(Image: A poignant, artful representation of chaos, perhaps a cracked hourglass, or a silhouette looking at a stormy horizon. Or a composite image of Windsor and Bob Barker.)
It was supposed to be my year. Instead, it became the year the bottom fell out of my life. This may sound like a country song, but it’s not.
First, my perfect Maltese, Windsor, died of esophageal cancer. He was my shadow, my furry confidante for fifteen years. He lived to be 14-15, and his absence left a raw, gaping wound.
Then, the man I’d built a life with for fifteen years—my husband—left me. The divorce was swift, brutal, and utterly blindsiding. We’d been married for 15 years, and I rescued a dog right before it happened, before I even knew it was coming. One day, I was remodeling our home; the next, I was packing boxes, moving into a tiny apartment, alone. I’d never lived in an apartment with no job.
And then, my dad died.
Three pillars of my world, gone. Just like that.
I was alone, grieving, and trying to navigate a life I hadn’t planned. And then, the final blow: I lost my job.
My ex-husband and I worked at the same company. He was in the C-suite, having an affair. I was a contractor in events. My dad had just died, my dog had just died. Who do you think was going to go? The person who worked in the C-suite that was having an affair, or me?
I found myself unemployed, homeless, and emotionally shattered. Every morning, the thought of trying to find a job felt like pushing a piano uphill with my nose. My brain screamed “move!”, but my body was glued to the bed. The shame curled in my stomach: I was just lazy.
But here’s the truth that saved me: It wasn’t laziness. It was the deepest exhaustion I had ever known, amplified by a brain that already worked differently.
The Ugly Dog Who Saved My Life
(Image: A picture of Bob Barker, snaggletooth and underbite prominent, looking goofy and happy. Perhaps alongside a classic, beautiful Maltese like Windsor.)
Just before the divorce—before I knew my world was about to fracture—I rescued a dog. His owner told me he didn’t have a leash because he’d never been outside, and no dog bowl because he didn’t like dog food; he only liked McDonald’s (and didn’t eat the bread, don’t look at me that way). She said he would wail when he went outside because things flying overhead or branches would terrify him.
He was snarled, dreadlocked, and his underbite made him look like a perpetual cartoon character. His name was Bob Barker.
My ex-husband, in a moment of stunning insensitivity as I packed my life into boxes, looked at Bob and said, “You know that dog is ugly but I love Bob Barker. Bob Barker’s the cutest dog.”
He was ugly. And messy. And imperfect. And he became the sole reason I got out of bed every morning.
Bob Barker is everything my life became: silly, weird, playful. Not purebred, but ruddy and honest. He’s messy, just like my life, and he’s learning how to be okay with what’s around him. He is my sweet little Ewok gremlin, and he taught me that beauty isn’t about perfection, but about resilience. He is what got me out of bed every morning. He is honest and messy, and just like my life, he is growing and learning how to be okay with what’s around him. And he’s just so special to me.
When Your Brain Refuses to “Just Do It”
My father, a kind and brilliant man, went to his grave believing he was lazy. He struggled with initiation, with focus, with consistency. If only he’d known his brain wasn’t broken, but merely different. If only he’d understood Executive Function Deficits and the role of Dopamine Dynamics in task initiation.
His story, and mine, are not unique. Millions of neurodivergent individuals—especially those with ADHD—are told they’re lazy when their brains are simply wired for interest and urgency, not importance. Traditional career advice, built for neurotypical brains, becomes a cruel joke, leading to cycles of shame and self-blame.
Here’s what I learned, the hard way:
- Task Paralysis isn’t Procrastination: Procrastination is choosing to do something else. Paralysis is desperately wanting to do something but being unable to initiate. It’s a neurological short-circuit, not a character flaw.
- Dopamine is Fuel: For ADHD brains, low baseline dopamine makes initiating tasks incredibly difficult. The “Go” pathway in the brain needs a kickstart.
- The Shame Trap: Society’s expectation of “just push through” makes it worse. It’s like telling someone with a broken leg to “just run harder.”
Building a New System: JobCoffin.com
My world collapsed. But out of that rubble, a new purpose emerged. I realized that if I, a career coach, struggled so much with the neurotypical demands of job searching—the endless forms, the soul-crushing networking, the ghosting—then countless others must be suffering in silence, blaming themselves for their “laziness.”
I built JobCoffin.com not just for myself, but for everyone who has ever been told they’re lazy, unmotivated, or simply not trying hard enough. It’s built on the principle that your brain isn’t broken; the system is.
We replaced overwhelming dashboards with a Momentum Engine. We built ADHD-Specific Commands for instant clarity. We understood that External Stakes (skin in the game) are not a punishment, but a dopamine trigger for task initiation.
And yes, I wish I’d had a Quit Bot when my boss at UnitedHealthcare made my life a living hell. A bot to stand up for me, to remind me that honor and dignity are worth more than any job.
Your Next Step: Stop Blaming Yourself
If you’re reading this, and you’ve been where I was—staring at your screen, frozen, ashamed, believing you’re lazy—know this:
You are not broken. You are not lazy. Your brain is a supercomputer with a unique operating system trying to run software designed for a different machine.
It’s time to stop blaming yourself. It’s time to understand how your brain actually works.
Discover Your ADHD Work Style → (It only takes 2 minutes. And it might just change everything.)