Pathfinder Coaching

Traditional career advice wasn’t built for ADHDers—especially mid-career professionals navigating pivots, identity shifts, and burnout.

They’re handed rigid frameworks.
Told to “network more.”

They’re left overwhelmed by:

— Tabs.
— Dumb to-do lists.
— Advice that never sticks.

I created the Core 4 Framework™, a system designed for clarity, momentum, and sustainable job search success.

Together, we focus on:

• Clarity – Clarifying strengths and direction
• Cohesion – Building a brand that feels authentic
• Connection – Making networking natural, never forced
• Communicate – Creating original content that builds authority

Wins include:

• 100+ ADHDers coached through mid-career pivots
• LinkedIn profiles that draw leads and recruiter outreach
• Clear personal brands that open doors to roles that finally fit

This isn’t about fitting in—it’s about finally aligning with what works.

📅 Book a free chemistry call: www.pathfinder.coach/connect
✉️ david@pathfinder.coach

Career Coach

White Path Search

At White Path Search I leveraged an extensive network of professionals to help talented executive-level support find their way to the right career path. 

Through building deep relationships with my clients, I helped employers find and connect with top executive-level talent. My recruiting approach was relationship-centric, which was essential for building long-term, trusting, and open relationships.

Executive Recruiter

Green Key Resources

I led Green Key Resource's IT Division and, as Director, assisted in defining the firm's broader strategy for continued growth of the team in NYC.

Director

Career Group Inc.

Vice President, Full Time Division

Strategic Moves

Staffing firm specialized in placing telecommunications professionals with manufacturers, re-sellers, ISPs, and the financial services industries.

Recruiter

Royal Air Force (RAF)

Human Resources

ADHD Career Coach | Founder of Momentum — the 8-week coaching program built to get ADHD brains off the overthinking line and into a rhythm of task execution (even on low-energy days)

Starting was always the hardest part. I could see the work in front of me and knew what needed to get done. 

But getting off the line always felt impossible.

The more tasks piled up, the heavier it got.
I’d stall, not because I didn’t care, but because I wasn’t sure I could finish.
That stall cost me a promotion.

They gave it to someone from the outside.
I smiled through it, but inside, I knew I hadn’t done enough.
I didn’t know how to change it.

I spent 20 years in recruiting and HR. Running a full desk. Building teams. Closing searches from kickoff to offer.

Edtech. Martech. Hedge funds, PE, and asset managers who expected results yesterday.

That pace? I could handle it.
Last-minute scrambling was my superpower.

But longer timelines and steady execution?
Total kryptonite.

Then in my 50s, I got diagnosed with ADHD.
And suddenly, everything made sense.

Once I stopped trying to “just focus” and started building around my brain, everything shifted.

✅ Timers
✅ Systems
✅ Boundaries
✅ Automation

Not hacks. Just stuff that works.

Now I coach mid-career professionals with ADHD who are stuck at the starting line.

That’s why I built Persona™ — the world’s first AI job search engine for ADHDers.

It takes 80% of the work off your plate so you can get off the line, into motion, and all the way to completion.

For most of us, the real stall isn’t starting. It’s the dread of not finishing.
That fear is rooted in past failures and impostor syndrome.

Persona changes that. 

It builds in structure and support to see things through.
Small wins stack up, the dopamine hits, and finishing becomes the new normal.

And here’s the part that matters most. Persona is built around your actual speaking voice.
Everything you touch — your resume, LinkedIn profile, comments, content — it all sounds like you.

By the time interviews roll in, they already know what it’s like to talk to you.
You’re not walking in cold.

Through my 8-week Momentum program, I combine Persona with one-on-one coaching to help you get clear, get visible, and off the line — without burning out or pretending to be someone you’re not.

Because ADHD isn’t a flaw.
It’s just a different operating system.
Once you learn how to run it, momentum feels possible.

📩 DM me "Momentum" if you’re ready to stop staring at the starting line and finally move forward.

"You're too old."

I heard it at 48 when I became a dad.

Job seekers hear it again after 50.

— Different arenas
— Same verdict
— Same lie

The whispers weren't subtle:

— It's selfish
— You won't keep up
— She'll graduate before you retire

I became a dad anyway.

Last week, at 53, I walked my daughter Olivia into her first day of Kindergarten.

