For years, I was told not to share my story.
“Hiring managers only care about results.”
Well, I’ve delivered results — at global companies, through dark UX audits, for multi-million-dollar products — and somehow, I still get overlooked.
So I’ve stopped hiding the why behind how I lead. This page isn’t about sympathy. It’s about perspective.
Because the truth is: I’ve lived what most professionals only observe.
And that experience shapes every project I touch.
I’ve worked with Forbes Travel Guide, Tesla, USAA, the Department of Commerce, major entertainment companies, and multiple startups and government agencies.
I’ve designed frameworks still in use a decade later.
I’ve consulted for C-level clients in the United States of America, Mexico, Canada, The United Kingdom, Europe, and the Middle East.
But here’s what truly sets me apart: I build systems that work because I don’t just test what users click on. I understand how they live.
That’s why I created this page on resilience. No other designer, researcher, or colleague I know has one like it.
Because no one else has lived my story.
You might be a hiring manager, a founder, a CMO, or just someone looking for someone who gets it.
Maybe you’ve also lived through hard things and had to hide them to “stay professional.”
Or maybe you’ve never been in a situation like this — but you know you need someone who has.
Either way, I’m not here to be safe or silent anymore. I’m here to lead with clarity, build with integrity, and bring the kind of perspective that too many teams are missing.
If you’re building something real — and you want someone who brings resilience, experience, and User Experience strategy that actually works. I’d love to hear from you.
I don’t believe in comparing pain. I’ve met people who survived things I couldn’t even imagine — abuse, addiction, deep trauma. I’ve also known people who’ve never had to face much hardship at all. That’s not a judgment, just an observation.
But I do believe everyone has a story, and this is mine.Not shared for sympathy, but because every chapter has shaped the resilience I bring to every room I walk into.
Levi’s Resilience Story
I was born to two young parents. My mom was still in high school when I was conceived. She was intelligent, driven, and wanted to become a teacher, but one teacher’s refusal to send her classwork while she was pregnant kept her from graduating.
That moment didn’t define her though. She kept going, and so did I.
My dad had a different kind of story. He was bullied relentlessly in school and battled mental health issues that were ignored at the time despite his parents both being educators in the same district.
He dropped out after middle school, but that didn’t stop him from building a career. He became a long-haul truck driver and, in the 1990s, was making six figures — more than many corporate professionals at the time. Some of my earliest memories are of riding in that truck with him, learning the rhythm of the road, and falling in love with the open highway.
After my parents divorced during my elementary school years, life changed. My mom and I lived with family for a while — sometimes with my grandparents, sometimes with close friends. We weren’t moving because of instability or recklessness. It was simply what she could afford. My mom was never involved in anything shady. She was clean-cut, didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t party. She worked hard and went back to school, while doing everything she could to raise me with dignity.
But the reality was, her budget limited where we could live. In one apartment, people downstairs were allowing someone to cook meth in their unit. When it exploded, it made the news. I still remember the image of that man running down the street, the panic in the air, and my mom rushing us out to stay with friends until it was safe and we could relocate.
That moment wasn’t about bad decisions, it was about how vulnerable you are when your budget only gets you so far.
Everything changed when my mom met my stepdad. They eventually married, and we built a new home. That’s when the moving around stopped. That house represented something we hadn’t had before, consistency. My mom became a certified teacher, then earned her doctorate in education. My stepdad became a steady and reliable presence in our lives.
The life we created from there was full of structure, love, and accountability. I’m grateful for all of it.
I worked from a young age building websites, helping local businesses, creating publications and newsletters while in high school. I also worked in retail, and no matter where I went — Walmart, JCPenney, OfficeMax — managers were always encouraging me to stay, to take on leadership roles. But I had bigger dreams. I wanted to pursue architecture and design, was a full-time student in university.
That’s when things shifted again. I entered a competitive architecture program, and while they praised my natural design instincts, I didn’t fit into their mold. I questioned assignments. I thought about people, about usability, about long-term needs — things that weren’t part of the curriculum.
