A trauma-informed service design system that reframes rest as resistance, supporting queer and trans individuals experiencing burnout through creative, restorative practices.
In a time of escalating political hostility toward queer and trans communities, many people who have dedicated years to activism are hitting a wall. They're exhausted, disillusioned, and disconnected—not from their values, but from the relentless demands of traditional organizing.
The original plan: This capstone began as a project to democratize no-code tools for LGBTQ+ changemakers. I wanted to help people without technical skills build solutions for their communities.
What I discovered: People didn't need more tools to manage. They needed permission to rest, space to heal, and ways to engage that didn't require them to keep sacrificing themselves.
How might we support queer and trans people experiencing burnout to reengage with changemaking in restorative, non-extractive ways?
I'm a queer and trans person living in southern Appalachian Ohio—a member of the community this project centers. I've witnessed firsthand how rising political hostility affects mental health, creativity, and sense of safety among my peers.
My background as a Licensed Social Worker and mental health therapist gave me both clinical insight and deep empathy for the emotional complexity of this work. I approached the research not just as an observer, but as someone who understands trauma-informed care and healing-centered engagement from professional practice.
This dual lens—community member and clinician—shaped every decision in the design process. I knew that what looked like "disengagement" from the outside was actually a protective response to chronic stress. And I knew that any solution would need to honor that reality, not try to fix it.
Over six weeks, I immersed myself in the queer and trans community across southern Ohio. I attended both open and closed spaces—from support groups to city council tracking initiatives, from Pride axe throwing to zine-making workshops.
Deep burnout, especially among trans people 30+ who had spent years fighting for justice only to watch progress regress. Many cited political stressors affecting their personal lives—medical gatekeeping, job loss, custody battles.
"I've given everything I have. I don't know how to keep showing up when I'm running on empty."
Growing fear of surveillance and retaliation, especially among those wary of digital organizing. This quote came from the founder of a private legal literacy group and reflected a pervasive anxiety about visibility and safety.
Despite exhaustion, moments of hope emerged in spaces that didn't demand political action—zine workshops, drag shows, themed parties. These gatherings allowed people to feel visible and expressive without the emotional labor of activism.
"Making a zine felt like resistance without having to argue with anyone or prove my right to exist."
Even people running these spaces felt trapped by the relentlessness of crisis response. They wanted to create sustainable models but felt like they couldn't slow down when the threats kept escalating.
The research made it clear: what people needed wasn't another tool to learn or task to complete. They needed permission to rest, frameworks for healing, and pathways to reengage that didn't reactivate trauma.
This was the moment the project fundamentally shifted—from skill-building empowerment to emotional restoration. From solutionism to care systems.
The key insight: Burnout isn't the end of the story. It's a natural, even necessary reaction to relentless pressure. Within burnout lies potential. What if we built a framework around that spark? What if rest wasn't a pause from activism—but activism itself?
Two personas emerged from the research, representing different experiences of burnout and different pathways to healing. Both are composites of real people I met, interviewed, and observed.
The F.I.R.E. Framework (Feel, Inquire, Respond, Extend) is a trauma-informed service design system that treats rest, reflection, creativity, and low-stakes visibility as valid and strategic acts of resistance.
The metaphor: Like a controlled forest burn, burnout can be a purposeful release that clears space for new growth. It's intense and real, but it's also fertile ground for regeneration. The framework guides users through a cyclical process that honors where they are while supporting what wants to emerge.
| Phase | Theme | Purpose |
|---|---|---|
| FEEL | Stillness | Sit with burnout. Reclaim calm. Reconnect with the body. Honor what you're feeling without shame. |
| INQUIRE | Reflection | Explore your needs. Reflect on loss and longing. Map what's been buried under the ash. |
| RESPOND | Creation | Let clarity become expression. Make something. Transform internal processing into outward artifacts. |
| EXTEND | Evolution | Share or archive your creation. Let it ripple outward—or keep it private. You decide how it lives on. |
Critically: This is not a linear process. Users can enter at any phase, revisit phases, or move through them at their own pace. The framework is adaptive, not prescriptive.
