It's Saturday morning, and you set aside a clean hour to finally do it. Somewhere between the coffee and the passport drawer, the spice rack caught your eye, and now you're forty minutes into reorganizing it. No one asked you to do this. It has needed doing since 2024, and you're doing it beautifully, every jar wiped, every label facing out.

On the counter behind you, the laptop screen dims over the flights. Basil, rosemary, thyme.

You've done this before

You know the catalog, because it's yours. The fridge shelf that got scrubbed the morning of the tax deadline. The sock drawer, sorted by color, the weekend of the difficult email. The ninety minutes spent researching a better to-do app instead of doing the to-dos. The photo library from 2014, urgent out of nowhere.

The substitute is always real work, something you can finish in an afternoon with nobody grading it.

Around six this evening comes the part that hurts. The flights still unbooked, the prices a day higher, the kitchen gleaming, and you calling yourself lazy at the end of a day you spent getting real things done. Both halves are true at the same time: the work was real, and it was a decoy.

Underneath all that tidying, booking those flights carries a feeling you don't want. Maybe it's the prices you waited too long on, maybe the low hum of getting it wrong in front of the whole family, maybe only the weight of a thing that's been open since Tuesday. Your brain met that feeling and did the quick thing: it went shopping for a better one. Researchers call this short-term mood repair, and it sits at the center of what gets called procrastination. Everyone does it, and with ADHD it happens more often, partly because this brain gives less weight to a payoff that's weeks away. The avoidance is an escape from the feeling attached to the task, relief now, paid for later. And the spice rack sells exactly the feeling you needed: progress you can see, and nobody around to judge it. You were buying relief with the only currency you had.

Which means the spice rack project had very little to do with spices. Your brain was protecting you from a feeling, at the cost of the thing that mattered. The protection works, and the bill still arrives at six, with your name on it.

The move

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Now think about the last time a dull job got done without a fight. Somebody was probably nearby. A partner in the next room, a colleague at the other end of the table, the friend you sat with in the library at nineteen. They were not helping or checking, and nothing about the job or about you had changed.

We ran a version of that every weekday morning in August, our Get Sh*t Done sessions. They are coming back in October, probably within a couple of weeks, built properly this time, and before they do we want to hear from you. Three minutes, and your answers decide how they run. Below is what August looked like from the inside.

This week's worksheet, Your Body Doubling Setup, is the setup: who, when, and the thing you would take to the first one. Free for everyone this week, along with the whole issue.

Why the room works

The name for this is body doubling, which means doing your own thing while somebody else does theirs, at the same time. It is the least impressive idea in ADHD and one of the few that works on the first try.

It has been studied. In 2023 three researchers at UC Santa Cruz surveyed 220 people about it, 193 of them neurodivergent and 139 with ADHD. Over half of them said they were more likely to finish a task while working alongside someone else. What they described was company, less dread at the start, and a mild sense of owing something to a person who was not even watching. One of them called it being accountable to not follow the impulse.

It is common enough that people pay for it. There are companies whose entire business is matching strangers into fifty-minute working slots, and they run the same way ours did: you show up, you say what you are doing, you both work.

Our own numbers come from the first morning we ran one. Sixty-eight people were watching at once. Fifteen posted the thing they had been avoiding, and ten of them said afterward that it moved. We only announced it in our Substack chat and the app, so every one of those sixty-eight found it there.

What we do understand is the piece underneath it. An ADHD brain prices a consequence by how soon it lands, and most of what we have to do carries no consequence until much later, if at all. Nobody notices whether it gets started on Tuesday. A room full of people who watched you type what you were about to do, and who will be there when the timer goes, converts a private task into one where something happens in forty-five minutes.

The other half is quieter and harder to measure. Doing a dull job beside other people is easier than doing it alone, and it has been easier for as long as anyone has been doing dull jobs. Nobody needed a paper for that part.

The objection we hear most is that it should not be necessary. You are a grown adult, the task is small, and needing another person in the room to start a small thing sounds like something you ought to have outgrown. That reaction stops most people trying it, and it rests on the assumption that has never once worked for us: that wanting it enough should be sufficient. Nobody thinks less of you for keeping a calendar in your phone or owning an alarm clock.

None of this requires you to be seen. In our sessions you were a name and a task on a shared screen. Nobody appeared and nobody spoke. You typed what you were about to do, and at the end you typed whether it moved.

