Last updated: Thursday, May 8th, 2025
I spent the last few years working on internal tools and documentation systems at a large company.
It was my first job in this field, and I learned quickly — fast enough to see structural problems that couldn’t be patched, only rebuilt.
For about two years, I pushed for better systems. I raised awareness, wrote proposals, scoped timelines. And then I waited.
Over time, I realized the bottleneck wasn’t technical. It was cultural — a quiet resistance to fixing foundational problems, especially when the fix looked expensive, unfamiliar, or just uncomfortable.
That realization didn’t happen all at once. It showed up slowly, in the space between presentations and silences.
Between "yes, but" and six months later, I had still failed to convey just how necessary it was.
I could’ve waited a little longer. But while I aligned with the company’s values, I didn’t align with its structure — or its approach to this particular issue.
It wasn’t wrong — not exactly. But it wasn’t a good fit for someone like me: I value autonomy deeply, and I bristle at systems that constrain how I think or act. I need room to question, build, and move — without waiting for permission to do things that make sense.
Over time, the mismatch wore me down. The waiting. The holding back. The effort of trying to make something important understood.
Eventually, it started to affect my health.
That’s when herbalism became more than an interest. I was already enrolled in school, but mostly following an urge to understand something I found meaningful.
What I learned had already helped me stay focused and resilient through intense periods.
I’d supported my parents through improvements to their health and lab results.
I’d helped friends manage stress, blood pressure, and burnout.
And at some point, the shift became clear:
I didn’t just want to study this. I wanted to be ready — qualified — to help someone who really needed it, if they came to me.
So I left.
Not dramatically. Just… clearly.
Why This Site
anca.wtf isn’t a rebrand or a pivot. It’s a recalibration.
A return to values — not a retreat.
It’s where I write about the things that still matter to me:
documentation, systems, naming, tooling, weird workflows, making things less painful.
It’s not a product. Not a funnel. Not a statement of expertise.
It’s where I work in public — now that I don’t have to ask for a meeting to do it.
Some posts will be technical. Some will be process-y. Some may not be useful to anyone but me.
That’s okay. This site exists because I needed it to.
What’s Next
I’m building quietly — websites, content systems, a slower pace.
I’m studying herbalism. Reading Asimov. Trying to walk more. Fixing the tech my friends don’t want to deal with.
And writing again — without performance metrics.
If that resonates, you’re welcome to hang around.