— Her wee hand in mine
— Purple backpack bouncing
— Skipping past the crossing guard

It hit me like a ton of bricks: if I'd listened to them, this moment wouldn't exist.

I won't end with a Hallmark card. Most do.

Because while I was rewriting the script at home, I was rewriting it at work.

I've seen talented people ghosted after 50.

— Resumes fall into black holes
— "Too much experience"
— "Not a culture fit"

Translation: ageism in disguise.

And here's the irony.

While the world was writing people off for being "too old," I was just starting to figure myself out.

At 52, I was diagnosed with ADHD. 

— Not a setback
— A complete reset
— A brand new playbook
 
It forced me to cut noise, build systems, and grow more in the last 5 years than in the previous 30.

Not in spite of my age.
But because of it.

So let's kill the lie head-on:

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗟𝗶𝗲: 𝗟𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗿𝘂𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝗮 𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗱𝘂𝗹𝗲.

➝ Career in your 20s 
➝ Children in your 30s 
➝ Promotions in your 40s 
➝ And retirement in your 60s

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗧𝗿𝘂𝘁𝗵: 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 '𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲.'

➝ I became a parent at 48
➝ I reinvented my career at 49
➝ I made 'no' my new default at 50
➝ I learned how my brain works at 52

"Late" wasn't a penalty.
"Late" was intentional.

At 53, I'm not "late."

I'm dangerous—because I finally know how I operate and I'm doubling down on it.

So no, age hasn't made me slower.
It's made me sharper.

And when someone says, "You're too old," I smile.

Because at 53, I'm just warming up.

P.S. What "late" move changed your life?

David Hannan

Girl Dad | ADHD Career Coach | Founder of Momentum — the 8-week coaching program built to get ADHD brains off the overthinking line and into a rhythm of doing (even on low-energy days)

My client, a Clinical Ops leader in biotech, just received a $320K offer because of this:

We've been working 1:1 to get clear on their next step after feeling stuck for months, plagued with overwhelm and imposter syndrome.

Before then, they had no clarity on their next move.

Their resume and LinkedIn told two different stories.

Every rejection felt personal, feeding their imposter syndrome and making it hard to keep going.

Networking felt overwhelming and random.

(which is fine, but not effective)

So what changed?

3 things:

1) Clearer, more specific career direction
2) A cohesive resume and LinkedIn profile

But this has been the wildest unlock:

3) A targeted networking strategy

Once their approach changed, they not only landed conversations with key decision-makers…

But they built momentum and started attracting the right roles without overthinking every step.

Before, their networking efforts looked like this:

- Applying to roles without tailoring their outreach
- Sending connection requests with no clear purpose
- Hesitating to reach out for fear of rejection or worse

Now, their strategy looks like this:

➝ "I noticed you're hiring for [role]. I'd love to connect and learn more."

➝ "After reading [company's recent news], I'm excited about how [role] can help drive that growth."

➝ "I'm currently transitioning into [industry/role] and would love your advice on how to break in."

See the difference?

❌ Less guesswork
✅ More intentionality

But that's not all.

We got crazy specific with their targeted outreach:

- The exact role they wanted
- The companies they cared about
- The decision-makers they needed to know
- The message they wanted to deliver
- The clear value they offered

This works because your outreach determines who responds and how quickly you move forward.

It's like a magnet.

Attract the right people and the right conversations, and it's only a matter of time before you get noticed.

Get it wrong, though?

You're spinning your wheels.

P.S. If you're feeling stuck and:

➝ lost in focus fog or panic loops
➝ unsure what career direction actually fits
➝ your LinkedIn profile leaves recruiters guessing
➝ drained on a search built for someone else's brain

I've opened up 3 spots in October to work 1:1 with US-based professionals to help them do just that.

DM me 'Momentum' and we'll see if it's a fit.

10 harsh truths I learned switching careers at 50.

Thinking about a pivot? Read this twice:

1️⃣ You're not too old to change.
But you are too old to keep pretending you're fine

2️⃣ Purpose doesn't just appear.
You create it through messy action and alignment

3️⃣ Confidence won't lead the way.
But it will follow consistency.

4️⃣ ADHD makes choosing painful.
Each option looks like the right and the wrong one.

5️⃣ Your old career isn't wasted.
It's raw material for your next chapter.

