It began with noise.
OMR, day one: a full-sensory spectacle.
Visibly loud. Audibly accelerated. Algorithmically inflated.
I watched people move fast.
I watched them laugh, pose, scroll, pitch.
Phones never left hands.
Even in the bathrooms: mirror in focus, mind elsewhere.
Presence had left the building.
But something else reached me.
A quieter signal.
A kind of emptiness behind the brilliance.
A restlessness under the polish.
And a very real question:
Who’s taking care of the ones who look like they have it all together—
but are quietly falling apart?
Who speaks to the creators, the leaders, the hyper-visible?
To those on the edge of burnout, floating on brand deals, stimulants, and dopamine logic?
Alcohol. E-cigarettes. Eye-drops. Power poses.
Hook after hook after hook.
And no place to land.
So I started to search.
Surely someone must be holding space for this.
For the mental overload.
The identity fragmentation.
The nervous systems fried by constant exposure and self-performance.
I found… almost nothing.
Only a growing condition with no real name.
What I’ve come to call: Personal Brand Fatigue.
And that’s when I knew:
This is my mission.
As a positive psychologist.
As a deep listener.
As someone who feels it before it becomes visible.
I call it:
Radical Sensitive Creatorship.
Not just a concept.
A sanctuary. A system.
A quiet revolution in how we create, connect, and recover.
Because I believe:
You don’t need another productivity framework.
You need a nervous system that feels safe again.
You need boundaries, breath, belonging.
You need content that doesn’t cost your core.
So here’s what’s happening now:
Today:
This blogpost. A pulse check. A first step.
A landing page goes live. A waitlist opens.
Tomorrow:
I invite the first people in. Quietly. Personally.
The ones who already know something’s off.
In a year:
A masterclass at OMR—not on growth hacks.
But on human sustainability in the Creator Economy.
If this speaks to you,
if you’ve felt the tremble behind your polished story,
if you’ve wondered why success feels so heavy—
you’re not alone.
You’re early.
You’re part of something new.
And I’m building it for you.
One breath at a time.