Level 7 Human: Why I Made Houses and Humans

I’ve always thought of life as a role-playing game. Not metaphorically. Literally.

Every time I made it through a conversation without zoning out or crying in a Walmart parking lot, I gave myself imaginary XP. I wasn’t surviving—I was grinding. I just didn’t know the name of the quest I was on, or why it seemed to be set on Nightmare Mode.

Eventually, I found out I’m autistic, ADHD, and run by a glitchy little meat computer I’ve named Clarise. She’s mean. She tells me I’m failing at life, and sometimes I have to say out loud, “Shut up, Clarise,” like a spell to banish intrusive thoughts. Turns out, that is a mental health strategy. And Houses and Humans was my way of turning those strategies into something magical.

It all started when my nephew graduated high school. I wanted to get him a meaningful graduation present—something that said, “Hey, welcome to adulthood. It’s terrifying. Here’s a cursed survival guide.” But nothing out there fit. Not for nerds like us who play Dungeons & Dragons and think “adulting” is the worst-designed class in the entire RPG system.

So I made the gift myself.

Houses and Humans is part RPG, part self-help, and part mental health workbook in disguise. It’s for neurodivergent adults, students, and exhausted humans of all kinds who would rather track their stats than track their spending. It’s built on CBT principles, but written like a cursed survival manual. You get XP for getting out of bed. You slay monsters like Anxiety Gremlins and the FAFSA Fiend. You cast spells like Emotional Support Coffee and Boundary Shield.

This isn’t just a journal. It’s a toolkit for coping. A sarcastic lifeline. A darkly funny way to pretend you’re in control of your life.

Right now, I’m a Level 7 Human:

1. Born

2. Got my driver’s license

3. Graduated high school

4. Started a family

5. Bought a house

6. Got a “real” job

7. Wrote this book

Every one of those levels was earned the hard way. And every one would’ve been easier with a book like this.

What’s Next for the Houses and Humans Collection?

I’m building a full series:

• College Edition (done): For students battling homework monsters and roommate curses

• CBT-Based Adulting Edition (in progress): For burned-out grownups who need stealthy coping tools in RPG format

• Neurospicy Edition: For autistic, ADHD, anxious, and differently-wired brains

• High School / Gap Year Guide: For the teen adventurers who are scared, smart, and weird in the best way

• Base Survival Campaign: A core book for anyone adulting without a map

And I’m also toying with launching a Kickstarter to help bring the next editions to life—with extras worthy of the quest ahead. Think:

✨ Gold-foiled “Level Up” certificates
🗺️ Illustrated fold-out maps of your mental health survival zone
🎲 Sticker sheets for spells, monsters, and cursed achievements
📓 Upgraded print editions with tabs, pockets, and potion-tracking pages

It’s everything I wish someone had handed me when I got my first diploma and realized I had no idea how to file taxes, regulate my emotions, or feed myself without crying.

My goal isn’t to fix people. It’s to help them survive. Laugh. Reflect. Maybe even heal a little—whether they know it or not. Because mental health support shouldn’t feel like punishment. It should feel like getting a potion drop after slaying a boss.

If you’ve ever felt like you were failing at adulthood, you’re not. You’re just playing a game that wasn’t designed with your character class in mind.

That’s why I made Houses and Humans.
And that’s why I’ll keep making more.