A letter from the author
Dear reader,
The woman this workbook is for is sitting where you are sitting right
now, with the same tab open and the same Tuesday morning meeting in
seven hours. I know, because I was that woman for nine years before
anyone in a doctor's office used the four letters with me.
I was diagnosed at thirty-one. I had spent a decade running a strategy
career, four prescriptions for what seven therapists had been treating
as anxiety, an inbox at fourteen thousand emails, and a private
conviction that I was the kind of person who had to white-knuckle
adulthood in a way other women apparently did not. The diagnosis was
not a relief. It was a particular kind of grief that took eighteen
months to metabolize before any of the rest of the work could begin.
What I wish someone had handed me at thirty-two is the book you are
holding. Not a manifesto. Not a memoir. A practice notebook, with
twelve frameworks, with space to write in, with a protocol for the
weeks I would fail it — and an honest acknowledgement, in writing,
that I would. Because every productivity book I had read at that
point had been written for a brain other than the one I had, by
writers who had never had to live with that gap.
I have spent the last twenty-two years closing that gap. First on
myself, then on the three women who asked me what I had read after
their own diagnoses, then on a coaching practice that has run
full-time since I left consulting at thirty-seven. This workbook is
not theoretical. It is what has actually worked, in writing, for the
hundreds of late-diagnosed women I have sat across from.
A last thing. If you have already bought five productivity books and
they have not held, I do not blame you for being skeptical. I would
be too. So here is what I will promise: read Week 1 honestly. If by
the end of it I have not earned the rest, return it. I would rather
you have the right book than the one with my name on it. There is a
note about that at the bottom of the page.
The calibration begins where the trying-harder ends. I would be glad
to hand you the manual.
Martina Roswell
Bologna · June 2026