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When Michelle Weger first started nodding off in class, she thought she was just tired. University days stretched long, microscopes glowed dim, and ambition burned hot. She was one of ten students accepted into a coveted Diagnostic Cytology program, training her eyes to read cells that would tell life-and-death stories. Then the sleep attacks began. Random, fierce, and uncontrollable. A dream of becoming a neurosurgeon slowly flickered out under the fluorescent hum of a lab she could no longer trust herself to stay awake in.
She jokes that she was one of the lucky ones, and by the math, she’s right. Many people wait a decade or longer for answers. Hers came sooner but even so, the days stretched heavy. Every single day her body pulled in one direction while her plans pulled in another. She would wake up already behind, then try to work, study, date, ride a bus, sit in a waiting room, and out of nowhere, her eyes refused to stay open no matter how hard she fought them. She didn’t know why. She invented reasons and blamed willpower but that uncertainty bred its own kind of fatigue. The mystery became a second illness, a knot of what-ifs that crowded her sleep and stole her focus. Friends said push through. She tried, but the fear that nothing would fix it often felt louder than the symptoms themselves.
It would take five years before narcolepsy gave that exhaustion a name, five years of mystery, fear and stubborn survival. During that time, she made the first of many hard pivots. “I was in diagnostic cytology and it’s a really intense program,” she said. “But it was all microscopes and dark labs, and I was falling asleep in the middle of everything. I realized I couldn’t stay or I’d fail out.” So she left the microscope behind and switched to environmental science, choosing fieldwork because it kept her moving. “It’s a lot harder to fall asleep when your feet are wet,” she said, laughing. What started as a practical adjustment became proof that she could adapt and rebuild, even when the plan she’d built her identity around was gone.
“If I did nothing, I’d fail,” Michelle said. “If I made a change, the worst-case was still failure, but every other outcome was better. It was just bad math to do nothing.” That kind of logic, stripped of drama and focused on odds, became her compass. She finished her degree early, stuffed her savings into a backpack and took off to see the world. Alone.
For months she moved between hostels and night buses, often sleeping through motion or noise she couldn’t control. “I fell asleep in a lot of weird places,” she said. “But I met good people everywhere. That trip showed me I could take care of myself, even when my body had other plans.”
One stretch took her to Sudan, just after the country split in two. “It was six weeks of camping in the sand,” she said, “and seeing ancient pyramids no one talks about. Everyone knows Egypt, but Sudan has its own, right there under the sun with no tourists.” The travel stripped away routine and comfort, but it gave her proof of endurance. “It showed me that I’m capable, that I can adapt anywhere,” she said.
Away from home and structure, she found herself drawn to the same quiet logic that once pulled her toward science. “When you travel alone, you have a lot of time to think,” she said. “I missed using that analytical part of my brain.” With spotty Wi-Fi and no steady job, she turned to a small project she could control: her travel blog. During her long bus rides and unreliable Wi-Fi, she started teaching herself to code just to keep her travel blog running. “I wanted to make the site look better, so I had to learn,” she said. “That’s all it was at first, fixing my own problem.” But the more she tinkered, the more she liked the logic. “It felt like solving puzzles,” she said. “You try something, it breaks, you fix it, and suddenly it works. That kind of instant feedback was addictive.”
Coding gave her something she’d been missing since leaving the lab: precision and structure. “It scratched the same itch as science,” she said. “There’s a process, there’s testing, there’s proof. And if you do it right, it stays fixed.”
By the time she returned to Ottawa, Michelle turned that self-taught skill into side work. “Friends started asking me to build their websites,” she said. “Then friends of friends asked. At some point, it stopped being a hobby.” What began as freelance jobs at her kitchen table grew into a small agency. “I realized that if I was going to keep working, I had to build something that worked with my energy, not against it,” she said.
