Designing swimwear taught me more about psychology than I expected

I have always had a brain that quietly works in the background, taking in a lot, needing very little noise, and getting overstimulated quickly. I used to wonder why certain things drained me while others lit me up in a quiet, steady way. It took me a while to realize: I’m just wired for depth, not volume.

I’m the second of three sisters. My older sister is half a year older than me, and I’m a year older than my younger sister. Ever since I was a baby, I’ve been quiet, never craving attention, and always thriving in the shadows. I feel like I’ve always been in tune with my inner world. I found passions very early on that allowed me to access creativity and slowness, rather than the high-paced, high-energy environments that others seemed to enjoy. This doesn’t mean I’m disengaged; I just need very specific things to feel fully alive.

My sisters were more outgoing, more vibrant in a way that seemed to fit. Because of that, I was often seen as someone who needed fixing. For a long time, being different meant being misunderstood. I wasn’t loud, high-energy, or quick to join the crowd. When I was seven, I was diagnosed with selective mutism. I didn’t speak at home or in school. It wasn’t that I didn’t have thoughts or a voice, I just didn’t feel safe enough to use it. And instead of being seen for what I was, I was often labeled as something to fix. Like my quietness meant something was missing. Like my stillness needed waking up.

But I’ve learned that what made me feel ‘off’ to others was never a flaw, it was a different rhythm. One that holds space, sees patterns, and finds depth in the details. I’m not a problem. I was just never meant to be a copy. I’m the one who notices things in the background, feels deeply, and finds clarity in the stillness.

This way of thinking is what fuels my creativity. Designing swimwear isn’t just about aesthetics; it’s about capturing the depth I naturally see in the world. The quiet moments that others miss, the patterns that seem hidden, the way one color can shift everything. The same attention to detail that makes me sensitive to overstimulation also makes me deeply connected to subtleties in design, and that’s where the beauty lies for me.

Whether I’m creating or holding space for someone in therapy, my mind is always tuned in to what's underneath, the quiet shifts, those details that tell the real story, the quiet cues, the unspoken patterns that most people overlook. And I've come to see that the way I move through the world, the way I notice and feeel, it was never something to fix. It's something to protect and care for.

So if you've ever felt like you were too quiet, too sensitive, too intense, or just somehow 'off', you're not. You might just be tuned in to things others haven't learned how to hear. Don't let the noise convince you to let go of your rhythm. That connection to who you are beneath the expectations? That's where everything meaningful begins.