For most of my life, I felt like I had everything *except* the ability to code. I could write, build systems, sequence ideas, and teach. But code? That felt like a locked door that I wasn’t meant to open.
I’m neurodivergent, a hyperlexic pattern-spotter who struggles deeply with numbers, spatial awareness, and working memory. Like many autistic folks, I live in the gap between brilliance and burnout. I can build entire learning programs for Fortune 500 companies… but still freeze when someone hands me a restaurant receipt and asks for a tip.
Growing up, my mom (also hyperlexic and underperforming in math) used to say, “I’m bad at math, and you will be too.” And honestly? She was right, not out of defeat but out of neurotype.
Fractions made my stomach drop. Numbers inverted. I couldn’t keep digits in order or tell you how big an inch was. I didn’t know there was a name for it, math disability, or dyscalculia, and I didn’t realize it commonly co-occurs with autism and hyperlexia. I just thought something was wrong with me.
When I decided to become a teacher, I taught myself algebra from scratch using Khan Academy while breastfeeding my newborn. I was determined to pass California’s brutal certification process (CSETs and RICA). And I did.
But despite all that, the fear around code never left.
Vibe coding for me means building by instinct and letting creativity lead. Asking AI questions in plain language. Copy-pasting code. Breaking it. Fixing it. Trying again.
Instead of trying to code “the right way,” I let go of perfection and leaned into curiosity. And it worked.
I had an idea for a tool, a frontend security scanner to help beginner devs understand vulnerabilities like XSS and hardcoded secrets, and I just… started building it. With Gemini CLI, ChatGPT, and a stack of sticky notes, I prototyped my first app.
Not in a boot camp. Not in a class. Just in motion.
I didn’t force myself to think like a traditional engineer. I used my strengths:
🧩 Written language
🔁 System design
📚 Pattern recognition
🧠 Sequencing
AI helped me scaffold what my working memory couldn’t hold. I learned Python by using it. And for the first time, I wasn’t just watching other people build. I was building too.
That still feels wild to say.
As a learning experience designer in tech, I’ve built training for companies like Adobe and Google. I love what I do. But I also know how easy it is to feel like you’re one misstep away from being “found out,” especially when you’re neurodivergent in a corporate world that wasn’t designed for your brain.
Vibe coding helped me rewrite that story.
Instead of hiding the way I think, I now build for people who think like me. Tools that simplify complexity. Courses that embrace different learning paths. AI workflows that remove friction instead of adding it.
If you’re neurodivergent, and especially if you’ve ever said “I’m not technical,” I want you to know:
It’s not that you can’t.
It’s that you haven’t had the right tools.
You deserve learning environments that support your brain. You deserve tech that adapts to you. You deserve to vibe code to experiment, to play, to fly.
And if you’re not neurodivergent? I hope you’ll take a moment to see how many of us are already innovating not in traditional ways, but in powerful ones.
Honestly? I feel like I’m flying.
Maybe that’s just AI finally letting my brain run at its true pace, sometimes hectic, always fast, but no longer bogged down by systems that don’t fit me.
Vibe coding didn’t just help me learn.
It helped me reclaim my joy.
It helped me start.
