I grew up in Kenya, surrounded by a culture that shaped my understanding of the world in profound ways. It gave me a global perspective, a strong sense of community, and a natural desire for travel and adventure.

At nineteen, I packed my bags and moved to the U.S. for college, where I earned a degree in special education. At the same time, I went from intern to director at a local nonprofit in Memphis, leading programs, training volunteers, and supporting families navigating disabilities. By the time I graduated as valedictorian and student speaker, I was fully immersed in advocacy work. Teaching was a natural next step, and in the classroom, I dedicated myself to helping neurodivergent and disabled students thrive — with some of the highest test scores in the district to show for it. Along the way, I also began my own personal journey of self-discovery. Therapy led to an anxiety and PTSD diagnosis, giving me a new lens to understand myself and my experiences.

But growth doesn’t exactly stop there. A few years in, I started questioning... well, everything. My identity, my queerness, and the entire hyper-religions framework I’d built my life around. So, I did what any person in a full-blown self-discovery spiral might do — I sold everything I owned and moved to New York. There, I threw myself into the work of learning, unlearning, and figuring out who I really was. The pandemic amplified that process (because what else is there to do in lockdown but reflect and spiral into existential crisis?). It was during that time I had another lightbulb moment: ADHD. Shoutout to everyone who connected the dots about their neurodivergence mid-pandemic — solidarity.

Then came corporate America, where I quickly learned how little most workplaces understand about neurodiversity and disability inclusion. I co-founded and co-led a workplace ERG focused on accessibility and spent two years advocating for employees at the intersections of marginalized identities. It became clear just how much work remains to create environments where neurodivergent and disabled people — especially those from underrepresented backgrounds — don’t just survive, but thrive.

But corporate life wasn’t exactly built for brains like mine. Burnout hit hard. After years of pushing through, I started imagining a life that actually felt free. Having always been a traveler (15 countries and counting!), I made the leap — into a converted camper van. The transition was… chaotic. I lost my job, my health insurance, and my access to mental health care all in one go. What followed was a barely-holding-it-together, “wait, I’m actually trans,” “oh wow, I’m autistic too,” kind of year, mixed with the thrill and challenges of starting my own company where I focus on transforming organizational mindsets about accessibility, offering practical guidance and culture shifting moments,

Eventually, I found my way to California, driving my van coast to coast in pursuit of healthcare, rest, and a chance to rebuild. Whew, now you’re all caught up! Come along with me on the journey I share my experiences, advocate for accessibility, and capture the stories of the incredible people I meet along the way.