—or—”They Said ‘It’s Not You, It’s Your Social Skills” (Which Was Nice of Them)
You ever lose a friend so quietly, you don’t even know they left until you realize you’re talking to yourself in the group chat like a schmendrik in the void?
Oy, don’t get me started.
🧠 My Brain: It’s Not Broken, It’s… Just Very Specific
I don’t mean to be a social disaster. Really, I don’t.
But sometimes my mouth moves before my brain checks the menu. I’ll say something like, “You look tired!” thinking I’m being observant, and somehow it translates as, “You look like a matzah ball rolled through the five stages of grief.”
Listen, I got neurological flavor. My brain’s been cooked a little al dente. A few noodles short of a kugel, you know? And the world? The world wants everything medium-rare and neurotypical.
Feh.
💔 The Slow Oy Vey of Friendship Loss
These friendships don’t end with a bang. No yelling. No dramatic walk-outs. Just a slow fade, like a brisket in a dry oven.
First, they stop laughing at your memes. Then they “heart” your texts instead of responding. Eventually, they say things like:
“I just think we’re in different places right now.”
Different places? I’m in the same place I’ve always been—overanalyzing our last five conversations while eating cereal at 3 AM!
😬 What I Meant to Say…
People think neurodivergence means you’re quirky and interesting. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it means you say,
“Your wedding was…surprisingly not awful!”
…because in your head, that’s a compliment.
We don’t speak the same language. I’m talking in Talmudic subtext, they’re speaking emoji. It’s a miracle we ever connected at all.
✡️ The Postmortem Schmear
When a friendship dissolves, I light a metaphorical yahrzeit candle and do what every good neurospicy mensch does: replay the entire friendship in my head like it’s a Woody Allen film without the jazz.
- Did I talk too much?
- Did I forget a boundary?
- Was I too honest? Not honest enough?
- Did I accidentally insult their dog? (Again?!)
And then I eat something. Not because I’m hungry—out of respect. That’s how we grieve where I come from.
💡 Finding the People Who Don’t Mind the Weird
The good news? Zei gezunt, I got people.
The ones who get it.
The ones who text me back after three weeks like we spoke yesterday.
The ones who know I don’t hate them—I just got distracted by a Wikipedia article on Venetian plumbing.
These are my people. Not perfect. Not polished. But loyal like a deli that’s been open since 1946.
🥂 To the Friendships That Faded: I Still Love Ya, But You Couldn’t Handle the Mishigas
Maybe I was too much. Maybe you were too delicate.
Maybe we were both trying to build a bridge with different blueprints.
But if you ever need a weird friend who’ll remember your birthday two days late, analyze your ex’s love language, and send you memes at 2 a.m.? I’m still here. Slightly damaged. Deeply caring. Chronically overthinking.
Like a knish that fell on the floor—you dust it off. It’s still good.
I may lose friends, but I never lose the funny.
Dr. Jeff Levine
Once upon a time, I was an entrepreneur living on coffee, chaos, and crossed-out to-do lists. My brain? Basically a browser with 47 tabs open—and I couldn’t find the one playing music. ADHD was running the show, and spoiler alert: it wasn’t great at scheduling client calls. Every day, I woke up full of dreams… and ended the day buried in distractions, missed deadlines, and half-finished genius ideas. My business was suffering. My confidence? Somewhere between “meh” and “maybe I’ll become a barista.”
Until one day, I had an Aha! (or maybe an “Are you kidding me?!”) moment. ADHD wasn’t a curse—it was Accelerated Dynamic Hyperdrive. I stopped trying to be “normal” and started learning how my brain actually thrives.
Because of that, I leveled up — fast. I used ADHD-friendly tools, ditched the guilt, and found flow. I got more done in less time, made more money, and stopped doom-scrolling my self-worth.
Because of that, I launched Dr. Get in Focus and built the ADHD Mastery Course—for Millennial and Gen Z entrepreneurs and remote workers who are tired of burning out and ready to blow up (in a good way).
And ever since that day, I’ve been helping other brilliant, distracted humans turn their ADHD into a business-building, focus-fueled, dream-chasing superpower. With systems that work. With energy that lasts. And with way fewer sticky notes.