I'm going to skip the hook.

Every course, every training, every "how to write a newsletter that converts" resource I've consumed in the last 18 months says start with a grabby opening line. And I will. Just not today.

Today: thank you.

Thank you for giving me your email address. For coming back week after week. For replying, for showing up even when the world outside your inbox is a lot. I don't take any of that for granted. I never will.

Forty issues. I still can't quite believe it.

This newsletter started as an experiment - could I actually write something people would want to read? That question had teeth for me. Before my ADHD diagnosis, writing was a beloved chore. I felt the pull to do it and then exhausted myself doing it, partly because I was trying to create and edit at the same time (hello brain, I see you), and partly because I was a woman masking so hard for so long that the effort it took felt like evidence I wasn't supposed to be here.

Turns out I was just undiagnosed. Funny how that works.

Here's the thing about finally understanding your own brain: it doesn't just explain the writing. It explains everything. The doing-doing-doing. The running in six directions at once. The frantic searching for the THING that would unlock success. That wasn't ambition. That was an undiagnosed ADHD brain trying to outrun itself.

A family member came through recently with some financial support that lifted a pressure I didn't fully realize was running the show. Background panic, is what it was. And when it lifted, joy came back. Lightness came back.

Smidge noticed before I did.

This week I stopped mid-day when I felt sick and actually rested. I did a podcast with my buddy Nicole where I couldn't get in for twenty minutes because my screen window was too small - she carried the whole thing while I quietly lost my mind trying to figure out why I couldn't get in - and didn't blow up about it, which, if you knew my old masked self, is its own kind of miracle. I did another podcast with a gentleman named Thomas who spent ninety minutes being genuinely amazed at my energy, at my age, in a space dominated by men half my age. Not because I had everything figured out. Because I showed up fully human and didn't apologize for it.

That's what being looks like. Messy. Present. Surprisingly effective.

And here's what I want to say about AI, because this is still that newsletter:

None of this writing would be possible without it. Not one issue. AI is my thinking partner and my editor. It takes the feral committee meeting going on inside my brain and helps me find the threads worth pulling. It handles enough of the administrative noise of running a business that I have space to actually think. To rest when I'm sick. To show up for a podcast even when I can't find the button.

The humans who will thrive in this AI age are not the ones who out-do the machines. They're the ones who double down on their humanity. Who bring their full, specific, irreplaceable human selves to every conversation, every connection, every moment of genuine presence.

AI handles the doing.

You handle the being.

Here's what I keep forgetting:

Being is not the reward you get after you finish everything.

It's not the thing waiting on the other side of the to-do list. It's not what happens when you finally figure out the business, or hit the number, or get the thing off your plate.

It's available right now.

The doing will always expand to fill the space you give it. Always. That's not a personal failing. That's just how doing works.

You don't find time to be. You choose to.

I don’t remember much of this past week (the gift and curse of having ADHD) but here are some links to things that either made me laugh, made me cry, or basically made me feel something other than stress.

Mango the Flamingo

A mourning flamingo. A horticulturalist named Travis. And the moment they walked toward each other until they couldn't get any closer. Watch it. I was genuinely teary and I'm not even a little embarrassed about it.

Turns Out Your Soft Skills Are the Hard Skills Now

Two minutes. Worth every second. Engineering is no longer the competitive advantage. Anyone can build anything if they can describe it in English. What matters now: storytelling, distribution, human communication. The skills you already have. The ones you've been told don't count. They count.

Weird Me In

"Weird me in" is my new permanent response any time someone starts with "I don't want to weird you out." A man asks about female anatomy, a midlife woman delivers. 11/10, no notes.

Partner of the week

Turns out newsletters don't pay for themselves. Who knew?

This week's partner helps keep the lights on (and if you give it a go, let me know what you think, k?)

Most ADHD apps are just glorified timers. Inflow is different - built by people with ADHD, backed by clinical psychologists, using CBT-inspired strategies. Learn to manage time blindness, burnout, overwhelm, and procrastination in 5-minute daily modules. Real tools, real change.

Take the free quiz

Claude Code has been one of the biggest level-ups in how I work. Not because I became a developer. Because I stopped drowning in the administrative detritus I avoid until it becomes a problem - and started actually shipping things.

The name is intimidating. The interface looks like it's not for you.

It is for you.

ROCO stands for Role, Objective, Context, Output.

Every week I give you a prompt built on the ROCO framework - the method I use to get actually useful things out of AI instead of generic word salad. This week I'm keeping it simple. No questions to answer, nothing to prepare. Just copy the prompt, paste it in, and let the AI do the work. Because sometimes that's exactly the kind of help we need.

Role:

You are a warm, direct guide for women who are tired in the specific way that comes from running on adrenaline and other people's needs for too long.

Objective:

Tell me one thing I could do right now that would count as actual rest.

Context:

I am a midlife woman with a brain that treats stopping as a threat. I feel guilty when I'm not productive. I will talk myself out of anything that feels indulgent, complicated, or time-consuming. Do not suggest meditation, journaling, breathwork, or anything requiring an app, equipment, or a cleared schedule. Do not give me options. Do not encourage me. Just tell me the one small, almost embarrassingly simple thing my body and brain might actually accept right now.

Output:

Tell me the one thing. Keep it short. Make it feel possible, not aspirational.

Copy it. Paste it. If you don’t like the response, click the retry button.

Works great in any free instance of ChatGPT, Claude, Perplexity, etc.

Friday, March 20 | 10AM CST - 30 Minutes
Friday Jam Session with Joy Prompt Club. 30 minutes. No agenda. Just prompts, play, and people who get it. Open to anyone who wants to join in and has questions or a problem they’re trying to solve.

Anxiety to Authority - 12 weeks, 10 senior leaders max, Tuesdays starting April 7. Me and Tiffany Flaming. $2,997. Not for everyone. Maybe for someone you know.

The Executive AI Edge - 90 minutes with me and Kate Sargent. $449. For the executive in your life who's nodding along in AI meetings and understanding none of it.

Joy Prompt Club - My favorite little virtual place in all the interwebz. There’s a discount link for 3 months reduced rate at the end of last week’s quiz.

You don't have to do more.

You just have to be here.

That's enough.

💜

Take care of yourself, take care of each other,

Deb

P.S. If you know someone who's been white-knuckling their way through AI overwhelm - forward this to them. The guide is free, no opt-in, and nothing in it will make them feel behind.

P.P.S. Hit reply and tell me: when did you last feel genuinely light? I read every single one.