For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt lost—like I was drifting through life without a true sense of who I am. I wore a mask every day, molding myself to fit society’s narrow picture of what a “normal” person should be. I hid the parts of me that felt different—the way I stimmed, my social awkwardness—by watching others and learning how to blend into the crowd. Standing out felt dangerous, so I did everything I could to disappear in plain sight. Growing up, I didn’t understand why I acted the way I did. I just knew I was “weird” and “different,” and those words stung deeply. Bullies called me the R-word—something I hate to even think about—trying to strip me of my dignity and identity. I internalized those insults for years, believing I was broken or less than. Then, in April of this year, something shifted. I was diagnosed with autism. That diagnosis didn’t change who I am—it didn’t magically fix all my struggles or erase years of pain. But it gave me something priceless: a name for...

Troubles Understanding Neurotypical Communication I’ve always struggled to understand the way neurotypicals communicate. It’s like I never got the playbook. Funny thing is — that playbook was never written. And honestly, they never got it either. Communication keeps evolving, and it’s full of unspoken rules. From the way they don’t really say what they mean to the way they use body language, it’s like a foreign language. Like when I say, “I’m fine,” I really mean I’m fine. But they keep asking, “Are you okay?” And it drives me nuts because, yes, I am fine. According to my therapist Jennifer, I should say, “I’m doing okay today,” instead of “I’m fine.” That way, the neurotypical knows there’s nothing wrong with me. But honestly, it feels weird because the literal definition of “I’m fine” is… well, I’m fine. Duh. Here’s the kicker: in neurotypical speak, “I’m fine” apparently means “I’m not okay.” Which feels like a trap. Why can’t people just say wh...

Hey, I’m on Patreon Now! Hey everyone, I wanted to let you all know I just launched a Patreon page: patreon.com/Chroniclesofaquietfighter . This is where I’ll be sharing exclusive content from my autistic perspective — stuff like deep reflections, stories, and insights you won’t find anywhere else. Why Patreon? Because it helps me keep doing what I love: writing honestly about my experiences and connecting with folks who get it. Plus, it supports me in managing the challenges that come with being autistic and living authentically. If you like my work and want to support me, even a small pledge makes a big difference. And if you can’t support financially, no worries! You can still follow along here and on my socials. Also, I’ll continue sharing my books and poems here on the blog — but usually a couple months later, after they’ve had an exclusive run on Patreon. That way, Patreon supporters get early access, but everyone eventually gets to enjoy the ...

Understanding Autism: Beyond Myths and Misunderstandings Autism, or Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), isn’t a single “type” of person or experience — it’s a broad spectrum of ways people think, feel, and interact with the world. I was officially diagnosed in April 2025, at age 35, but autism has always been part of who I am. Getting that diagnosis didn’t change me — it just gave me the words and understanding for what I’d always known inside. Unfortunately, a lot of myths still surround autism, and they can cause real harm. So, let’s break down some truths — with a bit of my own experience mixed in. 1. Autism is Neurological, Not a Disease Autism is part of a person’s brain wiring. It’s not something that can be “cured” — and it’s not something that needs to be. I’ve had people treat my autism like a problem to be fixed, but the truth is, the things that make me different also give me unique strengths — like my love for history, my focus when working on classic cars, ...

The Headache from Hell Yesterday, August 8th, I woke up with a dull, achy headache in my left temple. It was annoying right from the start. I took all my meds like normal and went to work, hoping it would ease up. But nope, it just kept getting worse. The pain spread across my forehead and to my right temple. By the time I left work, my pain level was a 3—and for me, that’s pretty bad. I’m not sensitive to pain, so my 3 is probably someone else’s 5 or 6. On top of that, my light and sound sensitivity was doubled yesterday. That was excruciating since I already have heightened sensitivity to both. Every noise and glare felt like stabbing pain. To top it all off, my right shoulder was still hurting too. Honestly, the whole day felt like my body was just betraying me. I really don’t want to go to the ER over it. I hate going there. They don’t treat me very nicely, and the stress of that place just makes everything worse. So here I am, pushing through it the best I ...

