Pride, Pain & Possibility: A Queer Neurodivergent’s Journey Through Growth and Transformation by Brad

I was raised Catholic, in a small town where conformity was currency and silence often felt safer than truth. Like many queer kids, I learned how to hide early. I became good at shape-shifting—adjusting my tone, posture, even my dreams—just to feel a little less different.

I was also adopted. And while I was lucky to grow up in a loving home, there was always this quiet, lingering question beneath the surface: Where do I truly belong? That question followed me into adulthood. I tried to answer it with achievement, with approval, with striving. None of it worked for long.

When I came out in my 30s—to myself, and then to the world—it was a moment of truth and tremble. Some people wrapped me in warmth. Others vanished without a word. In the 18 months that followed, I lost over 60% of my clients. But strangely, I felt lighter. For the first time, I wasn’t hiding anymore.

I live with ADHD. That means I experience the world differently—intensely, unpredictably, often beautifully. My brain connects dots others don’t. It pushes me to dream big, move quickly, feel deeply. But it’s also brought exhaustion, anxiety, and more than a few internal battles. The same mind that fuels creativity can also spiral into self-doubt.

I’ve had big wins. I’ve helped raise millions for causes I believe in. I’ve worked with global leaders. But none of those moments were mine alone. I’ve been supported every step of the way—by mentors who believed in me, teammates who showed up, and friends who reminded me to breathe. I’ve also had my fair share of big failures. Some of them quiet. Some loud. All of them humbling.

And through it all, I’ve learned: what matters most isn’t whether you’re on a mountain or in a valley. It’s what you take with you when you leave. Every success and every struggle is a teacher, if you let it be.

For years, I wore success like armor. I pushed through pain. Smiled when I was falling apart. I told people I was “fine” while quietly crumbling. I thought if I just achieved enough, I’d finally feel worthy. But chasing worthiness is a losing game.

The real shift began slowly. In therapy. In conversations with people who didn’t ask me to shrink. In the soft spaces of community. That’s when I stopped trying to “fix” myself and started learning how to live—really live—with all of who I am.

Yes, I’m queer.

Yes, I’m neurodivergent.

Yes, I’ve struggled—with both unexpected physical and mental health, with shame, with feeling like I didn’t belong.

Yes, I’m adopted.

And yes—I’m still here. Still curious. Still trying. Still grateful.

I don’t have all the answers. But I do know this:

You are not broken.

You are not too much.

You are not behind.

You are allowed to rest. To be loved. To be seen. To take up space.

Unleash your authentic, creative, playful, multipassionate self. 

"Let joy be your gps" - Robin Sharma 

You deserve to go where people’s eyes light up when they see you coming. You deserve to feel safe in your own skin. You deserve to dream—boldly, messily, beautifully—and know that your dreams matter.

And if no one’s told you this lately: You are worthy of the life you imagine. Even now. Especially now.

So whether you’re on your way up or finding your footing again, trust that both places can be sacred. Learn the right lessons from both. And when in doubt, remember: your story isn’t over.

I’m not done writing mine.

And maybe, just maybe, your next chapter is the one that changes everything.

Listen to your intuition. Trust your instinct. Follow Your Heart. Let your rainbow shine. 

Thrive forward.