Many capable people don’t struggle because they lack discipline or motivation, but because they’re operating inside systems that demand more cognitive effort than they can sustainably give.
That pattern shows up everywhere: at work, at home, in planning tools, in presentations, and in how information is delivered and decisions are made. When systems are unclear, people end up compensating with effort. Over time, that cost adds up.
My work sits at the intersection of design, clarity,
and cognitive load.
Designing clarity for minds that carry a lot.
Many capable people don’t struggle because they lack discipline or motivation, but because they’re operating inside systems that demand more cognitive effort than they can sustainably give.
That pattern shows up everywhere: at work, at home, in planning tools, in presentations, and in how information is delivered and decisions are made. When systems are unclear, people end up compensating with effort. Over time, that cost adds up.
My work sits at the intersection of design, clarity, and cognitive load.
My lens
I’m a presentation and information designer with over a decade of experience helping teams translate complex, content-heavy ideas into clear, usable structures.
I’ve worked with startups, executives, learning teams, and organizations where the stakes are high, and attention is limited. Across industries, the same problem appears again and again: information exists, but it isn’t shaped in a way the human mind can easily hold.
Good design doesn’t just make things look better. It reduces friction. It guides attention. It makes the important parts obvious and lets the rest fall away.
That belief informs everything I make—whether it’s a presentation deck, a written framework, or a broader
system for thinking.
A long-standing pattern
Long before I had language for design or neurodivergence,
I gravitated toward roles where structure mattered.
In school, I was drawn to organizing shared spaces, visual communication, and administrative systems (bulletin boards, event materials, office workflows, information routing).
I chose environments where clarity helped other people
function more easily.
Formal design training came later. The instinct to reduce confusion and create order was already there.
That continuity matters to me. Not as a personal story, but as evidence. This work didn’t appear suddenly. It’s the result of years spent noticing where systems break down and learning how to rebuild them so people don’t have to push as hard just
to keep up.
A long-standing pattern
Long before I had language for design or neurodivergence,
I gravitated toward roles where structure mattered.
In school, I was drawn to
organizing shared spaces, visual communication, and administrative systems (bulletin boards, event materials, office workflows, information routing). I chose environments where clarity helped other people function more easily.
Formal design training came later. The instinct to reduce confusion and create order was already there.
That continuity matters to me. Not as a personal story, but as evidence. This work didn’t appear suddenly. It’s the result of years spent noticing where systems break down and learning how to rebuild them so people don’t have to push as hard just to keep up.
What this space is for
This is where I write, speak, and design around topics like:
Why mental overload persists even when people
are doing everything “right”How misfit between systems and minds quietly
drains energyWhat changes when clarity is treated as a design problem, not a personal failing
Some people arrive here through the writing or the podcast. Others come looking for design support.
Both paths are welcome.
If you’re here to think differently about how life or work is structured, you’ll find essays and conversations that offer language and relief.
If you’re responsible for communicating complex ideas (to investors, executives, customers, or internal teams), I also work directly with clients on presentation and information design projects.