💛 My Found Family at Work Posted by Caleb | August 7, 2025 | Tags: autism, found family, workplace, mental health, quiet fighter I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how people come into our lives and unexpectedly become something we never had growing up. Support. Safety. Care that doesn’t hurt. At work, I’ve started to realize… I’m building a found family . Not all at once — but one connection at a time. And yeah, maybe it sounds cheesy. But for someone like me — autistic, queer, carrying a whole lot of life — this isn’t just a nice thing. It’s survival. And it’s something I’m proud of. 🧰 Here’s what that family looks like: 👨‍🔧 Boss-Dad — Ryan He keeps the shop moving and holds the authority. He might not say much, but there’s something grounding about him. I didn’t grow up with a stable father figure — so even the small ways he shows up offer something I never had: structure I can trust . 🧡 Mom #2 — Miranda She’s my rock. B...

🌧️ The Rinse Is Enough Some mornings, I just rinse off with hot water. No soap. No washcloth. No full-body scrubdown. Just water and breath and enough stillness to remind myself: I’m here. I did something. I’m still trying. Growing up, my mom would tell me, “If you’re in there with the water on, you might as well use soap and a washcloth.” But what she didn’t understand — what so many people still don’t understand — is that for someone like me, autistic and often overwhelmed, that “might as well” comes with a cost. Soap isn’t just soap. It’s texture, scent, pressure, decisions. It’s executive function and sensory load. It’s one more step when I already feel like I’m drowning in steps. There are days when just turning on the water is a triumph. Rinsing off is not “giving up.” It’s choosing a path I can actually walk. It’s something . And something is always better than nothing. The rinse helps regulate my body. The hot water...

Why It Matters to Listen to Your Neurodivergent Kids Growing up, I felt like I was never really taken seriously by my mom when it came to things that mattered deeply to me—like my emotions, my sensory struggles, or how certain situations made me feel unsafe or overwhelmed. I would try to explain, but it got brushed aside. I think a lot of it came down to her being more practical than emotional in her parenting. She wasn’t trying to hurt me. She just didn’t really understand what I needed. But the thing is—that misunderstanding still hurt. When you're neurodivergent, especially as a kid, you often don’t have the words to explain what's going on in your body and mind. I didn’t. I just knew that sounds were too loud, lights were too bright, and my emotions felt like tidal waves I couldn’t control. I didn’t need anyone to fix me—I needed someone to believe me. To say, “I hear you. That sounds hard. I’m here.” I know now that I was masking a lot—hiding t...

Shoelaces and Soft Moments Most mornings before work, my mom ties my shoes for me. It’s not that I can’t tie them — I can — they just never seem to stay tied when I do it. They come undone before I even reach the front door. But when my mom ties them, somehow they stay perfect. I don’t know what she does exactly, but they hold tight. She says I should just get slip-on shoes so she doesn’t have to keep doing it. Jokes that she’s been tying my shoes for 32 years, and it’s about time I handle it myself. I tell her she’s already invested this much time, why stop now? Truth is, it’s not about the shoes. It’s about the moment. Those few minutes are just me and her. A small window of connection in a busy day. No one else. Just the two of us. While she’s bent down tying my shoes, I usually pat her on the top of the head. She says she hates it, but I always catch a little smile. She knows I don’t like to be touched much — it’s a big deal for me. A small pat is me letting her...