Eventually, I transferred schools, lost family financial support, and left the traditional college path altogether. Not because I wasn’t smart, but because the programs weren’t teaching real-world UX and UI. I was already learning more in actual projects than I was in class.
From there, the real challenges began.
I moved to Chicago, then New York. When I arrived in NYC, there was a misunderstanding with my housing arrangement. I had nowhere to go, no money for a hotel, and ended up sleeping near a shuttered restaurant just off Times Square which today is the Apple Store in Times Square. I stayed there for several nights until someone I met offered me a place to stay. That moment taught me humility, but also how quickly things can unravel.
I landed projects at places like Fab.com and Uniqlo, but they didn’t last. Feel free to ask me why, what I learned, and what they learned.
I moved back to Chicago and, for the first time, was betrayed. A friend I trusted stole a $250,000 winning lottery ticket I had agreed to split with him.
I didn’t have to. I just believed in sharing because we both were struggling.
But he took it, and because I hadn’t signed it, he got away with it. That theft changed everything. I lost my apartment, had to move my belongings into storage, and for a period of time, I lived in that storage unit, sleeping at night above a Walmart Neighborhood Market.
The emotional and mental toll of that betrayal led to severe anxiety and panic attacks. I blacked out once on my first day at a job, completely awake but unable to see anything. I had never experienced anything like it. I got help, saw a psychologist, and gradually healed.
Eventually, I sold everything and moved to Dubai, where I worked in design, strategy, and signage across the Middle East and Northern Africa.
Later, I returned to the U.S., moved to Los Angeles, and began rebuilding. I found success quickly, landing contracts with Tesla and Hollywood studios. I re-opened my consulting firm, IVEL Group, and secured an office in downtown Los Angeles. I was paying $7,000 a month between rent and office costs — which seemed excessive in hindsight, but at the time, it felt like I was “making it.”
I even bought a BMW 428i — nearly new and fully loaded. In Los Angeles, appearances matter more than they should. People judge you based on what you drive and where you live. Buying that car wasn’t a smart financial move, but it felt necessary in that environment. It became a symbol of success. Ironically, it also became my shelter when the work dried up and I couldn’t maintain the lifestyle. Remember, we learn from situations - I am no longer so superficioul to believe a car like that defines success at a young age.
That car was my home again for nearly a year.
Eventually, I moved back to Missouri and lived with my grandmother — something I didn’t plan, but I’m forever grateful for. She passed away the next year, and that unexpected season allowed me to spend precious time with her that I wouldn’t have otherwise had.
I continued working, moved to Las Vegas briefly, then settled in Texas for 6 years. Texas was where I originally planned to move after Missouri. In Texas, I finally found some stability. But even there, I was tested. I was hit by a drunk driver, then involved in five more non-at-fault vehicle incidents over a few years. One involved a rock hauler that dumped its load beside me on the highway. I suffered injuries that affected my memory, caused pain, and ended my regular gym routine.
Despite all this, I kept going. I worked for the U.S. Department of Commerce during the 2020 Census and contributed to strategic research for the 2030 Census. I supported civic projects that mapped community needs across the country. Then I worked for USAA, where I delivered real results. But due to a recruiter’s error on my background check — and a rigid HR system — I lost the chance to transition to a full-time role, even though I was recommended and already inside the company.
After that came UniGroup, where I walked into a storm of unethical behavior and broken systems. I did what I could to bring order, clarity, and strategy, but in the end, I had to walk away.
And now, here I am — not broken, but refined.
Not discouraged, but sharpened.
Still standing.
Still building.
Why I Shared This
Not every designer has lived through broken systems.
But I have.
I’ve survived the gaps in healthcare, housing, and hiring. I’ve been on the other end of poor policy and poor leadership. I’ve seen what works and what doesn’t — not just from research, but from experience.
I’ve also worked with top brands, built frameworks that still stand, and created outcomes that go beyond “delight” into actual impact.
That’s what I bring.
So if you’re looking for someone who knows how to build — not just in theory, but in real life — then I’m ready.
Want to work together?
Let’s talk. I’m available for full-time roles, consulting, and strategic partnerships.
