A year ago yesterday, I threw a party at my house—and got the best compliment of my life. It kept me afloat through the chaos that followed and helped reignite my passion.

The compliment? “All the work you’re doing—it really shows.”

Who said it? A woman I call Complementary—for her great compliments, solid puns (mine are better), and terrible spelling (you’re welcome).

And why was it such a good compliment? Well, context matters a lot. I had been working hard—both on my personal growth and by pouring time, love, and energy into communities that were, as I'd later realize, already discarding me.

Pretty much everyone in my life was making me feel terrible while still taking from me—except Qubit, who (I like to believe) came back to town to see me and address a misunderstanding (although I still didn’t get it). Let’s just say, we were (and still are) in a phase of awkward, poorly communicated space, and the people around us weren’t exactly helping with the communication.

She did an incredible job keeping me on course from a distance, and I’ve felt her love through the silence. Now that all the crazy people are gone from my house (except me, and I’m working on it), I’m hoping my best friend will be back soon. I bet she’s been working hard, too, because that’s just how we do.

In the year since, I’ve learned to prioritize feeling safe in my house on my own. I’ve kept working on myself while recovering from psychological abuse—almost entirely alone. (It’s the kind of thing people won’t acknowledge—because it’s inconvenient. So instead of support, you learn you have to rewire your model of “friendship” before trying to make new ones.)

Things quickly got better after switching therapists and hearing my new therapist say the word “abuse”, which was just a few months ago. I’ve also done some research alongside my new assistant and found several useful labels, including a couple I’d never heard of. I’ll be talking about them on here soon.

During the hardest parts, pieces of myself that I’d buried during my 20s started coming out in my personal writing, as I expressed myself publicly amidst distress when no one would listen privately. One of my personal writing pieces—an intro in a Discord—led to an unexpected job interview and a chance to work for a founder I really admired and someone I felt confident could manage Familiar—because I sure couldn’t, back then.

I got overly excited at the idea she’d hire me for the job I was making up for myself (”ZK Education”, world-changing stuff) and made no attempt to hide it (hey, it was the title of their email, after all…). I didn’t get the job they were actually hiring for (“Dev Rel”, aka Developer Relations—not enough math and too much code for my taste, anyway). I wonder if they saw that I was qualified—just not mentally ready. Not yet.

Either way, over time I accepted that I didn’t want a job—I wanted to change the world, guided by my principles rather than any company's needs.

Eventually, I remembered the dream I had in college, of what I want to be when I grow up. It’s another role I made up for myself: the best educator, ever. (“Best,” as in: the most positive impact on the world. We can figure out the details as we go.)

I’m not looking for a real job—though I do need income to maintain Familiar House (it’s looking great, except for the rooms that are for hiding unfinished tasks).

I’m a powerful force, finally finding my footing—taking the steps I need to feel safe: in my home, in my body, and even on social media. If that means naming names and calling out toxic communities, I’ll do it—even if people have suggested that I “let go” instead.

Silence kept me small. Truth makes space for movement, progress, and more learning.

And for those who stick around? You’ll finally hear the real story behind my burn name. I didn’t understand it myself until a few weeks ago—but now that I do, I’m ready to get to work (finally).