Things to try

Whatever the setup, name the task out loud or type it into a chat before you start, and name it exactly: I am renewing the car registration. A task named that precisely has edges you can find, and naming it is the step people skip before deciding body doubling did not work for them.

🥄 Use a recording when nobody is available

There are hours of footage of people working in silence, and it does a surprising amount of the job at two in the afternoon when nobody you know is free. It costs nothing to find out whether it works on you, and if it does, it is the version that is always available.

🥄🥄 Phone a friend who is also doing something

Not a chat. Call somebody who has their own boring job to get through, say what each of you is doing, put the phone down on the side with the call still running, and work. Twenty minutes. The bar for this is much lower than people think, and the friend does not need to have ADHD or to understand why it helps.

🥄🥄🥄 Set up a standing one with a person you know

The strongest version is the same person at the same time every week, because then it stops being a thing you have to decide about each time. Sunday evening, Thursday lunch, whatever is dead space for both of you. Trade what you are working on at the start, work, check in at the end, and keep it to an hour so neither of you starts dreading it. Six weeks of that will do more than any app either of you is going to download, and it costs nothing but the standing appointment.

Coming back in October

We are serious about this one. What these sessions give you is something outside your own head holding the shape of the morning: a start time, a room, other people working at the same moment. The Get Sh*t Done sessions are the first piece of something bigger we are making for Weasel members around exactly that, and we want the next version to be worth your morning.

August was our pilot, and it showed us the first thing to fix. We announced every session in the Substack chat and the app, and most of you read us by email, so plenty of you never knew they were happening. That one is on us.

So before they come back, we are asking. The survey takes about three minutes and works whether or not you ever came to one. It asks what the August mornings were like, what got in the way if you never made one, and what would get you into the next one. Take the three-minute survey. The sooner the answers come in, the sooner the first session goes live.

And if you would rather not wait, the format is simple enough to copy with two friends and a group chat. We would rather you did that than nothing.

This week's Apply It worksheet

Free for everyone this week. You will pick the format most likely to happen, name the one person, choose the task you would take to the first one, and write the sentence you will say at the start.

BUILD YOUR BODY DOUBLING SETUP

This, not that

Neurotypical advice: you need more self-discipline.

ADHD version: self-discipline is the thing you have been trying since you were nine. Borrow somebody else's presence for forty-five minutes and watch how much less of it you need.

How did you enjoy our newsletter today?

If this read helped you, pass it on: a like, comment, restack, or share helps more ADHDers feel understood and less alone :)

(Pairs with today's newsletter, You Will Do It If Somebody Is There.)

Free for everyone this week, like the whole issue.

Walk away with a time in the calendar and the task you are taking to it. Takes 5 minutes.

OPEN YOUR BODY DOUBLING SETUP

As always, THANK YOU for reading, sharing, and supporting this work every week. We're so grateful to have you here.

By the time you reach the gate the thought has gone somewhere much bigger than a photograph.

Patricia Sung is an ADHD Coach for Moms With ADHD, like a professional organizer for your head. As an Adult ADHD coach, podcaster, author and speaker, she helps the mom carrying everything rise above overwhelm and burnout, take control of their day, and build a life they love, in a way that works with their ADHD brain.

Inside this guest post, Patricia breaks down what to do in the hour after you realize you dropped something, and why guilt is the wrong word for having ADHD in the first place.

Maybe my kids would be better off with a different parent.

On the days that you lose the permission slip, forget to pack their lunch, or finally notice that your kid has been wearing the same shirt for three consecutive days… the frustration and disappointment stack up. When your bad habits, questionable choices, or poor memory affect your kids, the guilt and shame pile on. You may worry that they’ll hate you one day or need decades of therapy for your mistakes. You may be embarrassed by what others think, because if this is how you talk about yourself, what are others saying!? This stress prevents you from moving forward and your self-esteem dips more.

When you continually make mistakes that hurt your children, it’s easy to think they’d be better off with someone else. Even though you may know deep down it’s not true, how do you let go of the guilt and shame that weighs you down?

Let go of guilt and shame from ADHD

First off, ADHD in and of itself, is not a reason for guilt or shame. Guilt means you are culpable of or responsible for a specific wrongdoing. Seeing as you didn’t “do” anything to have (or not have) ADHD, you didn’t do anything wrong, therefore there is no cause for guilt just by having ADHD.

