For years, I struggled with clothes. I never fit the mold, always feeling like I had to hide my body, my neurodivergent sensory quirks, my real self. Growing up in rural Appalachia didn't help either. The game changed when I started using fashion as a tool for self-discovery and self-compassion, not just “looking good” for someone else. If you’re curious how clothes can help you embrace your neurodivergent identity, practice more kindness with yourself, or just figure out what feels good for you (not the algorithm), let’s talk. I think style is a core part of neurodivergent identity and can be a powerful tool to feel more yourself and at home in your own skin. That can look like maximalism or wearing the same thing every day. Bring your closet wins, fails, weird questions, and hopes for self-acceptance.

For years, I was my own worst critic. I judged myself harshly, compared myself to others, and silenced my inner voice with substances. I didn’t realize how deep my self-abandonment ran until I began the healing process. The turning point came when I learned that no one else could give me the love I was starving for—not in a lasting way. I had to learn how to offer it to myself first. In recovery, I began treating myself like someone I actually cared about. I practiced speaking kindly to myself. I explored therapeutic art, forgiveness practices, and daily rituals to reconnect with the parts of me that had been ignored or shamed. Slowly, I began to like myself—and eventually, I became my own best friend. This wasn’t just a mindset shift—it was a full transformation in how I related to myself. I stopped abandoning myself when things got hard. I stood by myself in the storm, and that’s what helped me thrive.

I once left a job that looked amazing on the outside—but behind closed doors, it was chaotic, unkind, and eroding my self-worth. I questioned my judgment, second-guessed every decision, and carried a quiet shame about what had happened. Leaving was only the beginning of healing. I had to unpack what I experienced, untangle my identity from the toxic culture, and remind myself of who I really was. It wasn’t instant, but with reflection, support, and new opportunities, I began to feel strong again. If you’ve walked away from a painful work environment, you’re not alone—and it’s not your fault. Let’s talk about how to process what you’ve been through and rebuild your confidence moving forward.

I found out I was adopted at age 10 when a classmate said I didn't look like my parents. My birth certificate had their names, but I found a photo of my (not pregnant) mom in Asia the day I was born. It made sense since I never felt like I fit in with them (or in the wider world). Realizing even the extended family's lies and omissions hurt—keeping up that collectivistic culture. I kept my secret from almost everyone until college. I found my birth mom on AIM and my birth dad a year later through an article online. Unfortunately, I didn't quite fit there either. I'm a bit like a Third Culture Kid, always the odd one out—human first, but everyone tries to fit me into their boxes. Mom was 19 when her mother pressured her to give me up for adoption—a combination of Catholic shame and varying skin tones. I was sad to hear that my mom and her father both wanted to keep me, but I was given up anyway. I was adopted. Trust is difficult, healing is ongoing, and identity is resilient.