The primary deliverable is a four-phase analog card deck and guidebook. Rather than a digital app or platform, I chose a tactile, privacy-first format that prioritizes safety, accessibility, and user autonomy.
Each card corresponds to one of the four phases and offers prompts, rituals, and creative activities. The guidebook provides context, examples, and guidance for using the cards alone or in community.
Sensory check-ins: Music, texture, silence
Prompts: "What does tired feel like in your body?"
Ritual: Create a Rest Altar
Style: Minimalist, soothing, low-effort
Solo journal cards and peer dialogue prompts
Prompts: "What parts of yourself feel buried under ash?"
Ritual: Letter to My Future Creative Self
Style: Thoughtful, emotionally resonant
Creative challenges: Blackout poetry, 1-page RPG, collage zine, fiber weaving
Prompts: "Design a shrine to your past self"
Inspiration appendix: Sample creations, further explanations
Style: Tactile, open-ended, generative
Prompts: "Share with one person," "Leave this in a public place"
Reflections: "What would it mean for someone to build on your creation?"
Rituals: Tiny Archive Box, Creative Stitching Circle
Style: Optional, community-rooted, future-facing
Given the research findings around surveillance anxiety, digital fatigue, and the need for privacy, an analog-first format was the only ethical choice. The toolkit:
Speculative mockups: Card deck, guidebook, and creative artifacts
While the capstone deliverable is the analog toolkit, there are several speculative directions for expansion that maintain the project's core values:
A thoughtfully designed app with randomized prompts, reflection journaling, and opt-in community features. Critically: transparent about data, no coercive design patterns, algorithm opt-in/out.
Additional card decks focused on specific experiences: community grief, gender euphoria, ancestral memory, disability justice, etc. Co-created with community members.
A platform concept for "stitching" and responding to others' creative work (poetry, artifacts, stories) without exploitative algorithms. Users could remix and build on each other's creations.
A resource for organizers who want to use the F.I.R.E. Framework in group settings—support groups, activist spaces, creative collectives. Includes facilitation tips and trauma-informed best practices.
A gentle, trauma-informed pathway for queer and trans individuals to move through burnout and reconnect with creative, restorative resistance
Rest reframed as radical practice
Creative process rooted in self-trust
Alternative to burnout-based organizing
Design doesn't always mean technology. Sometimes the most radical tools are the ones that slow us down. Embracing analog-first design made space for accessibility, privacy, and emotional nuance that a digital solution couldn't provide.
My background as a social worker was my superpower. I could facilitate sensitive conversations, understand trauma-informed principles deeply, and recognize when "disengagement" was actually self-preservation. This project validated bringing my full professional background into design work.
Trauma-informed design requires slowing down. Every decision—from research methods to the final format—needed to center emotional safety, consent, and user control. This wasn't about building fast; it was about building right.
The process evolved, and that was okay. Letting go of the original no-code concept felt risky, but following what the research revealed led to something more authentic and needed.
I would have engaged more diverse voices earlier in the research phase, particularly from BIPOC queer and trans folks, disabled community members, and people with different relationships to activism. Their experiences would have enriched the framework.
I also wish I'd had more time to prototype and test the cards with real users. While the framework is grounded in research, seeing people interact with the physical toolkit would have revealed refinements I couldn't anticipate.
As the social and political climate continues to target marginalized communities, we need tools that don't demand more labor to be worthy. We need systems that hold space for grief, joy, rage, and regeneration.
The F.I.R.E. Framework affirms that queer and trans people deserve frameworks that meet them where they are—exhausted, grieving, hopeful, creative—and support them in becoming what they need to become next.
"Sometimes we burn because the world demands it—but we also burn to make room for what's next."