6️⃣ Focus won't magically show up.
You have to build systems that hold you together.

7️⃣ Motivation lies.
You need momentum, even tiny steps count.

8️⃣ You won't feel clear before you start.
Clarity comes after commitment, not before.

9️⃣ Reinventing yourself takes guts.
Especially when ADHDers like starting vs finishing.

1️⃣0️⃣ Progress will feel invisible.
Until one day, you realize how far you've come.

I learned these the hard way by breaking patterns I didn't even know I had. 

If I knew them sooner?

I would've spent less time overthinking and more time trusting the process.

Which one feels the most true for you?

Share below in the comments—let's compare notes.

ADHD Career Coach | Founder of Momentum — the 8-week coaching program built to get ADHD brains off the overthinking line and into a rhythm of doing (even on low-energy days)

I got locked out of LinkedIn last week for typing comments. By hand. Like a caveman.

Last week, LinkedIn decided I was a robot.

Not because I was automating. 
Not because I was gaming the system.

Because I had the audacity to do things the old-school way: manually typing comments.

Twice last week my comments were blocked:
"Couldn't post your comment. Try again."

On Tuesday, I was straight-up locked out, forced to re-log in, then confronted with this:

"We noticed activity from your account that indicates you might be using an automation tool, please review any tools you may be using to access LinkedIn."

And a big blue [Agree to comply] button.

Here's the paradox:

I love that LinkedIn is cracking down on the pods, bots, and bullshit "growth hacks."

These leech tactics have turned this place into a circus of fake engagement and empty vanity metrics.

But the algorithm doesn't know the difference between a spammer and a human who actually gives a damn.

And when the net catches the wrong fish, the fishermen leave the pond.

That's where this is headed.

I've been here for 15 years, doing it the hard way:

— Writing content.
— Commenting constructively.
— Building relationships one line at a time.

Not outsourcing my voice to a bot farm in Mumbai.

And yet… I'm the one getting slapped.

This is what happens when a platform solves one problem but creates another:

✅ Bots are getting crushed
✅ Pods are [finally] being targeted

❌ But creators—the people who fuel this place—are being treated like offenders 

Here's the painful truth LinkedIn needs to hear:

If your algorithm punishes genuine engagement, you don't fix the problem—you kill the ecosystem.

Creators will walk.

And when the people who actually contribute disappear, the lurkers follow.

Which means LinkedIn risks pulling a "MySpace."

Platforms don't die because of competition.
They die because they choke their own lifeblood.

I get it—LinkedIn has to clean up the mess.

But there's a difference between policing abuse and handcuffing your best users.

And right now, they're crossing that line.

I'll say it bluntly:

If LinkedIn keeps this up, the people who built this community will stop showing up.

And if that happens, we won't need an algorithm to decide what gets seen here.

Because there won't be anything worth seeing.

So here's my question:
Have you been hit by this yet? 
Warnings? Lockouts? Blocked comments?

Drop your story below 👇

(LinkedIn, if you're reading this, this is me, not a bot.)

"Interviews aren't tests. They're transactions."

Most ADHDers never get told that.

So they walk in to perform—instead of align.

If you're interviewing with ADHD, you've probably:

— Rehearsed "strengths and weaknesses" 50 times
— Googled "interview hacks" and spiralled at 2am
— Rewritten your answers like a screenwriter
— Still blanked out when it mattered most

Then: "Damn it. I blew it. Again."

But here's the bottom line:

If you got the invite, you're already the favorite.

— They saw your resume
— They saw your LinkedIn profile
— They stalked you harder than your ex

They already think you're good enough.
They're just praying you're not a weirdo.

And yes—your brain probably thinks you're one.

But here's what you need to remember:

— They want to like you
— They want to stop interviewing
— They're begging for a reason to say yes

So here's the mindset shift that changes everything:

"This isn't a performance. It's a compatibility check."

Next time you click the Zoom link or walk into that boardroom, take a breath and remember:

✅ You're not there to prove yourself
✅ You're there to establish alignment
✅ You're allowed to be the chooser too

Your job isn't to impress.
It's to observe.

— Can I work with these people?
— Do they respect brains like mine?
— Do they give me dopamine, or drain it?

𝗕𝗢𝗡𝗨𝗦: This mindset kills nerves instantly.

