My journey with neurodivergence didn't start with a diagnosis—it started with my brother. Born three months premature, he fought for his life and lives with cerebral palsy. Growing up, I watched him struggle with things others took for granted—like the time he couldn't locate a plane in a clear blue sky. That moment shifted my perspective from skepticism to a deep realization of the realities he, and my mother, faced daily.

Crucially, my brother's needs ignited a fighting spirit in our family. My mother was constantly advocating for him, eventually becoming the head of the SEPTA (Special Education PTA). She quickly became a master of Special Education law, advocating not just for us, but for countless other families. This experience fostered a deep advocacy spirit in me and showed me the realities of what it truly takes to get children who are neurodivergent the resources they need and deserve.

The Mask of Success While I understood my brother's struggles, I didn't recognize my own. I masked my way through life, finding success under pressure again and again. Because I was "successful" and "well-behaved," the possibility of ADHD never crossed anyone's mind. It wasn't until recently, after years of feeling different, that I received my formal diagnosis. I realized I had been navigating a neurotypical world with a neurodivergent brain all along.

From the Classroom to the Living Room Professionally, I’ve done it all. I’ve been a 1:1 aide, worked in private special needs schools, and became a tenured teacher in NYC. I’ve taught elementary, middle, and high school. But I constantly felt like I was trying to teach "box-like" thinking to children who didn't fit in boxes.

I eventually moved into home-based services, providing behavior intervention and parent training. This was my eye-opening moment. I realized that teachers often get it wrong. Parents aren't failing; they are trying their best while being ill-equipped, confused by medical jargon, and judged by a system that doesn't explain the "why" or the "how."

Why I Went "Rogue" Parents began calling me a "unicorn" and a "godsend" because I actually listened and explained things in plain English. But even then, I felt handcuffed by agency rules and school limitations.

I realized that to truly follow my passion and let it flow, I had to stop trying to fix the system from the inside. In true ADHD fashion, I decided to create my own path. I started this coaching business to offer the deep, impactful help that schools simply can't provide—without the judgment, and without the handcuffs.