Liz's Story | Cozy💤

Growing Up Wired Differently

I grew up hiding a mind that worked differently — one that felt everything deeply, processed too much at once, and didn’t fit the world’s pace. For years, no one knew I couldn’t read. I learned to listen harder, think faster, and analyze deeper to keep up — skills that became the foundation for how I solve problems and design today.

When I was twenty, a college professor stood before the class and said he was dyslexic — the first time I’d ever heard the word. It took me two months to find the courage to tell him my secret: that I couldn’t read. I was terrified he’d judge me like so many others had, but instead, he met me with understanding and compassion. That moment changed everything.

I taught myself to read from scratch, word by word, alone and determined. After I finally told him, I remember leaving his office and feeling lighter than air — literally leaping down the hallway. For the first time in my life, someone knew, and I wasn’t ashamed.

That discovery was life-changing, but it was only the beginning of understanding my neurodivergence. From twenty to fifty, I lived in a body that felt constantly overloaded — a nervous system always on high alert. People told me to “get over it,” but they couldn’t see what I was living inside. So I designed in secret — creating soft, tactile solutions to make life bearable. Those early prototypes were born from necessity, but they became the foundation for everything I would later design to help others find calm too.

Pain, Triggers & Diagnosis

For decades, I carried constant headaches — debilitating in themselves — on top of relentless sensory overload. Every sense had multiple triggers, and everyone around me said, “What’s your problem? Just get over it.”

I saw every kind of doctor and health practitioner imaginable. Each time, I researched thoroughly, committed to their course of treatment, and gave it everything I had. Yet the headaches persisted — every day, all day. While I was still suffering, I was also learning — about the body’s ecosystem, about how deeply connected everything is, and about my own patterns of resilience.

By the time I finally received a diagnosis of Sensory Processing Disorder in my fifties, I had already spent years designing my own coping tools — without realizing what I was really treating. That diagnosis gave me language — and permission. It connected the dots between the child who hid her dyslexia and oversensitivity, and the adult who quietly engineered her own survival.

It also marked the beginning of my life’s work: designing sensory solutions not just for myself, but for everyone who lives in a body that feels “too much.”

Design From Within

Design has always been my native language — the way I’ve made sense of the world. Long before Sensory Product Design™ existed, I was quietly creating prototypes that helped me survive in my own body. Every material, texture, and form became part of an experiment in comfort, calm, and control.

When my diagnosis finally gave me words for what I’d been feeling, it also gave me direction. I realized that the tools I’d been creating for myself could help others who struggled with the same invisible challenges. My industrial design background and my deeply personal experience merged into something far greater — a mission.

I stopped hiding my sensitivities and started honoring them. I began designing from the inside out — using empathy and sensory awareness as my framework, and precision design as my expression. That’s how Sensory Product Design™ was born: from the idea that we can create things that don’t just function, but feel right — supporting the nervous system, nurturing the senses, and helping people reconnect with calm.

Cozy💤™ Is My Legacy — But Just the Beginning

Cozy💤™ was the natural starting point for me — the most universal expression of comfort. Every person knows what it feels like to be cold, to tense up, to not be able to relax until warmth returns. That moment when your body finally exhales — that’s where calm begins.

When I first wrapped myself in my prototype, I expected warmth. What I didn’t expect was the instant sense of peace — the way my entire nervous system settled. That discovery changed everything. Cozy💤™ became more than warmth; it became a way to help people reconnect with their own bodies and notice what calm truly feels like

This is just the beginning. I’ve designed dozens of other sensory-based products that can help people feel “just right” in their own skin — especially those whose bodies react more loudly to the world. People with Sensory Processing Disorder, like me, experience life in high definition. No two of us experience it the same way. But every person — every nervous system — deserves understanding, tools, and compassion.

Cozy💤™ is where that awareness starts. My dream is to bring that same sense of safety, warmth, and balance to everyone — one thoughtfully designed product at a time.

Giving Back and Paying Forward

At Sensory Product Design™, giving back isn’t a campaign — it’s part of our design philosophy. Every Cozy💤™ product was created to bring warmth, calm, and dignity to people navigating life’s hardest moments. From hospital stays to recovery rooms, from the chaos of daily stress to the quiet battles no one sees, our mission is to wrap people in care — literally and emotionally.

This October, in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, we’re partnering with oncology centers and caregivers to bring CozyThrow💤™ to patients receiving treatment. Its open-back design, soft swaddle-like comfort, and hand-and-foot pockets make it a source of calm during long, exhausting hours of care.

If you are an oncology center or organization interested in partnering with us, please contact us here. Together, we can create donation programs and opportunities for patients to feel the love and experience the comfort they deserve.

If you represent an oncology or recovery center and are interested in collaboration, I’d love to connect.

And as CozyCo💤™ continues to find its way to children’s hospitals and oncology centers, we’re reminded that comfort and compassion are universal needs — because healing begins with feeling safe.