Because nerves come from performance pressure.

And what do ADHDers hate most?

— Vague expectations
— Social guessing games
— Masking to gain approval

So stop playing their game.

Start playing yours.

P.S. What’s your funniest interview fail?

I faked "fine" for 16 years in a career I hated.

People admired it but I wanted out.

I built a $250K/yr agency recruiting career:

— Top-biller. 
— Always "on."
— Trusted advisor. 

I knew how to win.
I didn't know how to stop.

Every time someone asked how I was doing,
I gave them the highlight reel.

— "Cracking on."
— "Busy but good."
— "Things are full-on."

What I should've said was:
"I can't remember the last time I exhaled."

But you don't say that, do you?

— Not when you're the go-to.
— Not when you're the safe pair of hands.
— Not when your success has become your mask.

The truth?

It wasn't the work.
It was the pretending.

And the pretending kept me stuck.

Until I finally said it out loud,
"I'm not fine. I'm running on fumes."

And just like that, the grip loosened.

Because here's the bit no one talks about—
Shame thrives in silence.

Say the thing, and it starts to lose its power.

I'm not here to perform vulnerability.
I'm here to interrupt shame.

If you're in it right now.

— Still pretending. 
— Still showing up. 
— Still playing "fine."

You don't need a mindset shift.
You need a moment of truth.

Say the thing out loud even if your voice shakes.

Then take a breath.
And let someone else meet you there.

— No performance. 
— No platform voice. 
— Just the honest you.

Because you don't burn out all at once.

You burn out by pretending you're not.

If this feels uncomfortably familiar, 
you're exactly who I wrote it for.

#ADHD #burnout #neurodivergent #jobsearch

ADHD and solo business don't mix.

So how'd I hit 6 figures without a team?

By confronting the parts that usually sink us:

— Burning hours on admin.
— Forgetting what's live with a client.
— Staring at a blank screen until the deadline passes.

That's the weight most ADHDers can't outrun.

That's why I stopped relying on memory and built systems that don't collapse when I do.

Here's what keeps Pathfinder Coaching steady:

𝗧𝗼𝗱𝗼𝗶𝘀𝘁 = 𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗲𝗳 𝗼𝗳 𝗦𝘁𝗮𝗳𝗳
— Every client milestone shows as a task.
— Deadlines roll forward instead of disappearing.
— The whole Momentum framework lives inside it.

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗚𝗣𝗧 = 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁
— Client workspaces that talk in their voice.
— Resumes, posts, outreach, 1st draft in seconds.
— Energy into judgment and editing, not blank pages.

𝗛𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘆𝗕𝗼𝗼𝗸 = 𝗕𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗢𝗳𝗳𝗶𝗰𝗲 
— Onboarding runs automatically.
— Invoices hit on time, no weekend chasing.
— Contracts, payments, and portals all in one place.

That's how I run a 6-figure practice solo.

Not because I hacked productivity.

I built guardrails that hold when my brain doesn't.

What's the one system you'd never run without?

My ADHD diagnosis almost wrecked my marriage.

Last August, I got diagnosed with ADHD.

— It was clarifying.
— It was deeply validating.
— It was also disorienting as hell.

I finally understood why I felt the way I felt.

Why I reacted the way I did.
Why life felt like drifting through fog.

So I did what a lot of folks do after a late diagnosis.

I went deep: 

Therapy. Meds. Reflection. All of it. 

Trying to make sense of this new version of me.
But in the process, I left those closest to me behind.

For months, I was obsessed with fixing me.

I assumed (without ever saying it out loud) that my wife and daughter would just... understand.

— That they’d know how to support me differently.
— They’d see my internal changes and just get it.
— And automatically adjust to this new version.

They didn’t.

Because I never actually explained it.

I got upset when my wife defaulted to old patterns.

Patterns that made perfect sense for the version of me she’d lived with for the previous 18 years.

But I wasn’t that version anymore.

And instead of helping her navigate that shift… 
I blamed her for not keeping up.

Same story with my daughter.

I was different:

— Less masking.
— More boundaries.
— Clearer expectations.

To me, that felt like healing.
To her, I’m sure it felt confusing.

The ADHD diagnosis was mine.
But the disruption was shared.

And it nearly wrecked what mattered most: my family.

So if you’re going through a late diagnosis,
ADHD, autism, CPTSD, whatever...