🌀 The Giggle Siege: Zaxby’s Edition Date: August 5, 2025 Tonight, I went to Zaxby’s just thinking I’d get some food—not a full-on gender identity comedy showdown in the drive-thru. But the universe had other plans. The girl at the speaker was new. Like always, they asked for my name. I was in a good mood, so my voice was a little higher when I said, “It’s Caleb.” She misheard it as “Kayla” and started giggling. That got me giggling. I corrected her—“It’s Caleb”—but now we were both cracking up. Then she asked, “Is there a girl in the car with you?” I answered, “Maybe Maybe not.” 😏 I heard the rest of the staff laughing inside. They were on to me . I said, “I’m a guy,” and that sent us all over the edge giggling again. That’s when the guy in the truck behind me hollered, “Would you two girls stop giggling and just order?! And you inside, take her order already!” Without missing a beat, I dropped into the deepest voice I could summon and said: “Who you calling a gir...

🧠 Psychology Is My Second Language Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about what intelligence actually means. Miranda told me the other day that she thinks I’m really smart — and honestly, I didn’t know how to take that at first. My brain immediately went, "But I can’t do half the stuff I used to in college," and it spiraled into that familiar self-doubt pit. I have a degree in electrical engineering, yeah, but after everything I’ve been through — the trauma, the suicide attempt, the depression — sometimes I feel like I lost parts of myself in the aftermath. Like those four minutes changed my brain. But then I remembered something important. When Miranda was taking her vet assistant classes, she used to bring her homework to work. And you know what? She asked me to help her. Psychology, biology — she trusted me with it. And I didn’t just stumble through it — I understood it. Psychology came naturally to me because I’ve been living it. Between therapy, ps...

The Note Meant for Cutie Pie “P.S. Tell Cutie Pie we love them no matter what.” I think my 5th grade teacher and her assistant had me pegged for being autistic. Back then, I was in special education. There was another kid named Caleb in the class too, but I was the one everyone called Cutie Pie—because my initials were C.P. I still remember how it felt to be seen that way. Sweet. Safe. Special. One day, they sent a note home with me in my report card folder. I opened it before giving it to my mom. It read: “Dear parent or guardian of Caleb, We believe that they may have autism and should be seen by a psychologist to be assessed. If you need help, feel free to contact the school counselor. P.S. Tell Cutie Pie we love them no matter what.” When I gave it to my mom, she brushed it off. Said the school must’ve mixed things up—that the note was probably meant for the other Caleb. But I knew better. That last line? That was for me. No on...

Love Spell for My Person I’m not asking for perfect. I’m calling in real. I want a sweet girl who’s not scared to put me in my place when I need it—like Miranda does when my brain is spiraling. Someone steady and gentle but strong enough to say, “Hey, stop. Breathe.” I want someone who’s autistic like me , so I don’t have to explain why I stim, freeze up, or need to leave the room. She’ll just know—and I’ll know for her, too. I want someone who genuinely loves me for me . Not the version of me that masks to survive, but the quiet fighter underneath. The kid who gets giddy over pop tarts and cartoons. The one who melts down sometimes and tries again anyway. I want a girl who says, “You don’t have to work if you’re not okay. Your worth isn’t tied to burnout.” A girl who would say, “Let’s cut back your hours. Your body matters. Your mind matters.” I want someone who laughs at my humor , pets Stella with me, and doesn’t need big plans to be happy. Someone who’s cool with side...

That Moment When Your Dark Humor Hits a Nerve So I may have put my foot in my mouth today. Again. I, in my not-so-innocent wisdom, dropped two spicy comments—one about using a serpentine belt to strangle myself, and the other suggesting the brake lathe instead for a more gruesome end. Yeah. That brake lathe one definitely crossed a line. But before I could filter it or catch my own brain for going full Saw franchise, it was already out there. John, sweet chaotic John, just looked at me and calmly said, “Yep, it’s time for you to go, Caleb. Get something to eat. Watch a movie. Call Miranda or your therapist.” I, being the delightfully unhinged goblin that I am, started laughing my ass off. He didn’t laugh. He just stood there with this deeply concerned look that said: “This is not funny. Are you okay?” Which only made me laugh harder, because sometimes I genuinely can’t help it. Humor is my shield, my pressure valve, my accidental weapon of choice. The thing is... I...

