I've always said, "Business is the best personal development journey you can take."
I have three kids, I lift weights, I've run a half marathon, and...
I stand by it.
There is nothing that will push you harder, point out your weaknesses, force you to reckon with your own strengths, and force light into your darkest corners faster and more effectively than running your own business.
Before I figured out how to work with myself, I'd often find myself at my desk, crying into my coffee.
I would be dysregulated because of a rejection on a sales call.
Or I would be worried about finances because I didn't build up stable revenue.
I would lose track of a deadline or project and disappoint a client.
I would feel stuck and unable to grow because I was using generic advice and just couldn't be consistent, no matter how hard I tried.
Over time, I learned more about myself and what I need, and eventually, I built something more sustainable. I could tackle a new project without losing pieces. I could sit down to work every day and have a workable plan for what to do.
Getting a diagnosis as neurodivergent helped me change my goals.
I was able to break free from worrying about being consistent, being perfect, doing things the "right" way, following the "right" steps...
It released all of that pressure and allowed me to build something that fit me instead of forcing me to contort myself into something that would fit my business.
It allowed me to accept my own limitations and build for them, instead of thinking I was just one fixed character flaw away from an overnight success.
And yet today, I found myself here again.
At my desk, crying into my coffee.
The thing is (and you're getting the real honesty moments here) - business is never going to be easy for us.
I wish I could promise it would be.
I wish beyond all wishes that I could sit down, take your hand, and say "don't worry, friend - now that we know the differences, you just have to do 1, 2, and 3 instead of A, B, and C and you'll be right as rain!"
But I can't. Because it's not true.
Business is never going to be as easy for us as it is for the neurotypicals.
It will never be as easy for the people who are the support system as it is for the people who have the support system.
This will not be the last day I spend sitting at my desk, crying into my coffee, hoping that everything I'm sitting here doing is actually making a difference and that it'll actually be a real, grown up, sustainable thing one day, the way it deserves to be.
This will not be the last day I forget about every successful thing we've managed to do here because of object permanence issues, and instead, only focus on the problem in front of me.
This will not be the last day I struggle to regulate, to act, to focus, to do, to be who I need to be for my business to succeed.
Part of building a business that is sustainable for us is accepting this part.
Accepting the lumps, the down days, the dysregulation, the days where you have no spoons and the forks and knives have left, too.
This is the core reason why other business advice doesn't work for us.
It operates from the baseline assumption that you and I will be able to do the same things, day in and day out, like a happy little automaton, with very few exceptions.
That even on the bad days, you can show up, log in, do your thing, and then handle it later. "Set it aside" and "focus on what you can control."
Breaking news: we f*cking can't.
This is where the inspiration, hustle culture, push-harder influencers get cliches like "discipline is what happens when you don't feel like showing up" and "you just don't want it badly enough if you can't show up every day."
Today, I cried into my coffee. More than once.
And the truth is, you will, too. Over and over and over again.
We can't help it. Just like jobs and doctors' appointments and laundry and math homework and keeping up with our to-be-read pile and putting down TikTok when you're in a scroll hole are all harder for us...
... business is harder for us, too.
But.
Business is one of the few things that is really, truly, actually worth it.
It's worth the tears in my fair-trade medium roast.
It's worth the fetal position I find myself occasionally huddled in.
It's worth the moments of despair and anguish.
Because in my business, when I have these days, I don't have to mask and pretend everything is okay. I can just have these days.
Because when I'm done writing this email, I can go build a LEGO set for awhile to regulate. Which I absolutely could not do if I had a "boss".
Because I get to make a difference and have an impact on other people in ways that I simply couldn't if I worked for someone else.
Running a business as a neurodivergent person is hard.
But so is giving up on yourself and your dreams, and so is working for someone else in an unfulfilling job, and so is not having enough overflow in your finances to support your community when they need it, and so is trying to make yourself fit models and methods that weren't made for you.
Designing a business that only works for your best days is the hardest.
This is the one and only time you'll ever see me repeat this cliche:
Choose your hard.
Me? I'm going to keep crying into my coffee on the days that I have to, so I can keep enjoying the days that I don't.
If you want to learn how your brain works, and how to build a business that actually works with it...
... Even on the days when your non-fat caramel macchiato ends up a bit salty, or your cortado cools down while you sob, or your frappucino melts down while you melt down...
I'll hold your hand and show you all the reasons why the other advice you've been getting has never worked.
We'll rebuild your business from a whole different set of assumptions.
You'll create something that is accessible for folx like you and I (without having to make it unsustainable for yourself in the process.)
Frankly, you'll help remind me that this work is worth doing and that people want it, because today is a hard day.
We'll do the hard things together.
I'll bring the coffee.
- Cheryl
