I design and build the whole thing myself, which mostly means fewer meetings, and someone who actually remembers what you said three weeks ago.

I like problems that get more interesting the closer you look: the internal tool held together with duct tape and one person's goodwill, the brand that quietly undersells a genuinely good idea, the feature three developers have tried to explain to you and somehow still doesn't exist.

My husband quit his job to start a business. This happened in about two weeks.

At the same time, I'd just gotten laid off.

So it wasn't just his uncertainty. It was both of ours, at once, with no plan.

I panicked. Properly panicked. The kind where you don't sleep and every noise sounds like something else falling apart.

Then I built his website anyway. Working day and night to get it live and good as fast as I could.

I loved it. Not just "that went fine" loved it. I loved making something.

Then my dad asked me to build his.

Then someone else's.

At some point, "the next thing" became Sinctly.

Sinctly is about a year old, but I've been this same weird combination of analytical and creative for a lot longer than that. Most of my working life was spent as an analyst. I kept landing in technical, detail heavy roles even though design and writing were the things I actually loved doing. Nobody taught me either one. I just kept doing it until I was decent at it.

At one point I was the person building the decks for board meetings where the number on the slide had eight zeros after it. Turns out that's a pretty good way to learn how to make something look clear and hold up when someone important is staring at it, deciding whether to believe you.