What’s it like to exist in an attention economy as a queer neurodivergent woman during surveillance capitalism?
Honestly. It’s terrifying. Like haunt-your-brain-at-3AM terrifying.

Some days I feel like my face, voice, energy, everything I’ve ever posted is floating around the internet like a free sample I never agreed to give out. And it’s not cute. Spam calls out of nowhere. Random login attempts. Those “was this you?” emails that instantly raise your blood pressure.

And after the cyberattack I keep wondering. Where did my information go? Was it leaked? Scraped? Sold? Did it land in the hands of someone powerful? Someone bored? Someone I used to trust?

This is what it feels like when you’re already living on the margins. Queer. Neurodivergent. In your 20s. Trying to build something creative in a world that mines likeness and ideas like it's a new gold rush. You’re not outside the chaos. You’re right in the center of it.

And yeah. It’s scary, yall. It really is.
But here’s the thing. I still have hope. Real hope.

Because part of me believes the tech we’re scared of right now could actually make life better for all of us. Not just the privileged people at the top. Everyone.

Lately I’ve been thinking about the other side of the AI revolution. The part nobody wants to talk about because doom gets more clicks. The medical tech. The accessibility tools. The ways AI could change the lives of people who can’t see, or walk, or move through daily life without help. The ways it could actually expand freedom instead of taking it away.

We focus so much on the horrors. The job loss. The spiritual burnout. The “wow society is collapsing” vibes. And yes. All of that is real.
But what if the story doesn’t end there?

What if, at the end of this messy transition, we get something softer?
Shorter work weeks. Less burnout. Our basic needs met.
A future where people have time to actually live.

Not perfection. But maybe a little slice of heaven on earth.