If you had asked 8-year-old me what I wanted to be, I’d say “newspaper fashion designer,” scissors in one hand, glue in the other, surrounded by scraps of The Times of India. I truly believed I was crafting haute couture, one badly taped neckline at a time.

That was my first taste of design. Not the sleek, dribbble kind. The messy, make-believe, "look what I made!" kind. It wasn’t about clean grids or usable flows, it was about feeling something. And honestly? That hasn’t changed much.

Today, I’m a UX designer. But also I'm a feeler, a listener, a people-watcher, a chronic overthinker, and someone who notices when someone hesitates before clicking a button. That half-second pause? I can’t unsee it. That confused expression? It sticks. And I don’t rest until I know why.

UX wasn’t part of my grand plan. I started in graphic design thinking I’d end up in animation or VFX. But after spending one too many hours kern-ing fonts for wall calendars I didn’t even believe in, I realized something was off. Beautiful things didn’t excite me if they didn’t do anything. I needed more than surface. I needed substance.

So I jumped. Switched paths. Entered the world of UX, and for the first time, it felt like my chaos had context.

Because UX isn’t just about solving problems. It’s about sitting with them. It’s about designing for people who are tired, distracted, grieving, busy, joyful, curious, impatient, all in the same day. It’s about asking, “How can I make this a little better?” and actually meaning it.

Some people call that soft. I call it the core of my design practice.

Here’s the thing: I don’t believe in "users." I believe in people. Messy, flawed, brilliant people who skip instructions, forget passwords, and zone out mid-scroll. People like me. Like you.

And when I design, I bring all of me to the table, my anxious attachment to tiny details, my obsession with clarity, my need to feel understood and to make others feel the same. I bring the overthinking, the late-night aha moments, the internal monologues that start with “but what if we...”

(Also, I once said in a meeting, “We can’t just ship pixels and prayers,” and somehow now I’m the poetic one on the team. I’m okay with that.)

I’ve learned that power in design is always shifting. One day, it's the stakeholder with the final say. Another day, it's a line from a user interview that haunts you into changing the entire flow. My job? To hold that tension. To mediate the chaos. To make sure that amidst the deadlines and dev sprints, the human doesn’t get lost.

What fuels me is collaboration, the messy, layered kind where ideas bounce around like popcorn. I thrive when I’m bridging gaps, between people, between ideas, between what exists and what could.

And I’m always learning. Because design, much like life, is a forever beta. And I’m okay being a work in progress.

So who am I, really?

I’m Shravani. I cry over bad interfaces. I rewrite microcopy like it’s a love letter. I believe error messages should feel like hugs. I will fight for users no one notices. I will fight for stories that never get heard.

I’m not here to make shiny things. I’m here to make things that feel right.

Things that feel like someone cared.

Because I do.

And I always will.