Rest Or The Universe Will Make You: Or, How I Broke My Arm

The Struggles Origami Customs Has Been Facing This Year As A Trans-Integral Company

Over the past year, I’ve been running myself incredibly thin.

Not in a vague, abstract way, but in the very real, bone-deep exhaustion that comes from constantly responding to crisis after crisis, trying to hold something steady while the ground keeps shifting underneath it.

At Origami Customs, this has been one of the hardest years we’ve ever faced. We’re operating in a moment of active, targeted discrimination against trans people, much of it fueled and legitimized by the US administration. That political climate doesn’t stay theoretical for us. It shows up in our sales, our reach, and our ability to do our jobs. 

Social media shadowbans and ad bans have made it increasingly difficult for people to find us. Tariffs and supply chain issues have added layers of financial instability. Traffic and sales have dropped, not because our community disappeared, but because systems are actively working to push trans-led businesses out of visibility.

And now, on top of everything else, many of you have probably seen the news about the FDA sending warning letters to various domestic and overseas binder and compression-wear companies that advertise their products for transmasculine individuals. This is not a coincidence. It’s a targeted attempt to prevent the sale and creation of binders in the U.S.

For a business like ours, which has always been unapologetically trans-led and explicit about who we serve, this is terrifying. And it’s exhausting. Every new regulation, every new attack, becomes another fire to put out.

Because of all of this, our team has been stretched incredibly thin. And yet, it hasn’t felt like we can afford to stop. When your work supports a marginalized community, when people rely on you, rest can start to feel irresponsible. Like stepping away would mean letting something burn.

Rest, Or You’ll Be Forced To (The Story Of My Horseback Riding Accident)

I tried to keep going anyway.

Between June and December, I was working 60 to 70 hour weeks. I tried to take two weeks off for the first time in years over the holidays, but with getting things ready for a new launch, we had to push a photo shoot into that time. I really only got one week.

And then, on New Year’s Eve, the universe made the decision for me. Let me back up and tell you how that happened, because it’s a “funny” story.

On the morning of New Year’s Eve, a friend of mine was giving me a horseback riding lesson. She loves riding and is always trying to get other people into it. I was given a notoriously lazy horse, Chex (my butch queen). This horse didn’t even want to walk fast. My friend was showing me beginner maneuvers, like how to make the horse walk in a circle, how to go backwards, and how to stop. It wasn’t my first time on a horse, but the two other times I’d ridden were trail rides, where you don’t really need to know how to control much.

At one point, my friend asked if I wanted to feel what it was like to go a bit faster. She said she would hold the reins in the middle of the paddock so I could feel what it was like when the horse cantered. I wouldn’t be in charge. I just needed to hold on. As soon as we started, something spooked the horse. My best guess is that someone nearby had started shooting off fireworks early for New Year’s Eve.

She got agitated, went faster, and started bucking. I was slipping off the saddle and terrified of falling underneath her hooves, so I let go and flung myself onto the ground, landing on my arm. I broke my upper arm bone completely in half, one of the most painful breaks you can get. Although, to be honest, it could’ve been a lot worse. I was wearing a helmet, and I didn’t hit my head.

Because we were about an hour outside of Montreal, my friend drove me to the closest hospital. I won’t go into details about the pain and how they tried to set my arm without adequate painkillers, but suffice to say, it was one of the worst experiences I’ve ever had. 

Dependability As Resistance

And then something incredible happened.

Because I am so incredibly loved and cared for, my partner and a group of three other friends came to this hospital out of town on New Year’s Eve to pick me up and bring me to get meds and feed me food, and it was incredible. Honestly, it ended up being one of the nicest New Year’s Eves I’ve ever had. Not because it was fun, but because everyone showed up for me in such tangible, practical ways. They prioritized being there when I needed help the most.

Since then, I’ve been thinking a lot about dependability as a form of resistance.

There’s a framework around community care that really resonates with me. Relational coach Christabel Mintah-Galloway talks about how community isn’t a vibe, it’s logistics. It’s not about 24/7 access or burning yourself out to prove your worth. It’s simply this: can I count on you to do what you said you would do?

The lesson is this- I can’t help others if I’m not resting and taking care of myself. And I can’t show up in a way that’s inauthentic or beyond my capacity in a way that builds resentment over time. Showing up from a place of authentic capacity is how we build communities that can actually resist fascism, capitalism, and all the systems that benefit from keeping us isolated, scared, and exhausted. That’s true in my personal life, but it’s also deeply true in how I run Origami Customs.

I manage eight people. Every single one of them matters to me. I can’t be a good leader for them if I’m not dependable in my actions, and dependability requires rest. This work is a marathon. I can’t keep sprinting until I crash, over and over again. I’m not saying that my accident happened for a reason, but maybe there’s something about the universe trying to tell me that this is a moment where I really needed to pull back.

The Community You Help Build Will Show Up For You

Here’s the part that surprised me the most. When I became physically unable to lead my team, I realized how little they actually needed me. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. It was incredible.

I'm not sure why I’m surprised. I've been working to build a strong community for years, and I’ve been consciously building a business that depends on a strong team, rather than hinging entirely on me. During my recovery, that work showed itself.

The two other people in management were able to share my tasks easily. My staff made decisions and solved problems on their own. They handled unexpected challenges, including a workplace health and safety inspection that we had literally never dealt with before. Everything kept moving.

So as much as this has been a horrible time from a physical standpoint, and I also don’t want to make this all silver lining-y, I’ll tell you that I’ve actually cried happy tears about how well supported I feel, and also the pride in getting myself to a point where I can’t actually take the pressure off for a second and focus on my healing. 

This experience has shifted how I think about my role, not just as a business owner, but as an activist and community member.

Rest Is How We Keep Going

I know so many of us are tired. I know rest feels inaccessible, especially right now, when so much feels urgent and precarious, when it feels like taking your foot off the gas for even a moment could mean losing ground you can’t get back.

But what I’m reminded of through this experience is that rest is not a luxury. It’s infrastructure. It’s what allows us to stay. It’s what makes it possible to show up again tomorrow, and the day after that, without hollowing ourselves out in the process.

If you don’t take rest, the universe might do it for you. Sometimes gently. Sometimes not.

My hope for all of us is that we find ways to step back before that happens. That we learn how to ask for help earlier. That we build systems, teams, and communities that don’t rely on anyone being endlessly available, endlessly resilient, or endlessly self-sacrificing.

I want us to move away from models that celebrate burnout as commitment, and toward ones that value sustainability, redundancy, and shared responsibility. I want us to remember that being dependable doesn’t mean doing everything yourself. It means creating conditions where no one person is holding the entire weight.

Thanks for Being Here

This work, this care, this resistance, is long-term. It’s not meant to be survived in isolation, or powered only by adrenaline and fear.

While our challenges as a trans-first company have not lessened, this was a good reminder that we deserve lives that are bigger than constant crisis management. We deserve rest that is planned, supported, and protected. And we deserve to survive this together, with our bodies, our relationships, and our capacity intact.