There has always been a struggle between committing my identity to being a writer or a designer. Computers and language were the two most important thing in my life. I learned to spell and read by the keyboard. I came to learn two languages at once in my life: storytelling by prose and later storytelling my code.
Both identities were a struggle for me. For the most part, I didn’t want to be like my father. Eyes glued to the computer and mind running in binaries. I was scared to be a writer and release these stories I held so dearly into a world where it could be misunderstood. Worry burdened me from being this lover of language that was in flowery pose and the other that was arbitrary text that made blank pages beautiful.
After some time coping with motherhood, my disability, healing from toxic love and relationships, I came back to my languages. I created websites for small businesses. I wrote stories and essays to heal through words and emotions I still struggled to understand. I no longer worried about my identity as two different beings and made them into one.
Now as I understand myself, and accept myself, I’m now happy and comfortable to call myself a freelancer (who is currently for hire).
When work isn’t my main priority, I’m a mother, artist, and movie watching nuisance who talks and thinks too much about them. I can be caught streaming my art or video games or I can be wrangled on the depths of Twitter in a conversation with only myself.