Please don’t make the mistake I made.

Don’t assume people will just understand.
Don’t expect them to adjust easily to the new you.

Bring them into the process:

— Talk to them.
— Let them in fully.
— Explain what’s happening.

Even if you don’t have the words yet.
Even if it’s messy.

Because if they love you...
They’ll want to understand.

But they can’t support what they don’t see.
🫶🏻 
——
Been through something like this?
I’d love to hear how you handled it—comment below.

"You're smarter than this. Why can't you focus?"

I heard it as a kid, just trying to keep up.

The classroom's gone. The echo isn't.

As adults, we still hear it—at work, at home.

– The words change.
– The confusion doesn't.
– The shame sticks just the same.

Back then, no one really knew.

They said:

– Try harder.
– Boys will be boys.
– You're just too sensitive.

Years passed and the language got quieter
but the feeling never did.

Decades later, it finally made sense.

Today is 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱 𝗠𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗹𝘁𝗵 𝗗𝗮𝘆, and it's had me thinking about what it took to get here.

This week, I paused to look back.

– Old report cards on the table.
– "So much potential" written in red ink.
– A kid who avoided crowds because he felt behind.

They saw potential.
I saw a problem to hide.

But I believed it for a long time.

While I learned to name the fog, I also learned how heavy it had been.

I've seen smart people carry that weight for years.
Calendars packed. Smiles rehearsed.

– "High resilience."
– "Great under pressure."
– Translation: running on fumes.

The world applauds endurance.
But endurance nearly broke me.

At 52, I was diagnosed with ADHD.

It wasn't a breakthrough moment. 
It was a quiet one.

It helped me see what I couldn't before.

People love to say ADHD is a superpower:

– Channel the chaos.
– Burnout means you care.
– Struggle means you're special.

None of that helped.

ADHD brains don't need pressure:

– They need space, not noise.
– They need calm before progress.
– They need people who understand.

Diagnosis didn't make me stronger.
It helped me stop fighting myself.

At 53, I'm not "fixed."
I'm learning how to look after my brain.

So, if someone says, "Just try harder," I don't argue.
I remember how long it took to understand.

P.S. How are you caring for your brain these days?

Made it all the way to the car for school drop-off.  

Still in my slippers.  

“Dad, your feet!”  
Olivia yells, pointing at my brain fart.

Classic ADHD tax.  

Here’s the contradiction:  

The same brain that forgets shoes is the one that can improvise and solve problems faster than most folks.

ADHD = screw up the easy stuff.  
Crush the hard stuff.  

That’s why we look scattered in daily life…  
but dangerous in the right role with the right systems.  

ADHD: disorganized daily, deadly when it counts.  

What’s your funniest ADHD tax moment?

The #1 reason ADHD pivots fail isn’t skill.  

It’s rambling.  

The pivot itself isn’t the problem.  
The story you tell about it is. 

“I’m trying to move into UX, but my background’s all over the place and I’m not sure how to explain it…”  

That sentence just killed your chances.  

— Not because UX is wrong for you.  
— Not because your background is weak.  
— But because you just came off as confused.   

And here’s the thing: 
Hiring managers don’t hire confusion.  

ADHD brains don’t usually overthink the pivot itself.  

They overthink the 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

— They pile on context.  
— They apologize for every detour.  
— And the story collapses under its own weight.  

You don’t need a better story.  
You need a shorter one.  

BLUF fixes this: 
Bottom Line Up Front. 

The military built BLUF for one reason: survival.

You say the conclusion first. 
Then back it up.  

Here’s the BLUF Pivot Script:  

1. Decision: 
“I’m moving into UX design.”  

2. Reason: 
“I've led adoption projects that drove 40% growth.”

3. Action: 
“I’m seeking roles where I can expand that impact.”  

Three sentences.  

❌ No excuses.
❌ No rambling.
❌ No apologies.

That’s how you sound decisive instead of defensive.
That’s how you sound like momentum, not confusion.

Where this works right now:

— Recruiter calls.
— Networking intros.
— Your LinkedIn headline.

Most ADHD pivots don’t fail because of talent.  
They fail because of talk.  

Stop rambling. Start BLUFing.  

Think your pivot is clear? Prove it.
Three sentences in the comments.

