Switched Seabed began as a dream I had when I was 17—literally. While prepping college essays during one of the most uncertain, disheartening times of my life, I had this strange, vivid dream: golden fish people in the fog, mythical beings hiding in a cave, and bubble-like habitats beneath the sea. I woke up thinking, “What the hell was that?”... and immediately started writing.

At the time, I was being pushed to apply to colleges I wasn’t even sure I could afford. I hated the idea of having to sell myself to institutions just to be seen as worthy, especially when I didn’t believe they were offering me anything worth that cost. I applied to Antioch College solely because they were offering full rides—but even after getting an interview, I wasn’t accepted. I ended up going to Hampshire College, not because I loved it, but because it gave me the freedom to build my own curriculum—something I hoped would matter in the long run. But in reality, I felt out of place the entire time, and I left with a mountain of debt and a degree the job market didn’t care about.

After graduating, I fell into customer service and warehouse jobs I couldn’t stand. I masked my unhappiness, felt myself disappearing, and watched my dreams gather dust. I started to feel like I hadn’t made any real impact—on the world, but more importantly, on myself. So I returned to the dream.

I turned it into a story. And then, a universe.

Inspired by the emotional depth of Steven Universe and the creativity of Adventure Time, I imagined children thriving in a world shaped by their parents’ trauma—but never burdened by it. A world where healing was possible. I created Eliora as a version of myself—resilient, powerful, and in survival mode. Her daughter Kí became the embodiment of the joy and adventure I craved as a child. Then came Frankie, Iris, and Jerome, and eventually—an entire society. One not ruled by greed or indifference, but by care, competence, and scientific meritocracy.

Switched Seabed became my antidote to everything I hated about corporate America, student debt, and the emotional flatline I’d been living in. It’s a love letter to children (including our inner child), to chosen families, and to the worlds we wish existed. It’s a way to rewrite my own story—and maybe help others see that healing, too, can be inherited.