This past month, I stood at IDS Toronto, surrounded by designers, makers, and industry insiders. The energy was electric—conversations buzzing, ideas forming, people showcasing their work with pride.
But amidst the excitement, I felt something else. A familiar discomfort.
Because for as long as I can remember, I’ve struggled to fit in.
I’ve spent my life mirroring the world around me, adjusting my energy, dulling my emotions, shaping myself into what I thought people wanted me to be. It wasn’t until last year that I finally had a name for it—I’m neurodivergent. And suddenly, everything made sense.
The way I see the world differently.
The way I feel things more intensely.
The way I create—not for function, not for mass appeal, but because it’s the only way I know how to exist fully as myself.
And yet, in the creative world—just like in life—there are rules about what belongs and what doesn’t.
The Comment That Said Everything
During IDS, a friend and I were talking about the Studio North prize—an award for the best booth or concept. The winning piece? A chair. Beautifully designed, commercially viable, perfectly suited for mass production.
And then came the moment that stuck with me.
A judge looked at my work—my sculptural, one-of-a-kind furniture—and said, almost casually:
“Your pieces are too big, too unique, too niche. They’re tailored for specific spaces and clients. It’s more like… craft.”
There was no malice in his voice. But that word—craft—wasn’t a compliment. It was a line in the sand. A way of saying, “This doesn’t belong here.”
I’ve heard that before. Not just about my work, but about myself.
The Struggle to Belong in a World That Wasn’t Built for You
For most of my life, I didn’t know I was neurodivergent. I just knew I was different.
I spent years masking—toning down my excitement, muting my thoughts, trying to move through the world in a way that felt “normal.” Because when you don’t fit, the world doesn’t adapt to you—you’re expected to adapt to it.
And when you grow up like that, it changes you. It makes you doubt your instincts.
It makes you question whether your way of seeing the world is wrong.
I think we do this with our art, too.
We create for acceptance, for validation, for permission.
We shape our work to fit categories that weren’t made for us.
We follow rules that weren’t built with us in mind.
But when you strip all that away—when you create for yourself, without expectation—that’s when something real happens.
Why Do We Keep Categorizing Creativity?
For centuries, we’ve been obsessed with labels:
• Art belongs in galleries and museums—something to be admired, not used.
• Craft is skilled, but practical—often seen as secondary or decorative.
• Design is commercial—functional, scalable, created for mass appeal.
These categories weren’t made to celebrate creativity. They were made to control it.
To define what is valuable and what is not.
To tell us what belongs and what doesn’t.
And when your work doesn’t fit neatly into one of these boxes, you’re left wondering if you belong at all.
But here’s the thing:
Maybe we don’t need to fit.
Maybe we don’t need to ask for space in a system that was never built for us.
Maybe it’s time to create a new space entirely.
Finding My Place—Or Making One
I love design, but I don’t want to create for mass production.
I love craft, but my work isn’t just functional.
I love art, but my pieces are meant to be lived with—not just observed.
So, why should I have to choose?
Why should any of us?
What if we stopped forcing ourselves to fit into definitions that don’t serve us?
What if, instead of shrinking to fit categories, we expanded them?
What if we stopped asking for permission and started making space for ourselves?
Because the truth is—the world wasn’t built for people like me.
For people who think differently.
For people who create from the gut, from the soul, without the need for approval.
But that doesn’t mean we don’t belong.
It means we have to build something new.
An Invitation to Rise Together
I know I’m not the only one who feels this way.
There are so many artists, designers, and makers who exist in this in-between space—not because we’re lost, but because the categories themselves are too small to contain us.
And it’s not just about art.
It’s about everyone who has ever felt like they had to change themselves just to be taken seriously.
Everyone who has been told that their way of thinking, working, or creating is too much or not enough.
Everyone who has ever wondered where they fit.
So here’s my challenge—to myself and to anyone else who has felt caught between worlds:
• Instead of trying to fit into art, craft, or design, let’s create something new.
• Instead of shrinking to match existing definitions, let’s expand them.
• Instead of asking for space, let’s claim it.
Because we don’t need permission to exist in the in-between.
We just need to recognize that we already do.
Where Do You Fit?
Maybe you’ve felt this too—like your work is too much for one industry and not enough for another. Like you’re floating between spaces, unsure of where you belong.
Maybe you’ve spent your life trying to shape yourself into what people expect, only to realize you were never meant to fit in—you were meant to stand out.
If that’s you, I want to hear your story.
Because if enough of us feel this way, maybe we stop asking where we belong—
and start building the space where we do.
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