ADHD doesn't just make you forget follow-ups.

It makes you fear them.

Everyone warns you about missing follow-ups.

Few warn you about the hidden drain behind them.

𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁’𝘀 𝗼𝗯𝘃𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀:
— Typing the note
— Clicking send
— Waiting for a reply

𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁:
— Digging through inboxes to rebuild context
— Rewriting the intro 10 times
— Bracing for silence

That drain costs more than time.

It drains energy, confidence, and the will to try again.

Here's what's made it lighter for me:

1️⃣ 𝗧𝗼𝗱𝗼𝗶𝘀𝘁 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗰𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵
→ "Follow-ups" Project sections: Waiting, Due, Done
→ Quick-add tasks from Gmail so nothing slips
→ Due dates auto-roll if I miss them

2️⃣ 𝗦𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗶𝗢𝗦 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀
→ Three categories: nudge, share, thanks
→ Paste a starter, then tweak—no reinventing tone
→ Pinned so they're always in front of me

3️⃣ 𝟮𝟬-𝗺𝗶𝗻𝘂𝘁𝗲 𝗙𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗼𝘄
→ Timer keeps it contained
→ Start with an easy note to warm up
→ Batch 2–3 sends at once for momentum

Follow-up stopped feeling like a character flaw
once I stopped leaning on memory and willpower.

💬 Got an ADHD-friendly system for follow-ups that doesn't rely on brute force? 𝗗𝗿𝗼𝗽 𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗹𝗼𝘄.

Resume Roast ’24 almost broke my LinkedIn DMs.

So I’m doing it again.

Here’s the story:

Last time I launched a Resume Roast, I asked people to send me their resumes so I could rip them apart.

Not to humiliate them, but to give the kind of blunt, practical feedback nobody else will.

Truth is, I can spot flaws faster than most.
And then recommend the changes that matter.

As a recruiter, I reviewed over 100 resumes a day.

Almost half a million, and most straight to trash.

I know how fast resumes get sh*tcanned.
And that’s the reality people wanted.

Here's what happened next:

— 867 resumes flooded in (in just 1 week).
— My LinkedIn DMs turned into a sh*tshow.
— My inbox felt like drinking out of a firehose.

And then the feedback started rolling in.

— “Brutal. But exactly what I needed.”
— “I fixed mine and landed a couple interviews."
— “Finally, someone said what recruiters really think.”

The response was insane.

But DMs aren't built for this kind of thing.
Last time, people slipped through the cracks.

And honestly, it wasn’t fair to anyone.

This year, the Resume Roast has a new home:
Inside my weekly newsletter—The Imperfectionist.

And it's limited to the first 100 people who respond.

The details on how to enter will go out in this Sunday’s issue at 8:30pm ET.

Sorry, no backdoors.
No exceptions.
No DMs.

Subscribed already? 
Sweet, I'll see you on Sunday.

If you’re not, you’re on the sidelines.
Once we reach 100, doors close until 2026.

Join us before Sunday at 8:30pm ET if you
want a shot—link in the comments.

P.S. Don’t overthink it. If you’ve ever wanted the brutal truth about your resume, here’s your chance.

ADHD is real. But blaming it will keep you stuck.

I coach people every day who are carrying more on their shoulders than most of us can imagine:

1. Sitting in chemo chairs.
— Drained and nauseous.
— Still dropping comments and engaging.

2. Raising 3 kids while working full-time.
— Overwhelmed but showing up.
— Still sending follow-ups after every interview.

3. Unemployed for 12 months.
— Confidence battered.
— Still finding the strength to put in the reps.

All with ADHD and life stacked against them, and yet:

— Still building relationships.
— Still landing interviews.
— Still  getting offers.

I share this because I've been there too. 

I know how tempting it is to say:
"I can't move forward because of my ADHD."

I've made those excuses myself.

But here's what I've learned: 
ADHD isn't the villain.

The real enemy is trying to do it without rails.

Without a system, ADHD will eat your days alive.

My toughest clients—the ones with no margin for error—succeed because they lean on simple, repeatable structures:

1. Simple lists in milestone trackers.
— No more scraps of paper piling up.
— One clear source of truth you can't ignore.

2. Tiny non-negotiables.
— 2 apps + 3 human touches a day.
— Small moves that stack into real offers.

3. Intentional, targeted networking.
— Build trust through consistent engagement.
— Thoughtful comments beat resume hell.

