I Quit

Last week, in the middle of an ordinary day, I did something extraordinary:

I decided I was done.

Not “done in a few weeks” or “done when it’s more convenient.”
Done.
Now.

I had planned to hold on for two more months—to play it safe, to give myself more time to transition. But something in me snapped. Or maybe something finally clicked.

After months (honestly, years) of pushing through a toxic work environment, enduring subtle digs, overt bullying, and the quiet daily drain of masking just to survive, I realized something important:

My nervous system was screaming for peace.
And for once, I listened.

Was I scared? Of course.

Walking away from stability—especially when you’re neurodivergent, disabled, or already carrying more than most—isn’t easy. The fear is real:

• What if I can’t make this work?

• What if I’m too late? Too tired? Too much?
  But underneath that fear was something louder.
  Relief.
  Clarity.
  Excitement.

Because what I’m moving toward is bigger than what I’m leaving behind.

I’m All In Now

I’ve always dreamed of creating a space like this—a home for misunderstood brains and deeply feeling bodies. A community that celebrates neurodivergent and disabled creators, uplifts each other’s truths, and makes space for real, messy, healing expression.

Now, I get to build it full-time.
And that changes everything.

I believe in the power of art therapy.

Not as a cute little hobby or a “feel-better” distraction—but as a proven, powerful tool for healing, processing, and reconnecting with yourself.
Art speaks when words can’t.
It holds when we break.
It tells the truth gently, but boldly.

I’m here to share that truth. With you. With everyone who needs it.

I believe in this community.

Neurodivergent folks aren’t broken. Disabled people aren’t inspirational props. We are artists. Leaders. Truth-tellers. Innovators. Survivors.
And we deserve spaces that don’t just accommodate us—we deserve spaces that honor us.

I’m here to build that space.
With art. With heart. With fire.

I believe in a future where we don’t need a month to be accepted.

Don’t get me wrong—I’ll celebrate Autism Acceptance Month with pride. I’ll shout about neurodivergent joy, creativity, and complexity all day long.

But one day?
I hope we won’t need a special month to remind the world that we belong.
Because we’ll already be embraced.
Already included.
Already seen.

So yes—I quit.
Midday. Mid-meltdown. Mid-decision.

And it may have been one of the most courageous, aligned things I’ve ever done.

Because I’m not just walking away from something broken.
I’m walking toward something beautiful.

And I’m taking you with me.