Shame is a painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior. Having ADHD doesn’t make you inherently wrong or foolish. Have I made my fair share of bone-headed decisions? Sure. But having ADHD isn’t one of them. One more time for those who doubt: You do not own guilt nor shame simply for having ADHD.

When you make your next mistake, here’s what you can do to work through the wave of guilt and shame that follows.

1. Humans make mistakes, including parents with ADHD

You’re not a robot. You are human.

You are not meant to be perfect. Remind yourself that you are going to make mistakes because you’re not a robot – you are human. Everyone makes mistakes, ADHD or not. It’s okay to make mistakes. In fact, mistakes are part of learning and growing. Yes, mistakes are uncomfortable. Discomfort is also part of being human. Congratulations, you’re still alive; you’re still growing and learning.

2. Admit you made a mistake

Let that uncomfortable feeling exist and fizzle out.

Next, admit you messed up. Ugh, yes, it’s another uncomfortable feeling! Let that uncomfortable feeling exist and fizzle out. Most feelings last about 90 seconds when we let the feeling take its course. Feelings linger when you ruminate or replay the feelings. You can make it through the 90 seconds with practice, by changing your reaction to mistakes. In therapy or neuroplasticity coaching, you can teach your brain to choose a different way of coping. You may want to have a catch phrase ready, like “It’s okay to make mistakes; it’s how I learn and grow” or “I’m a human, not a robot.” Be an Elsa and let those feelings go!

Side note: When you have made a lot of mistakes or when you were punished a lot for making them, you may have learned that making mistakes is bad, wrong, or unsafe. That is a coping mechanism that served you in the past. In fact, it may have served you well in an abusive relationship. I’m sorry that person treated you poorly. It is not okay for someone to treat you poorly, regardless of the situation. Please ask for help if you are still dealing with this. You are lovable and valuable no matter how many times you’ve messed up.

3. Find your calm

Find your peaceful spot.

Then, find your calm. Often when you’ve made a long list of mistakes, your autopilot goes to beating yourself up or feeling defeated. That doesn’t help anything, of course, but when you’ve always played that narration of how much you suck, you may not be aware that you can play a different soundtrack.

What would make you feel more peaceful and less stressed?

Would you like to hit pause on the soundtrack of suckiness and replace it with something better?

If you had a magic fairy wand, what would feel peaceful?

I have clients who imagine themselves sitting on the beach, walking through a lavender farm, or floating in a peaceful lake. Some feel a ball of golden light glowing in their chest or imagine their heartbeat slowing to a steady pace along with their breathing. Some listen to their favorite song or pretend they are breathing in the smell of crayons. There is no wrong answer. The goal is to find your peaceful spot so that you can lower your stress enough to access your critical thinking skills. The more imagination or weirdness you can incorporate, the better. ADHD brains love novelty.

4. Assess the damage and problem solve

Look at the mistake as objectively as you can.

Now that you’re calm and aware of the situation, let’s look at the mistake as objectively as you can. Consider:

What is the gravity of the situation?

Is it a major or minor problem?

How important or urgent is the issue?

Does anything need to be addressed immediately?

Accurate perspective on what damage has occurred allows you to choose the best next step.

Once any emergencies have been dealt with, ask yourself: Is there anything that is not permanently damaged that I could do something about? This is problem solving mode. Do your best to repair the damage. You may find it helpful to ask someone you trust for advice. You may want to ask the person affected what would help. Don’t guess when you could ask for the actual answer.

5. Admit your mistake and apologize

Ask for their forgiveness.

Lastly, admit your mistake and apologize to the person who was affected. When your child gets caught in the crosshairs of your mistake, ask for their forgiveness. They may not be ready to hear an apology, and that is okay. Their feelings are their business. Give them the time and space they need. It may be helpful to remind your child that they have every right to feel hurt, angry, sad, disappointed, etc., but hurting back (hitting, being mean, etc.) is not okay, nor will it solve the problem.

Admitting mistakes and apologizing are both muscles you can strengthen. You will benefit from this practice, even when the other person needs more time to deal with their hurt. Admitting mistakes and sincerely apologizing will strengthen any good relationship, certainly not damage it beyond the hurt that already exists.

