Much of the world doesn’t function with disabled, neurodivergent, and mentally ill folks in mind. Unfortunately, this is something that goes unrecognized by those who are not disabled, and incredibly rocky terrain for those who develop a disability later in life. This is literally insane because disability is the one thing we are all bound to experience at some point in life.

By centering access and inclusivity within the world of Miss Gender, I want to show that it’s not some huge ask or hurdle, but an essential part of building a more equitable future. I try to make my work and the spaces I occupy —both here in this online ether and in person — spaces where all brains, bodies, and ways of being can access, engage with, and find joy in.

Quiet: the comforting purr of a cat in your lap as you read your favorite book.

Loud: a bright leather blazer, wide-leg pants, bold eyeliner, and glittering mobility aid.

I am both of these motifs and all the moments in-between. As a trans and disabled person, I feel that there are often these narratives or boxes that our stories are expected to conform to. However, many of us who hold those identities (and I would argue most of us) have stories that don’t fit within narrow expectations. In my art, I try to honor silent habits and acts of care as much as campy, unapologetic displays of queer and disabled joy. Exploring these ways of being together is a delightful way to challenge imposed binaries and expectations.

In a world that wants to bottle up the human experience into a brand, product, or 15-second clip, I feel like there is this pressure to pick a niche: one hobby, one style, one medium. I simply cannot do that!!!

I am continuously hopping from one hyperfixation to the next, and I want my work and presence online to show how that kind of AuDHD sparkle can actually empower and inform my creative practice. Plus, I don’t really have a choice. My brain would explode if I tried to pick one medium to stick to…

Ok this sounds kinda kinky sexy, which is awesome, but not really what I’m getting at here.

Being a mentally ill and neurodivergent person, my work (especially my writing) inherently explores and centers experiences we rarely talk about. I’m thinking about my incessant OCD ruminations that ping through my mind at alarming rates, the inner monologue that refuses to be drowned out by any podcast or music, and the calm after a panic attack when the benzos hit and I wrap myself in a blanket to watch Kiki’s Delivery Service for the 17th time.

Many of us were shown that we needed to conform to whatever “normal” is, which meant keeping these thoughts and experiences hidden, even when they shape our every moment. By sharing what’s often labeled  “taboo” or “strange”, I hope others can see themselves in that and I can ultimately try to destigmatize different ways of being and thinking.

Why haven’t I seen something like this before?

Why am I feeling uncomfortable?

What have I been hiding?

I’m a questions guy. Can’t help it, always been this way. I’m perpetually interrogating my thoughts, systems I engage with (both willingly and unwillingly), and any context I may be missing.

There is so much history, context, and social rules that often remain unspoken within mainstream society and media. Why don’t we talk about these things? What’s being hidden? I refuse to believe I’m the only person who struggles to decode or questions these unspoken expectations.

Plus, any project or connection usually starts with a question: What if I drew this? Do other people know about this? What if we kissed?

Living in a dynamically disabled body and a brain that’s prone to anxiety and rumination leaves a lot of room for uncertainty. I’m often trapped in loops of fear and dread, which can make showing up anywhere feel terrifying. This past year, my OCD spiraled out and latched onto that uncertainty, keeping me in a perpetual loop of fear and dread. It makes it feel terrifying to show up anywhere – on this page, in the world, to be seen in any way. Especially where I proclaim something I want, because what if it all falls apart? My brain makes me feel like that outcome is inevitable.

What I’m learning and trying to internalize is that the only certainty is that there will always be more uncertainty, more questions, and unknown outcomes.

Part of this project is showing up anyway; not because I’m interested in monetizing my hobbies or building a business, but because when I think about the certainty of uncertainty, this is the only kind of work I can see myself doing.