She founded Venture Creative Collective, a web and automation firm that now brings in millions. It runs like a finely tuned circuit board, structured to keep humming when her energy fades. “Anything you repeat is automatable,” she said. “If you do it twice, you can build a process for it.” The company’s signature offer, “Website in a day” and “Automation in a day,” came from that philosophy. “Seven hours of focused work together can replace six months of back and forth,” she said. “It saves clients time, and it saves me energy.”
The business thrived on that balance. What began as a workaround for fatigue became a model for efficiency. Each automated step, from client onboarding to follow-up, bought back hours she could use to rest, create or lead. “I can’t outwork my condition,” she said. “But I can outsmart it.” Her philosophy? Systems over stamina. “I automate anything I do more than twice,” she said. “If it repeats, it’s automatable.” She jokes that her coffee machine refills itself with a $20 float valve, but the point is serious, micro-efficiencies keep her energy where it matters.
That same mindset shapes her days. Michelle treats energy like a battery and builds her schedule around the charge. Mornings start early, though not in the usual way. An alarm rings 90 minutes before she intends to get up. That’s her cue to take her medication early enough for it to take effect. “Without it, I’d sleep till the afternoon,” she said. Her Great Dane, Quinn, ensures she actually takes it. The dog has been trained to nudge her awake, guard her safety, and warn her up to 15 minutes before a sleep attack hits. “Quinn’s the reason I haven’t fallen asleep in public once since getting her,” she said. “Before that, I’d pass out in dentist chairs or waiting rooms. Anywhere quiet.” Quinn gives her both independence and safety.
Around 10 a.m., Michelle settles into her most focused period of the day . . . four solid hours of clear concentration before fatigue returns. “That’s when I do the heavy lifting, the detailed work, the decisions, the client calls,” she said. “After that, I switch to creative stuff or lighter admin.”
Even small systems help. “I track my energy every day and plan work around the peaks,” she said. “I also try to talk with at least one person who gives me energy, not drains it. Being outside adds a few points too. Those little percentages add up.”
That attention to small, repeatable systems doesn’t stop at her own routine. It extends to how she helps others build theirs. Her advocacy carries that same practicality. In schools, she tells teachers to treat repeated classroom sleep as a red flag worth exploring, not punishing. “It could be gaming or stress, sure,” she said. “But it could also be a real sleep disorder. Early recognition changes everything.” She suggests small shifts that help everyone: later starts, outcome-based goals, and clear scripts for when a student falls asleep for medical reasons. “You can protect dignity and keep learning on track,” she said.
In workplaces, she pushes for open questions instead of assumptions. “Ask your team what change would help them perform better,” she said. “You don’t need to know why they’re asking. You just need to listen.” For many, that might mean flexible hours, short naps, or swapped shifts. “If you tie requests to outcomes, everyone wins,” she said.
The same approach she urges from leaders, she also expects from individuals: clarity and communication work both ways. Self-advocacy, Michelle says, begins with clarity. “Don’t walk in and say you want accommodations,” she said. “Say exactly what you need, why you need it, and how it keeps your work strong.” She coaches students and employees alike to pair every request with a plan. “If I say, I need a quiet space for two 30-minute rests and I’ll make up the time, that’s specific. That’s easier for everyone to support.” Vagueness stalls progress, precision builds trust.
She also speaks openly about etiquette around service dogs. “If you wouldn’t do it to a wheelchair, don’t do it to a service dog,” she said. That means no petting, no greeting the animal before the person, and no asking intrusive questions about medical details. “People mean well, but it can make something simple like grocery shopping feel like a public interview,” she said.
For Michelle, boundaries and systems share the same purpose: preserving energy for what truly matters. “Every rule, every automation, every routine I’ve built exists so I can focus on impact,” she said. That focus has shaped her company, her advocacy work and her life. And she built her life the same way she builds her software: one system at a time. She still laughs at the twist of once wanting to study and heal the brain, only to now live with a neurological disorder herself. “The plan changed, but the goal didn’t,” she said. “I wanted to make a difference and build something my family could be proud of. I still do that, just with code, systems and a very good dog.”
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