A little over two years ago, I was lying in bed—literally. For almost a year. Not because I was lazy, not because I didn’t care, but because I was done. Burned out. Checked out. Utterly soul-crushed by a life that looked “successful” on paper but felt like emotional sandpaper every single day.
And this wasn’t just a funk. This was my 30th birthday. The big 3-0. I should’ve been celebrating. Instead, I made a vow: this would be my year of juxtaposition. I was at rock bottom, which meant I had nothing left to lose—and that, strangely enough, felt like freedom.
When You Have Nothing to Lose, You Can Finally Be Honest
That’s when I stumbled into a few Dan Koe videos—talking about spirituality through business, about writing as a tool for personal liberation. It hit me like a lightning bolt: I’d been silencing myself for years. I never shut up about tech and how we can use it to automate the BS in our lives so we can actually go outside, touch grass, and hang out with people we love. But I’d never fully owned that voice.
So, on that birthday, I started a weekly writing ritual. Long-form, unfiltered content. Every week, I’d pick one hot take, one obsession, one gnarly question I couldn’t stop thinking about—and I’d write a newsletter. No strategy. No SEO. Just honesty and commitment to myself. And slowly, something wild happened: I came back to life.
Writing Was the First Step Toward Reclaiming My Voice
You see, back in 2017, I’d actually quit a crypto YouTube channel because of the relentless sexism. It wrecked me. I didn’t feel safe in public spaces anymore. That experience had buried my voice. But every newsletter I sent out chipped away at that fear. I began to feel stronger, sharper. I learned to think critically and articulate what I believed, not just what I thought would get clicks.
That’s what gave me the confidence to show up on Instagram. To hit “post” on a reel. To stop hiding behind my research and start sharing my ideas publicly.
330,000 Followers Later… But Who’s Counting?
What blew my mind was how all those newsletters—the ones I thought no one read—trained me. They taught me how to speak clearly, how to stand in my values, how to feel something and turn it into something worth saying.
Now? I’m living the neurodivergent dream. I work for myself. I get to be deeply technical, wildly creative, and unapologetically myself. I don’t make as much money as I did in my corporate enterprise roles—yet—but I also don’t have to sell my soul or sit in a boardroom explaining basic tech to people who don’t care.
I’m a Cybersecurity Artist—Yes, That’s a Real Thing
I consider myself a cybersecurity artist or maybe even a philosopher. An autistic girlie with a hyperfixation on computers, systems, and freedom. And here’s the truth: being autistic makes it really hard for me to work on someone else’s schedule. I need autonomy. Deep focus. Time to think. Not a calendar full of meetings and a boss breathing down my neck about ticket numbers.
I spent 8 years in the U.S. Air Force. I didn’t love it—but it gave me structure, discipline, and a serious foundation in cybersecurity. It was challenging, sure, but in a way that made sense to my brain. Enterprise cybersecurity, though? That was a whole different beast.
That’s why I’ve carved my own path as an educator. I choose what I teach. I choose how I show up. And I choose the services I offer—mainly focused on privacy and quantum cryptography, which happens to be my special interest and the only reason I’ll willingly step into enterprise spaces these days. It’s where the future is happening. It’s where I can be technical and creative.
I’ve hacked the system by building my own. I found a way to share free information while offering paid options that align with my values. Nobody’s self-censoring. Nobody’s selling out. Just me, my obsessions, and a community that actually wants to hear what I have to say.
The Opposite of Depression is Expression
I wake up at 5:30 a.m. without an alarm because I’m genuinely excited to be alive. That’s new. That’s not something I take lightly. I believe the opposite of depression isn’t just joy—it’s expression. It’s having a voice. It’s having your voice.
If you’re at your own rock bottom right now, I want you to know: it’s not the end. It’s the perfect place to build something raw, real, and yours. Start writing. Start talking. Start asking the questions that won’t leave you alone.
There’s a world out there that needs your voice. I promise, someone’s waiting to hear exactly what only you can say.
And maybe, just maybe, that someone will be 325,000 people strong.