And here's the deeper truth: 

If you're a parent, failing to build these rails costs more than missed opportunities.

— It costs time with your kids.
— It costs presence with your spouse.
— It steals moments from your family forever.

I've felt that guilt train myself. It's awful. 

But it's also the wake-up call that forces change.
This isn't about shame, but about clarity.

ADHD is real. 
The struggle is real. 
But let's not confuse struggle with stuck.

Struggle means you fight uphill.
Stuck means you quit and accept it as an identity.

Be honest with yourself. 

Ask the only question that matters: "How much are you willing to struggle to get what you want?"

The difference between ADHDers who land offers and ADHDers who spin for years?

One group builds excuses.
The other builds systems.

If you're tired of spinning, here's the call:

— Shrink the battlefield.
— Build rails that pull you forward.
— Stop romanticizing your diagnosis, build around it.

I've seen folks with every reason to quit win anyway. 
So the question isn't 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶? It's 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 you?

The pause you feel right now? 

That's the gap between stuck and struggle. 

Step into it.

I blew the warmest client lead of my career.

Not from arrogance, but disorganization.

That mistake is why I’ll never trust memory again.

The first call clicked.

— They said, “Let’s reconnect next week”
— I meant to follow up
— Never did

At first, I blamed:

 — Luck
 — Timing
 — Bandwidth

Truth was simpler:
❌ I never wrote it down.

That’s the hidden tax of ADHD.

It’s not just missed meetings or forgotten birthdays.

It’s the invisible opportunities, the ones that die quietly because you thought, “I’ll remember.”

You won’t.
Not because you don’t care.

But because your brain treats urgency and importance like the same thing.

— No triage
— No hierarchy
— Nothing but noise

That moment cost me a potential client.
But it gave me a system.

I stopped trusting motivation.
I started trusting structure.

Now, every client I coach gets the same framework I built for myself inside Todoist:

— One living tracker → every conversation lives there
— One recurring Friday task → Follow-up/Loose Ends
— One honest script → short, human, easy to send
— One rule → two follow-ups, then close the loop

That’s it. Simple. ADHD-proof.

Because systems aren’t about control.

They’re about protection—from rumination, from shame, from the noise that steals your attention.

That lost opportunity cost me a paycheck.

But it bought me peace of mind.

Now I teach it, so no one has to learn the hard way.

P.S. Ever built a system out of regret?

By Wednesday, your week’s already on fire.

Perfect plan. Empty tank.

Here’s how to build a week that works.

Sunday night feels hopeful.

— Focus sessions.
— Color-coded blocks.
— “This time I’ve nailed it.”

By midweek, you’re cooked.

Caffeine. Chaos. Calendar shame.
That’s not bad planning, it’s bad physics.

Your brain doesn’t run on time. It runs on charge.
And you’ve been managing hours instead of energy.

Try this instead:

1️⃣ Label every task by load
→ High = deep focus.
→ Medium = switching or social.
→ Low = autopilot.

2️⃣ One high-load block per day.
→ That’s your engine.
→ Guard it like payroll.
→ Everything else fits around it.

3️⃣ Schedule recovery like meetings.
→ Walks. Music. Stillness.
→ Not breaks, but refueling.
→ If it’s not on the calendar, it won’t happen.

Plan by hours, and you’ll burn out.
Plan by energy, and you’ll finally keep up.

Friction kills progress faster than chaos ever will.
And most of your friction isn’t mental.

It’s metabolic.

P.S. What’s the first thing that drains your battery?

ADHDers don't struggle with visibility.

They struggle with the pressure to keep showing up.

Let's talk about the kind that actually lasts.

After coaching hundreds of clients, I've seen clear patterns in what quietly kills traction.

And how to rebuild it before you lose steam.

It starts with small things:

– The post that never feels "ready."
– The comment you meant to add but didn't.
– The guilt loop when you see others posting daily.

Here are 8 ways visibility quietly slips away:

(and how to catch it before you lose steam)

1️⃣ Posting for pace, not purpose
– Quantity isn't credibility.
– Two thoughtful posts beat ten rushed ones.

2️⃣ Content over connection
– Most people scroll past strategy.
– Real traction starts when someone feels seen.