Your child doesn’t need a perfect parent

Life isn’t perfect and when things don’t go your or their way, you are both building the skills to deal with life’s obstacles: persistence, perseverance, frustration tolerance, forgiveness, and grit. Teaching your child (and yourself) these skills is a tough part of parenting. Thankfully, when you want the best for your child, you’re willing to do the hard work of learning new skills. You are your child’s parent for a reason and they are lucky to have someone who loves them as much as you do, imperfections and all.

Curious if you have Adult ADHD? Patricia made a free checklist for Weasel readers of what ADHD really looks like in women and inattentive types.

How did you enjoy our newsletter today?

If this read helped you, pass it on: a like, comment, restack, or share helps more ADHDers feel understood and less alone :)

You said yes. It did sound reasonable and you understood every part of it.

Five minutes after the call ends you send the revised numbers, because that’s the one you were still holding. The client is theirs. The fourteenth is gone. And the fourth thing is gone so completely that all you have left is a vague sense that there was a fourth thing.

Where the other three went

You weren’t being careless on that call. A spoken list sits in the most fragile place our brains have, and acting on the first item clears the rest.

The thing holding those three items has a name and a known size. Working memory is the small amount of information any of us can keep live at once without writing it down, and it’s smaller for us. A review pulling together thirty-eight studies of adults found the deficit holds into adulthood, across both the part that keeps hold of words and the part that keeps hold of what things look like. Not a childhood problem anybody grows out of.

A spoken list is the worst case for that store. Nothing is written down, nothing is in front of you, and the only thing keeping it there’s you holding on to it, going over it quietly while they carry on talking. Let go for a couple of seconds and it’s gone. Meanwhile the person talking has moved on to the next sentence, which arrives and takes up room. Below is the same head twice, once while the call is running and once a minute after you act on the first thing.

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(Pairs with today’s newsletter, You Left With One of the Four Things.)

Walk away with one place everything lands and a sentence that catches the rest, so you stop finding out a week later. Takes 5 minutes.

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You’re going to call. You’ve been going to call since March.

The loop you’re actually in

A random Monday goes like this.

You think about calling. Something pulls you sideways before you pick up the phone, and it’s never anything dramatic, it’s the dishwasher or a work message or the fact that you should probably eat something first. An hour goes past. You remember, and something drops in your stomach, because you meant to and you didn’t.

By Thursday it sits heavier. Not because anything happened, but because you’ve added another day of meaning to. You start to feel like somebody who doesn’t call their friends, and that’s a worse thing to be than somebody who forgot, so the next time the thought arrives it brings the whole verdict with it. Bad friend. Seven months. What’s wrong with you.

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You bought this one on the first. For eight days it was the best thing in the house. You wrote in it every morning before you did anything else, you color-coded the tabs, you worked out what to do about weekends, and you told somebody about it at dinner.

Three weeks in, and the only reason it’s in your hand is that you’re finding somewhere to put it.

Nothing went wrong

You didn’t run out of discipline in week two. The system stopped working on a schedule, and the schedule is the useful part.

New is fuel for our brains. When adults with ADHD are offered something they have never seen next to something familiar, they reach for the new one more often than other people do, and it shows up the first time they’re asked to choose. The notebook was an unfamiliar system, and unfamiliar was the ingredient we were buying. Same for the app you downloaded in March and the wall planner from the January before that.

That first week runs on real fuel. The tabs, the morning routine, telling somebody about it, all of it’s the fuel doing its job, and it felt like commitment because it felt easy. Fuel feels like that from the inside, which makes the first week the worst possible time to judge whether a system suits you. Everything works on day two. Below is what the next four weeks do, with the fuel dropping away and the amount the routine actually needs holding flat.

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(Pairs with today’s newsletter, The Reset That Dies in Week Three.)

Walk away with the smallest version of your system and a date to reshuffle it, so week three stops being where things end. Takes 5 minutes.

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Maybe there was a subject you were good at, one you would have read about at midnight without being asked, while everything else went unopened in your bag. Nobody put those two facts next to each other, because nobody in that room had the word for it, including the teacher who wrote it and your parents and you. So everyone reached for what was available, and every single one of them was about your character.

It didn’t stop when you left that table. At nineteen a tutor told you that you had the ability and needed the discipline. At twenty-six a manager wrote scattered in a review, kindly, the way somebody mentions the weather. By then you had built your own scaffolding around it, the alarms and the lists and arriving forty minutes early for everything, and nobody read any of that as a workaround, because nobody had told you there was anything to work around.

