. My.
I was 28 when I got diagnosed with ADHD. Not the hyperactive-can't-sit-still kind. The other kind — the kind where you sit perfectly still at your desk for.
