The person you call.

As neurodivergent women, we've spent a lifetime wondering why we make friends so easily and then go through them like the bread basket at our favourite Italian. There's a reason. We tend to spot the fake before anyone else. You can sit at a dinner party watching the table hang on someone's every word while, inside your head, the sirens are going off. You can't always explain it, but you know.

That gift (and it is a gift) can make real life lonely. If you're not comfortable with the quiet seasons, it's a long wait for the friend who is authentic and unapologetically herself to walk into your life, and stay. Then there's the small talk. My personal torture. I want to hear about your childhood, Brenda, not where in Aspen you spent Christmas.

We work out who deserves your energy, how to find the people who feel like home, and how to stop explaining yourself to the ones who never will understand. You are not the Joneses, and that is your strength.

When you've spent your life feeling like you don't quite belong, finding your person can feel impossible. You finally meet someone with the one quality the last man taught you was non-negotiable, only to find he has nothing else. You keep updating the list, and the man on it never seems to exist. Are you asking for too much?

Or you found him. You married him, you had children together, and now you're both running on empty with neurodivergent children in the middle. You've forgotten what made you both you. Meanwhile you're at events together watching couples you know are only for show, and still feeling envious, because they look connected. Together. And you don't feel it.

We look at how you love, what you tolerate and what you actually need from the person beside you.

You're often the most capable person in the room and the least understood. You observe. You notice the details. You know exactly what needs doing, yet the gap between knowing and doing feels a million miles wide, because you can't connect with your boss and, if we're honest, you don't respect them. You can do in an afternoon what takes others a week (them included; how did they even get the job?).

Then, as abruptly as a declined Amex, you lose a whole day to an email you can't face. Last week you were functioning at a level that surprised even you. This week you can't manage the essentials, and it knocks you off your axis.

We look at what's really going on and make work fit the way your brain operates.

The founder, the CEO, the woman running a business and a household at the same time. Ideas arrive faster than you can act on them, and the tabs stay open because you will get back to them, once you've finished this one. Except now you're through the grittiest part, the start-up phase, and you've lost interest. You can never seem to stay in maintenance mode.

I know why that is, and I know how to unlock that part of your brain. No, it doesn't involve shutting half your ideas down. You can do them all, and there's a way to work out how. This comes from a woman who once had so many ideas she overwhelmed herself. It still makes me laugh how our brains trip even us up.

Everything sits on your shoulders, and nobody sees the cost: the internal war that never lets you rest. We build structure around how you actually work, so the business grows without taking you with it.

Understanding the brains in front of you: yours, his, the children's, even the dogs'. Not that you aren't hyper-aware already. You're so in tune you have to tune out, because everyone else's feelings overstimulate you until the whole house ends up in the trenches.

Fair or not, it falls to you to set the tone and keep the house steady. It isn't fair, but it is true, so we build on it rather than fight it, and home stops feeling like a negotiation.

We look at what your child is communicating and what it stirs up in you. We look at what your partner is and isn't doing, and how to speak to his needs so you get the partner you actually want beside you. And we work out how to keep the whole family steady through the storms life inevitably brings.

Schools, assessments, tutors and the difficult decisions. I've been through private school, state school and home education, so I know what to ask and when to push. I've had every conversation in every setting: the head of a highly respected private school (more than once), the head of the "private school of state schools", local authority teams, child mental health services, therapists, ELSA. The list is endless, and exhausting.

I'll teach you how to speak so they listen, and what to do when they don't. Ever noticed how the parents who shout loudest seem to get their way, while the kind, understanding ones get pushed aside? I noticed too. I found another way, and it works better than both.

Your nervous system, your masking and the identity underneath all of it. Who you are, and what you want, once you stop running on empty.

There's the you who had a vision when you were younger, before the world made you correct yourself to fit the reality around you. Then there's the you who can't dream big enough, because the universe is abundant. The key is understanding who you really are, because the universe has an uncanny way of noticing when you're bullshitting, even yourself. When you aren't rooted in who you are, with your full chest, life adjusts to meet you there.

Commit to this work and you'll be shocked how quickly life starts to change. I was, and I still am. Every few months I do my own Life Audit, and it's never lost on me that the life I once thought unimaginable is the one I'm living. The bar keeps moving. Such is the brain of an ADHD woman, but it's never unappreciated.