The words that were available

Lazy. Careless. Scattered. Daydreamer. Distracting the others. Head in the clouds. Not applying yourself. So bright, if only.

None of those describe a brain. All of them describe a person who has chosen something, and the choice they describe is always the same one: that you could have done it properly and didn’t bother. That’s the sentence underneath every one of them, and you heard it for thirty years before anyone offered you a different one.

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Sorting it meant deciding where things should actually live, which meant the cabinet above it, so you emptied that too. Then you were sketching where the cabinet should go. Then where the sink should go.

The tea went cold at your elbow. At some point the light in the kitchen changed and you didn’t look up. When you finally did it was dark outside, you hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and there were four sheets of measured drawings on the table for a kitchen you don’t have.

The drawer was still upside down on the counter.

The part that says stop

Everybody else calls this being distracted. However, you were concentrating harder than you have all week. The word is wrong, and it’s been wrong the whole time.

There’s a name for the state and a measure for it. Researchers who built one for adults aged eighteen to seventy describe hyperfocus as six things happening at once: losing track of time, not noticing the world around you, ignoring what your body needs, finding it hard to stop and switch, being fully absorbed, and getting stuck on small details. People with more ADHD traits scored higher on all of it, and people with a diagnosis scored higher again.

Read that list back. Every one of those is something you’ve apologized for, most of it to somebody who found you three hours later.

The first item is the one that makes the rest possible. You didn’t decide to spend four hours on this. Four hours wasn’t a thing that existed while it was happening. There’s no moment in the middle where the clock turns up and offers a choice, which is why resolving to be more careful next time has never worked for any of us. None of us can make a decision inside a state where the information we would need has gone.

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(Pairs with today’s newsletter, You Looked Up and It Was Dark.)

Walk away with a brake you set in advance and a safe place for the overrun to land, so the evening stops disappearing. Takes 5 minutes.

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You wrote it in June with the back door open and the evening still going at nine o'clock. It’s September now and every line on it is exactly where you left it.

What you were really writing

Read it again and notice that almost nothing on it is a task.

Clear the room isn’t a task. It has no start, no end, and no moment where anything is different afterward. The same goes for get back into the garden, and for be better about calling people. What you wrote in June was a description of a person. Somebody who organizes the trip. Somebody who grows tomatoes. Somebody who has a room they can walk into without turning the light off again.

That person is real. That’s you on a good week, and you’ve been them before, which makes the list so easy to write and so impossible to start.

There’s a second thing working against you, and it has nothing to do with wanting it. Our sense of how much time has gone by, and how much is left, runs differently from everybody else's. Estimating an interval, holding on to how long something took, managing the hours inside a day, all of it takes more from us than it takes from the person next to us.

So the summer never announced itself. There was no Tuesday in late July that arrived as information, six weeks gone and six to go. It was June, and then it was the week the school emails started, and the list on the fridge hadn’t moved because nothing had ever told you it was time.

Why the list survives

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You’re up out of the chair and waving through the window before you’ve decided anything. By tonight you’ll have labeled the kitchen boxes so the mugs are findable, worked out where the truck can sit without picking up a ticket, and stayed until the bed is together. Nobody has to ask you twice.

The tax folder is open on the desk behind you, where it’s been since April with the papers exactly as you left them. The extension runs out in six weeks. You sat down to it fifteen minutes ago. Then the truck turned up, and you were gone.

Helping your friend will take the whole day and both knees. The folder would take less than one afternoon. One of them is already happening. The other one you haven’t been able to start. That’s the part that has never made sense.

What their thing had

You care about the tax folder. That was never the question. What separates it from helping your friend is that helping your friend arrived with a date on it.

Our brains price a consequence by how soon it lands. Waiting isn’t a neutral thing to sit inside, and for people with ADHD the delay itself registers as unpleasant, with getting out from under it working as its own reward. So a consequence sitting six weeks away barely registers as a consequence at all. It reads as information.

When something brings the consequence close, our performance shifts in ways that show up on a stopwatch. People with ADHD given an immediate payoff on a timing task performed the same as everyone else, and the gap closed. What moved was the part that depended on the payoff being near, which is precisely the part your own tax folder is missing. Below is the same task written down twice, once on a list where nothing says when, and once inside a week where it has a day.

