Go With Glo started on my thirtieth birthday in 2012. I had just left a job running a beautiful Georgetown spa, and the truest sentence I had was: I’m here to make your life easier.

It worked. People hired me for operations, admin, customer service, events, marketing, social media, websites, design, and the job no one had named but everyone needed handled. I could enter a business, learn it quickly, get along with the people, and make myself useful without a six-week orientation. For years, that was Go With Glo.

The problem with being able to do almost anything is that people will happily let you.

A few years ago, I hired an assistant and began handing off the work I did not enjoy. When I looked at what was left, the answer was: almost nothing. Rude. Also extremely useful.

By then, I had been diagnosed with ADHD & autism. Those diagnoses didn't hand me a neat new job title, but they explained how quickly I see connections, how completely I can disappear into a new world, why I need variety, and why work I am perfectly capable of doing can still leave me bored, restless, and unable to look at the screen for one more second.

So I stopped asking, “What can I get paid to handle?” I started paying attention to the part I always missed when it was gone.

It was the call where somebody told me what they were planning and I immediately had fourteen questions. The moment an idea went from vague to specific. Finding the sentence, the direction, the shape, the visual, or the next move. Making something with a person who cared about it, and caring right along with them.

That is what this version of Go With Glo is built around.

You can bring me in for a focused session, keep me close for a month, put me to work beside you, or hire me to make the website. I get to use everything I know without becoming responsible for every corner of somebody else’s business. You get someone who can think, make, notice, remember, and get excited with you.



I lost my mom unexpectedly in 2026. She was the funniest, sassiest, sunniest person I knew, and I refuse to honor her by becoming more solemn than she ever was. She taught me to dance when there’s music, get in the water whenever I can, be silly, unapologetically myself, and get right inside someone else’s excitement with them. That’s part of how I love people, and it’s part of how I work. I’m not building a business that asks me to leave any of that outside.

The work can be excellent—and we can also have a good time making it.