Reality Shifts: Gaming, Grace, and Ground Zero

With DEI programs slowly disappearing (my career), I'm finding refuge in interactive fiction. My unexpected plan: developing a neuroqueer game as a means of pivoting from traditional impact paths.

Photo by Sigmund on Unsplash

Hello, friends.

I've been lost in worlds that aren't mine but feel just as real. These past few months, I've spent countless hours on my couch, diving into interactive story games—pursuing every possible romance arc and exploring each branching narrative path.

The reality is stark: I'm watching as DEI program budgets get slashed or programs are eliminated entirely across businesses, organizations, and federal institutions. As someone whose work centers on creating safer, affirming spaces for LGBTQ+ and neurodivergent people at their workplaces or where they get services, I now grapple with fundamental questions about my sustainability and survival. Will my small business survive this period, this administration? How do we continue doing vital work when institutional support crumbles and individuals hesitate to invest in their learning, no matter how flexible my pricing is? The path forward feels uncertain—perhaps it's time for a career shift or at least consider changing my current work to part-time, hopefully temporarily, to ensure a modest living while also pursuing something else more certain.

I genuinely don’t want my career—my small business as an LGBTQ+ and neurodivergent speaker, trainer, and consultant—to be game over. 👾 But given how things have shifted over recent years, I may not have a choice. Yes, some still want to do the work, but they feel fewer and quieter. The stakes are higher, and the challenges are far more complex, given the whiplash of each change.

That's where the games come in—not just as escape hatches from reality but as unexpected inspiration. Each story I dive into becomes research: What works? What falls flat? When do character reactions feel authentic versus over-the-top? How many choice branches create meaningful impact versus decision fatigue? What feels like a worthy reward in exchange for watching an ad?

These questions are feeding into something new. I'm slowly developing a neuroqueer mobile game—something simple but heartwarming, designed to be accessible and replayable. Until now, I've kept this project close, wanting to work without the pressure of updates or expectations. But maybe this is what innovation under pressure looks like: taking everything I know about creating safer, affirming spaces for LGBTQ+ and neurodivergent communities and transforming it into something people can experience through play. Maybe, just maybe, it could bring in a modest monthly income as people take a break from doomscrolling in their beds or on their respective couches.

I am determined to have a scaled-back, playable demo by year's end for proof of concept before I put further resources into it. It's giving me purpose while my neurodivergent brain throws up blocks around other projects and tasks. My personal and professional to-do lists continue to spiral into overwhelming territory, making it even harder to put in a meaningful dent. The urge to block out all the world’s noise to create something new is overwhelming, and I no longer want to ignore it. The hope is that working on this project will sprinkle just enough joy and motivation into my spirit, which is what I need to move out of my funk, even marginally.

Hopefully, I'll have good updates about the game later this year.

For now, I'll temporarily shift my writing here toward education. In my current state, I am actively processing too much of my personal life, making it too challenging to write as vulnerably as I usually do (and desire to do so). And as I’ve mentioned in at least one previous post, I have a substantial collection of graphic-based tools for explaining LGBTQ+ identities that I'd love to analyze and share. If even one person finds validation or useful resources through these reviews, it will be worth it. For a few years now, I’ve wanted to explore them out of my own curiosity… and now feels like the time. Perhaps after exploring those a bit, I can return to more vulnerability.

I'm looking forward to the discussions these upcoming tool reviews might spark.

I want to thank those who've reached out to check on me. I'm not okay right now—I'm functioning maybe 10% better than I was before December's descent (when my mental and emotional health tanked). But I will be okay.

Sometimes, reinvention requires rest first. Sometimes, we need to lose ourselves in other worlds before rebuilding our own.

Thank you for being patient and for still being here; I appreciate the opportunity to name my current experiences without judgment, sympathy, or advice. And thank you to everyone new here who is curious enough to join me on this wild ride. It’s a pleasure to meet you.

Oh, and if you’re finding it hard to lean into rest, whatever that looks like for you… consider this: I am in a choir, and it’s my turn to take a breath. Slap it on a wall, Ted Lasso-style, if need be.

Sending big, virtual bear hugs your way, should you want them. 🧸🫂 I welcome them back.