I Didn't Create Heavy Brain Space Because I Had a Plan

I didn’t create Heavy Brain Space because I had a plan. I created it because I felt like I had disappeared.

I wasn’t writing. I hadn’t created music in years. I was stagnating in my PhD program, and I was failing to show up 100% for my family and friends. I was around, doing, but I didn’t feel alive. I didn’t see purpose.

I was idly demonstrating competence, but not living with clarity or intention. I'd spent years measuring myself against standards I didn’t even believe in anymore. Productivity had replaced meaning. Output had replaced what I felt was my identity.

There were days where I would sit in front of my laptop and feel nothing. No spark, no anger, no urgency—just a dull pressure to keep going, like a machine that forgot it had a manual override.

Heavy Brain Space started as an escape hatch. But over time, it

became something more: a container to hold all the fragmented parts of me—science, music, philosophy, emotion—and let them breathe together without judgment.

This isn't a brand. It's a reclamation project.

I’m a metal vocalist who studies solar plasmas and space weather physics. I’m a father who still struggles with depression and boxes to remain internally consistent. I’m someone who needs to scream and someone who needs to understand why. Heavy Brain Space is where those needs meet.

This project is slowly giving me the tools to rebuild my confidence, my sense of identity, and an excitement to create.

So no—I didn’t start this with a strategy. I started it because I needed to find my way back. Not to who I used to be, but to someone I could actually believe in.