How I almost built a $250k business after getting diagnosed with ADHD

Being a neurodivergent founder may have been my greatest business advantage, but only because I had the right support, the right systems and most importantly, the right co-founder to balance me.

I built a business that worked with my brain—not against it—and embracing that helped me scale to over more than $19,000 (£15,000) monthly recurring revenue, doubling revenue in a matter of months. But then my business partner left me and everything unraveled.

ADHD diagnosis in adulthood: the turning point

Before the diagnosis, my business was just barely surviving. I had great client results but chaos behind the scenes kept me in a state of low-level panic. I kept missing deadlines and forgetting invoices (this still happens, which is why I’m building a whole business around it.

Productivity hacks didn’t stick and planning systems fell apart.

Everything made sense once I finally got an adult ADHD diagnosis. The procrastination, hyperfocus (on all the wrong things) and inconsistent energy weren’t personal failures. These were the ways my neurodiversity were showing up.

Over 10 million adults in the U.S. have ADHD, many of them undiagnosed until well into adulthood. That late discovery often comes after years of burnout or underperformance in traditional jobs.

This isn’t just a personal story. The data backs it up:

• 96% of neurodivergent founders report experiencing discrimination
• 78% have hidden their condition in professional settings
• 64% said entrepreneurship was the only sustainable way to earn a living
• 67% believe neurodivergence makes them better at business
• 45% of C-suite executives identify as neurodivergent

(Source: TEN Entrepreneurs, UNLEASH)

What ADHD medication did for my business

I’ll be real. I was hesitant to try meds.

Would they dull my creativity? Would I feel like myself? It turns out I just felt more me, but with less static, less chaos, and more access to the good stuff.

Suddenly, I wasn’t fighting my brain to write proposals or set boundaries. I had the mental space to think, create, and follow through. That change helped me go from surviving to scaling—with less stress and more intention.

I’m not giving medical advice here, just speaking from my own experience. So if you're navigating this yourself, talk to a licensed psychiatrist. The proper treatment plan—with or without medication—can change the game for you and your business.

Building a business that works with a neurodivergent brain

Here’s where everything shifted: I stopped trying to run a business like a neurotypical founder.

Instead of forcing myself into a structure that didn’t fit, I redesigned my operations around how my brain works.

• Lean into hyperfocus: I batch content and strategy sessions during my high-focus windows.
• Automate everything boring: Invoicing, onboarding, scheduling—it’s all handled by tools like FreelancerPlanning and Hubspot CRM.
• Keep it visual: My planning system includes Akiflow and a notebook
• Protect recovery time: Downtime equals surftime.

If you’re neurodivergent, this part is crucial: Build a brain-aligned business model—not just industry-approved.

The sales strategy that changed everything

One of my biggest “superpowers”? I can jump on a 30-minute call and spot exactly what’s wrong in someone’s business.

I used to think this made me weird. Now, it’s the core of my sales process.

I offer short, low-pressure exploratory calls where I diagnose their business bottlenecks. Then I lay out solutions—no fluff, no pitch. They can take the plan and run with it, or hire me to implement.

Here’s what happens next:

• They trust me.
• They see my value before signing anything.
• They’re more likely to come back when they’re ready to invest.

Call it neurodivergent intuition, pattern recognition or just strategic empathy. It works.

Every great founder needs a counterpart

Since starting my career at an app agency in Shoreditch, I’ve worked with dozens of founding teams—tech startups, design studios, and product labs. And what is the one pattern I’ve seen across every successful client I’ve ever worked with.

They always had two brains in the mix.

One founder is the visionary: wildly creative, constantly iterating, pushing new ideas into the light. The other is the anchor: operational, organized, deeply grounded in delivery and structure.

It’s not about roles. It’s about rhythm.

If you're neurodivergent, this is especially critical. You need someone who complements—not duplicates—your strengths. Someone to counterbalance your chaos, or shake up your structure.

If you’re the idea machine (ADHD/ADD), you need the person who keeps the trains running. If you’re a systems thinker, you need someone who breaks the rules in just the right way.

Every great founder does—especially the neurodivergent ones.

This isn’t a cute analogy. It’s practical. It’s protective. It’s what helps you stay in your zone of genius without burning out trying to cover everything else.

What Happened When I Lost My Co-Founder

People don’t usually share this part when they tell their “how I made it” story. I have by no means made it: Here’s what happens when something breaks.

Right around the time things were finally flowing, COVID-19 happened, I lost my co-founder, the business.

No messy drama. No blowout. Just a shift—different visions, different energy, life pulling in separate directions. But the impact? Massive.

See, I’m the creative brain. The fast-mover. The “let’s build this thing at 2AM because I feel it” kind of founder. They were my structure. My steady. The grounded brain. Batman to my Robin. Or maybe I was Batman to their Robin. Either way—we were complementary.

When we parted ways, everything felt heavier. The fun stuff got harder. The back-end stuff got impossible, and it was my responsibility. I started forgetting again. Dropping the ball. Losing steam. I was suddenly trying to carry a two-brain business with just one brain.

Where I am now

Truth is, I didn’t see it coming. One minute, we were building something powerful—aligned, in sync and growing. The next, my co-founder was gone. Different visions. Different energy. No dramatic exit, just a slow fade that left me staring at a business that suddenly felt too big for one person to carry.

It was disorienting—not just emotionally but operationally. The roles we naturally filled without thinking were gone. The balance of big ideas and execution, momentum and restraint, was thrown off. And when you’re a neurodivergent founder, that shift doesn’t just hit hard; it hits everywhere: focus, energy, confidence, systems—all of it.

Losing my co-founder forced me to rebuild with intention. I had to figure out what I could carry and what I simply couldn’t. I had to build systems I could actually stick to, with real tools like Freelancer Planning that are designed for brains like mine, not just business-as-usual templates.

It made me a better leader—and a more honest one. And yes, a bit more cautious—but also more aligned. So if you're in that phase—where something's broken, or someone’s left, or you’re realizing you can’t hold it all together solo—this is your permission slip:

Pause. Get support. Find your counterpart.

Let’s be real: even neurodivergent founders need structure—especially the wildly creative ones. If your brain is your superpower, these rules help you wield it, not burn out from it.