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(Pairs with today’s newsletter, You Can Do It for Anyone Except Yourself.)

Walk away with a day, a first move and one person who knows, so the thing that never moves finally does. Takes 5 minutes.

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For most of your life, this part was a someday. Retirement, the whole second half of your life, all of it sat somewhere far ahead. It was going to happen, but not for a long time, and you would deal with it when you got closer. There was always going to be time to make a plan and get ready.

When you did think about it, it came as a vague, comfortable picture. Somewhere down the line you would have it together. The house sorted, a plan in place, more time and less on your plate. You trusted that version of yourself to handle everything you were not handling now.

And it stayed far ahead, right up until it didn’t. You were living inside the regular days, the work and the family and the hundred things in front of you, and the far-off future stayed right where it was. Then you looked up one day and it was not far off anymore. You were in it, and you were not sure when that happened.

You always meant to get ready

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He listened for a minute. Then he told you that you’d raised a family and held down a career, that everyone gets forgetful, and that what you were describing sounded like stress.

You folded the folder back up and thanked him. The part that stung came later, on the drive home, when his doubt slid over into yours: maybe you’d gone looking for a label, maybe you’d made the whole thing up.

There’s a 5-minute worksheet at the end of this newsletter called The Proof You’ve Been Carrying. It helps you write down everything you’ve struggled with since childhood, all in one place, so the next time you wonder if you made it up, you can look at it and see that you didn’t.

Why nobody saw it

His doubt was not proof that you were wrong. He was trained to spot ADHD in one kind of person, a hyperactive little boy, and you look nothing like that boy.

For a long time, ADHD was studied in the kids who caused trouble, the boys bouncing off the walls in class, so the research was built on them. The quiet version, the one that never disrupts anyone, barely got looked at. So a doctor pictures that loud boy, sees a calm woman in front of him, and decides there is nothing there.

There is a second reason too: you spent your life working around it, with lists and arriving early and double-checking everything. Women with ADHD often cope better than the boys ever did, well enough that no one saw the struggle. And the better you managed, the more it looked like nothing was wrong.

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In this worksheet, you’ll gather what you’ve struggled with since childhood into one place, and see how far back the pattern really goes.

It pairs with this week’s newsletter on why nobody believed you needed a diagnosis.

See your whole pattern in one place, so the next time you wonder if you made it up, you have the answer in front of you. Takes 5 minutes.

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Ten minutes later, Carol says maybe the sale should be on a Saturday, to catch the market crowd. Everyone likes it. Someone says great idea and writes it down.

You look down at your notepad, where you wrote Saturday twenty minutes ago. You said it out loud to the whole room. No one picked it up until Carol said the same thing.

It happens everywhere

It’s not just the committee. The same thing happens at dinner, when you start a story and someone talks over the end of it. It happens at lunch with friends, when you answer a question and the talk keeps going like you hadn’t. It happens with family, when you say something to your daughter and an hour later she hears the same thing from someone else.

You’ve seen this your whole life. You start to say something, and the chance to talk passes before you get it out. After a while, you start to think it’s about you. Maybe you’re just easy to talk over.

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You’ve been called too sensitive since you were a girl, and difficult on the days you asked someone to turn it down, so you stopped asking and learned to white-knuckle your way through the noise.

There’s a 5-minute worksheet at the end of this newsletter called The Things You’ve Been Putting Up With. It walks through the sounds, textures, and rooms that wear you down without you noticing, so you can see how much you’re dealing with in a day instead of pushing through it and wondering why you’re worn out by dinner.

Why the hum won’t leave you alone

A sound or a feeling has to be strong enough before your brain notices it, and for most people that takes a lot, so the fridge hum, the tag in your collar, and the voices across the table are easy to ignore. For us it takes less. You notice the things other people tune out and keep noticing them all day, something researchers call sensory sensitivity, one of the most consistent things they find in ADHD.

This isn’t something that arrived with age, and it isn’t you getting fussier as you get older. You’ve been this way your whole life. It’s part of your ADHD, the same as everything else, and it doesn’t fade with age the way people assume it will.

What has changed over the years is how much you’ve had to push through. At work with the phones ringing, at home with the kids and the noise, you dealt with all of it and figured everyone else was dealing with the same thing.

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