I had a nomadic childhood, bouncing between Hawaii, Salt Lake City, Alabama, and Las Vegas. This exposed me to a diverse range of people and perspectives.

However, I often felt like the odd one out, a bit of a "weird" kid. I even once caused a high school play delay because I forgot my costume until the last minute. Fortunately, my mom's non-judgmental support helped me realize two crucial things: I wasn't great at mundane tasks, but when I was passionate about something, I thrived.

I decided to pursue architecture in college because it combined my love for practicality, intellectual challenges, and hands-on work. I was drawn to its versatility, allowing me to explore topics like sustainability, arts, human behavior, and more within architectural study.

College was a rollercoaster ride. I traveled, created amazing things, met inspiring individuals, and even earned a few awards. However, it was evident that I had to work harder than most.

My battles with anxiety, insecurity, and sleep deprivation strained my relationships. One particularly painful memory involved forgetting to pick up my roommate from the hospital during an intense studio session, which left me burdened with shame. Despite the challenges, I persevered and earned my Master's degree in Architecture from the University of Oregon.

In graduate school, I received a prestigious traveling fellowship that required a daunting presentation and report. While I completed school and moved to Los Angeles, that report lingered unfinished, haunting my self-esteem. This self-doubt hindered my progress, and I missed out on numerous opportunities, keeping me at a distance from my grad school peers and teachers. Still, I managed to succeed through sheer determination, often being the first to arrive and last to leave at one of LA's top architecture firms.

My career path was a winding one—I worked in marketing, business development, and even construction estimating, chasing opportunities without a clear plan.

Shortly after earning my license, I was hired as the architect to renovate a beach house, a project with great potential for launching a business. However, my self-doubt held me back, and I let this opportunity slip through my fingers. This pattern of high achievements, painful failures, and missed chances is a common experience for scattered creative professionals, especially those with ADHD.

At the age of 35, I stumbled upon a book about Transcendental Meditation and its potential to alleviate psychiatric symptoms. As I read the chapter on ADHD, I saw all my struggles in black and white on the page. It was a revelation. I immediately called my mother and asked her how she'd react if I said I might have Attention Deficit Disorder. Her response was a nonchalant, "Yeah, that sounds about right."

The diagnosis was a turning point, offering an explanation for so much of what I'd endured. It became a crucial part of my identity, helping me shed the weight of shame I'd carried for years. I discovered that many of my friends shared similar experiences, and we could connect on a level that others couldn't. We were a unique and fascinating bunch.

The lockdown during the pandemic created a period of reflection and transformation for me. First, I tripled down on my interest in self-development - I became an avid consumer of podcasts and audiobooks on the topic.

Second, I joined ADHD coaching groups and organizations, finding immense fulfillment in the shared struggles and outsider experiences of this community. Lastly, I made a resolute decision to take control of my career path.

Unexpectedly, a light bulb moment struck, and I knew I wanted to be an ADHD coach. It took some mental gymnastics to accept such a significant change, but when I realized that I could blend my design background with coaching to help other creative individuals overcome their shame and confusion, I found my true calling at the age of 45. Today, I assist scattered creative professionals like myself in discovering clarity, fulfillment, and purpose in their lives.