I debug your tech career
so you can love your work again.

For the past 17 years, I built a career in tech. 7 of those as an engineering leader inside one of the most complex and high-performing environments in Latin America. I led an org responsible for some of the most critical systems in the company. I had the privilege of designing teams, scaling operations, and developing incredible leaders.

I’m proud of the work I’ve done. I worked with people I admire, built an org I deeply believed in, and had the opportunity to grow in ways I never imagined when I started this journey.

But over time, a realization became impossible to ignore. The version of success I had been pursuing no longer matched the version of work and life I wanted for myself. What had once felt like challenge and growth began to feel like a cycle I had outgrown.

My favorite parts of the job, designing high-functioning teams, enabling autonomy at scale, mentoring leaders, and solving complex org puzzles, started to feel less like novel challenges and more like a playbook I had already mastered. Meanwhile, the parts of the job that demanded more of my time (executive alignment, politics, and managing at scale) were less energizing to me.

This wasn’t the first time I’d felt this kind of tension.

Throughout my career, I had always been deeply curious about how the nervous system interacts with high-pressure, high-ambition work. Long before I had the language for it, I was experimenting (sometimes obsessively) with ways to manage cognitive load, stress recovery, and the emotional demands of leadership.

I wasn’t drawn to this because it was trendy. I was drawn to it because I needed it.

My tendency to get emotionally attached to my work (and to the people I led ) was both a strength and a challenge. I carried it heavily. I carried it somatically.

The first time I experienced true career-induced nervous system collapse was in 2018. It was a painful lesson in what happens when ambition, emotional overidentification, and incongruent environments collide without the guardrails of nervous system literacy.

At the time, I didn’t have a framework for it. I just knew that something inside me broke. And that I never wanted to feel that powerless again.

That’s when I became my own testing lab.

I started tracking my nervous system. I built elaborate systems in my bullet journals. I experimented with protocols from neuroscience, longevity science, somatics, and performance psychology.

I wasn’t trying to “optimize” my life, I was trying to understand why it felt like my brain and my body couldn’t keep pace with the career I was building for myself.

Over the years, I would hit that wall more than once. Sometimes from external pressures. Sometimes from my own internal drive running beyond what my nervous system could sustainably support. The pandemic, industry shifts, and evolving personal responsibilities, family crisis, all compounded the challenge.

But the deeper I went into this work, combining therapy, somatic practices, and systems thinking, the clearer it became that this wasn’t just my story.

This is the story of so many high-performing professionals in tech. People who are brilliant, competent, and ambitious, but who quietly wonder why doing work they love still feels so unsustainable.

I reached a point where I wanted to redefine what meaningful work looks like for this next chapter. So I stepped into a sabbatical. A space to reflect, recalibrate, and experiment.

In this process, I rediscovered how much I love helping individuals, not just organizations, navigate inflection points. Whether it’s a career pivot, a leadership transition, or simply the desire to realign with what actually matters, this work feels both familiar and completely new.

Today, I help high-ambition professionals in tech debug their careers. Whether someone wants to stay in their current role but redesign it to fit their values, or whether they’re considering a broader shift, my focus is helping them navigate that with clarity, intention, and strategy.

This work is deeply personal to me. Because I’ve lived every side of this story. As a leader, as a builder, as someone who burned out more than once, and as someone who rebuilt.