3️⃣ Comparing to algorithms
– The feed lies.
– No need to "win" at posting, just be remembered.

4️⃣ Chasing metrics you can't control
– Reach spikes. Engagement dips.
– Consistency wins because it's calm, not constant.

5️⃣ Ignoring recovery
– High-charge days need low-load balance.
– Protect the energy that makes you sound real.

6️⃣ Over-explaining every insight
– ADHD brains love context.
– But clarity shows up when you say less.

7️⃣ Forgetting the human on the other side
– Talk to one person, not the crowd.
– Write the message you'd actually send.

8️⃣ Visibility without rest
– Burnout hides inside your best weeks.
– The smartest rhythm is one you can repeat.

The clients who build real momentum share a trait:
They treat visibility like a system, not a sprint.

This week, try the low-drag rhythm:

– Two posts.
– Three comments.
– One direct message.

It's not about reach.
It's about signal and sanity.

P.S. What's the visibility trap that drains you fastest?

8-ways-ADHDers-burn-out-trying-to-stay-visible.pdf

Career coaching ADHDers doesn't work.

Unless...

They stop treating it like a subscription to motivation.

Most people don't want a career coach.
They want a dopamine dealer with a wand.

Here's what I see happen all too often:

— 4-figures on a coach.
— They get absolute clarity.
— Their LinkedIn profile slaps.
— They start building real traction…

Then?
Silence.

A few weeks later:

— "Been grinding out job applications."
— "Not much time for comments."
— "Just following up again..."

Translation:

— They defaulted.
— Back to sending cold DMs.
— Back to doom-scrolling job boards.

Back to habits that got them stuck in the first place.

They didn't quit.
They just stopped using the system.

And I'm not throwing stones here—
I've got two courses in inbox purgatory right now. 

$997 each. Never touched.

Because buying 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 like action.
But it's not.

We confuse buying with becoming.
We mistake insight for implementation.

Enter: Momentum.

Momentum isn't just another coaching program.

It's a job search system built for ADHD brains that can't rely on motivation:

✅ Clarity that makes "no" easy
✅ Positioning that speaks for you 
✅ Networking that doesn't drain you
✅ Authority-building content, no burnout
✅ Milestone tracker to hold us accountable

It's not a magic pill.
It's a rhythm.

And if you can't commit to the rhythm?
Don't buy the drum.

If your strategy is "hope it changes," good luck.
If it's "build a system that does,"
DM me "MOMENTUM."

In 2015, my calendar looked productive, but it was a graveyard of guilt and broken coping mechanisms.

I’d been a recruiter since 2004.

14 years deep in a game that worshipped motion—calls, placements, monthly targets.

“One more sendout.” 
“One more close.”

And yeah, I made it work.
Partner lunches. Record months. All that.

But behind the wins was a brain running on urgency and shame, barely holding it together.

In 2018, it snapped.

From the outside, everything looked fine—meetings, pipeline calls, even 'recovery time' blocked like a pro.

But it was a lie.

All that structure?
Just panic posing as productivity.

I wasn’t managing time.
I was white-knuckling chaos and calling it work ethic.

And the worst part?
It worked… up until it didn’t.

What finally changed:

- I quit fighting my own neurology.
- I quit blaming myself for burnout I'd created.
- I quit chasing motivation and built systems that last.

Now?

- I don’t rely on adrenaline to start.
- I don’t punish myself for slowing down.
- And I don’t confuse chaos with momentum.

Anytime I feel that old twitch to push through, I ask:
Is this solving anything—or just 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯?

Because I didn’t burn out from working too hard.

But from a system that ran only on panic.

P.S. What’s something you tried to outwork?

I blew the warmest lead of my career.

Not from arrogance, from disorganization.

That mistake is why I’ll never trust memory again.

— The first call clicked.
— They said, “Let’s reconnect next week.”
— I meant to follow up. Never did.

At first I blamed timing, bandwidth, luck.

Truth was simpler: I never wrote it down.

So I built structure that holds when I don’t:

— One living tracker
— One Friday reminder
— One honest follow-up script
— One rule: two tries, then close the loop

No more ghosts.
No more mental replays.
Just clean exits and steady wins.

You can’t outthink friction. 

You can only design around it.

P.S. Ever built a process out of regret?

Taplio

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