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Myth-Busting: On Being Underestimated People underestimate me for different reasons, but it all comes from the same root: they see a fragment and mistake it for the whole. Some only see the disability labels — blind, agoraphobic, ADHD, PTSD — and decide what I can’t do before they ask what I have done. Others know just enough of my trauma story to assume I must be broken, like survival and damage are the same thing. And then there are the ones who project: “If I were in her shoes, I couldn’t handle it, so she probably can’t either.” What they never expect is how much range lives under the surface. I speak two languages fluently and can pick up or drop others as needed. I’m a self-trained junior developer, a voice writer, a violinist, a minister, and a cognitive-science nerd who reads patterns in human behavior like sheet music. People know about the voice, but not the violin. They see the tech work, but not the ministry. They hear the trauma, but not the theory behind how I rebuilt myself. ADHD makes that diversity look chaotic from the outside. From the inside, it’s velocity. It’s a mind that connects systems across fields before most people finish naming the pieces. If I info-dump metadata or shift into cognitive-science mode, I’m not grandstanding — I’m translating the invisible. And when I switch into counselor mode — the community mami, the strategist, the one who weighs assets and liabilities — that’s not coldness. That’s me protecting the people I love by seeing the patterns they can’t. The truth is, I’ve spent years surviving other people’s limited imaginations. They preferred the ditsy blonde persona — light, funny, easy to manage — because it didn’t challenge them. But that version was camouflage, not essence. Every time I step out of it, someone mistakes clarity for aggression, confidence for threat, intellect for arrogance. I’m none of those things. I’m simply whole. And wholeness confuses people who’ve only met fragments. So here’s the myth-bust: I am not broken, scattered, or overcompensating. I am multi-modal. I switch languages, disciplines, and identities with the same fluency that others switch apps. That’s not instability — it’s mastery born of adaptation. Underestimating me is easy when you only see the surface. But the surface was never where the power lived. #ADHDAwareness #Accessibility #BlindCreators #VoiceControl #CognitiveScience #Ministry #Violinist #madamgreen #RosieWrites

People underestimate me because they don’t know how to read complexity. They look for one role, one label, one “type.” I’m not that simple. I’ve been told I “don’t work well with others” by people who couldn’t see that I was managing the emotional temperature of a whole room. I’ve been called “arrogant” because I was dumbing something down to make it teachable. I’ve been accused of lacking compassion by people who only recognize caretaking when it looks like self-sacrifice. They see the blunt delivery and miss the devotion underneath — the way I analyze, plan, and protect before I speak. Compassion doesn’t always sound like softness. Sometimes it sounds like structure. People who know my trauma story assume I’m fragile. People who know my tech work forget I’m a trained cook, a domestic strategist, a wife who can run a kitchen like a lab. People who see my spiritual writing forget I have a cognitive-science background and can track a conversation down to its meta-logic. They know about my voice, not my violin. They know I build websites, not that I can hold a household together with the same discipline I use for code. I spent years staying quiet about my relationships, my experience, my emotional intelligence — because I kept my public voice professional, technical, safe. So people assumed inexperience where there was privacy. They mistook silence for lack. ADHD adds another twist. When I hyperfocus, I move too fast for most people to keep up, and they call it impulsive. When I slow down to translate, they call it condescending. The truth is, I live at a pace most can’t see — a brain that runs parallel processes for empathy, language, and logistics. When I step into counselor mode or community-mami mode, I become the one who reads dynamics like code. I measure energy, intention, and consequence. That’s not treating people as “assets and liabilities” — that’s caring enough to manage outcomes. But people used to the “ditsy blonde” persona — the one they encouraged because it was easier to handle — feel exposed when they meet the strategist. So here’s the truth: I am not cold. I am not arrogant. I am not unfeeling. I am an adaptive system in human form — fluent in empathy, logic, language, and survival. If you underestimate me, it’s because you’re still looking for a single version. There isn’t one. #ADHDAwareness #Accessibility #Neurodiversity #BlindCreators #CognitiveScience #Empathy #madamgreen #RosieWrites

I build by sound. I write by rhythm. I travel by structure and intuition in equal measure. I’m Rosie — a blind, print-impaired writer, voice developer, and accessibility strategist. I work in Markdown, VoiceOver, and logic. I build sites through Cloudflare and Write.as, write essays by dictation, and edit through rhythm rather than sight. I’m also a trauma survivor, an agoraphobic traveler, a self-trained junior-level developer, a violinist, and a cognitive-science thinker who studies how humans communicate under pressure. My writing blends all of that: lived experience, field notes, and compassion with teeth. This blog is where I translate my life into open source. It’s where accessibility meets philosophy, where healing meets design, and where I turn everything people underestimate into structure, strategy, and sound. Sometimes I write like a teacher. Sometimes like a traveler. Sometimes like a woman remembering she’s still alive. All of it is me. Welcome to my frequency. #Accessibility #BlindCreators #VoiceControl #ADHDAwareness #TraumaRecovery #madamgreen #RosieWrites

For the structured essays and fieldwork behind these stories, visit Megan.madamgreen.xyz →