The gap between autism and architecture is not closed by good intentions.

In 2020, the Neurological Institute I led as designer for Children's Hospital Los Angeles began construction. That same year, I became pregnant with my son.

When he was diagnosed with autism at three, his pediatrician told me his life would be a lot harder. I left that office dispirited — not because of the diagnosis, but because of how little anyone, including me, could tell me about the world my son actually lived in. My formal education in architecture had never once addressed what it means to be diagnosed with a neurological condition.

His world fascinated me. He experienced light, sound, and space in ways I had never been taught to see. The more I learned, the clearer it became that the gap between autism and architecture could not be closed by good intentions alone. So I left a long-standing career and a comfortable salary to pursue graduate study in Developmental Disabilities at Teachers College, Columbia University.

Uplift Design Studio is what came of that. I design environments shaped by both lived experience and clinical understanding — spaces where neurodivergent people are not merely accommodated, but considered from the first line.