A Disruptor in a World of Status Quo

I’ve been called a disruptor—a label that some days feels like a calling and others, like a curse. But for someone like me, being authentic can feel like a constant clash between wanting to make an impact and needing to appear "professional." These two don't always mesh well, especially when my rawest self bubbles up like an angry pimple, determined to break through the surface.

A week ago, I attended my first big conference as a mental performance consultant, hoping it would open doors and connect me with others carving out a similar path. I thought I’d find people who, like me, felt called to private practice rather than academia or clinical settings. Instead, it felt like almost everyone in the room had a clinical background—a framework I neither have nor want. I chose applied sport psychology because I wanted to help people build resilience in real time, without needing a clinical lens. Yet here I was, feeling as resistant to the status quo as I did as a white belt on the mat, wondering, Can I really make a difference in a field that seems to favor conformity?

My therapist calls me a disruptor, and while my fiery side embraces it, I can’t ignore that this path can be isolating. There’s a temptation to go along with the crowd, to fit in, and avoid the constant resistance. But that would mean ignoring my gut, which feels like burning from the inside out whenever I’m forced to settle. Maybe it’s my justice sensitivity—the drive that neurodivergent folks often feel to speak up against what doesn’t sit right. Or maybe it’s simply human nature to want both connection and change.

When I was a blue belt in jiu jitsu, I used to say, "It’s not that I want to be a purple belt. I want to be the level of a purple belt, to know what they know.” And yet, I was so attached to the rank, hoping it would somehow make me feel like I belonged. I tell my clients all the time that external validation won’t solve that gnawing feeling of “not enough,” but here I was, wrestling with it myself. Blame it on capitalism, ADHD, or a history of proving my worth. Whatever the cause, I know it’s an obstacle I’ll keep encountering if I’m not careful.

Then there was my moment with Forrest Griffin. He’d just received an award for performance excellence, and after his interview, I saw my chance to ask him something I’d been mulling over: How do fighters handle the vulnerability of loss while still staying professional in the public eye? It came out wrong, though. Instead, he heard something closer to, “How did you keep your job after fleeing the cage against Anderson Silva?” His reaction was instant—offended and dismissive. “You must not know much about MMA,” he said.

I was crushed. Here I was, just trying to understand how high-profile athletes handle public vulnerability, but I came off as if I was challenging his character. And just like that, the existential crisis hit: What am I even doing here?

Here’s the part where I turn this into a lesson: my passion for this work will keep fueling me, even when it makes me a bit unpalatable. Authenticity doesn’t mean ignoring the status quo; it’s learning to navigate it in a way that does more good than harm. I want to be impactful and create real change for those dedicated to excellence, whether that’s athletes, coaches, or anyone aiming to perform at their best. I don’t need validation or a shiny title. What I need is a platform, and I’m still building it from the ground up.

To those who get what it means to walk the unconventional path, whether you’re in my corner or not, I salute you. Change takes time, and resilience, and the support of people who see the small glimmers along the way. I’ll get there, and if you’re striving for something authentic and challenging, you’ll get there too.