The $20 Surprise: A Battery, a Barrier, and a Bit of Hope The $20 Surprise: A Battery, a Barrier, and a Bit of Hope Today at O’Reilly’s, I had a moment that hit me in a way I didn’t expect. A Hispanic customer came in needing to warranty out a battery. He didn’t speak English very well, but we managed to communicate. I grabbed the new battery and the tool cart and walked outside to install it—just like I would for anyone. But then he said something that caught me off guard. He told me he was surprised I was going to install the battery for him. That no one in America has ever offered to help him like that—not in any store. I didn’t know what to say. It stuck with me. I live in a very conservative area where, sadly, racism toward Hispanics and Black people is pretty common. I see it. I hear it. But at our O’Reilly’s, it’s different. My coworkers are open-minded, supportive of race and disability, and even accepting ...

The Celebration I Couldn't Give Celebration I Couldn't Give August doesn’t just carry grief. It carries silence. The kind of silence that cuts deeper than words ever could. The year after everything happened—after my suicide attempt, after Papa died—my mom acted like nothing happened. No conversation. No check-in. No acknowledgment that my world had caved in and I’d barely crawled out. She just wanted me to celebrate my birthday. Smile. Eat cake. Pretend. But I couldn’t. I still can’t. Every year since, I’ve masked through it. I put on the show. The fake smile. The polite “thank you.” I laugh in the photos. I play my part. And everyone thinks I’m okay. But I’m not. Not on that day. Inside, I’m broken. Inside, I’m replaying the moment I almost didn’t make it. Inside, I’m wishing someone— anyone —would see through the mask and just say, “I know this day is hard.” But they don’t. And so I cry alone. ...

The Month That Tried to Steal Everything The Month That Tried to Steal Everything August. I hate this month. It’s the one that took Papa from me. The one where I hit my lowest point—the month I almost didn’t make it. The one where grief wrapped itself around my throat and didn’t let go. The one that still echoes with silence I’ll never unhear. And yet... Somewhere in the middle of all that darkness—me and my brother were born. Life began for us in the same month so much ended. How am I supposed to celebrate a birthday when the air still feels like grief? When I still flinch at memories I didn’t ask for? When I still wonder if surviving was a gift… or just a long, drawn-out sentence? The truth? I don’t have neat answers. All I know is—I’m still here. I’m still here, even when August rolls around like a storm that doesn’t miss. I’m still here, even when the memories claw at my skin. I’m still here...

The Giddy Gremlin Strikes Again Posted on August 3, 2025 I have no idea what’s going on with me today—but I’m giddy as hell , and honestly? I’m not even mad about it. John walked into work, took one look at me, and said something like, “You’re in a mood today.” And I was like, “Yep. Giddy as hell. No clue why.” And that’s the truth. I can’t pin it on anything. No new toy. No sugar rush. No big news. Just… my brain decided it was a good day to throw a dance party in my nervous system. And I’m loving it. It’s like this fizzy, bubbly feeling that makes everything feel kind of sparkly. Like the world is one big inside joke and I’m the only one who gets the punchline. My grin won’t quit. I keep wanting to spin around or stim or say weird things just for the fun of it. And you know what? That’s joy . That’s autistic joy in full bloom, and I’m not about to question it. I’ve spent so much of my life managing sensory storm...

Unmasking Didn’t Free Me... At First I was told that unmasking would make me feel free. That I’d finally breathe easier, laugh louder, stim openly, and just exist as myself without fear. But no one told me it would crack open the vault of everything I’d buried to survive. I didn’t expect the grief, the rage, or the way my body would tremble when I let myself move differently—freely—for the first time. “I’m learning that freedom sometimes starts with falling apart.” It hurts more right now because I’m finally feeling it. Every unprocessed wound, every "just push through," every mask I wore so well they started believing it was me... I'm facing all of it now. Unmasking didn't make me happy. It made me real. And real is harder than I thought. But I’m Not Going Back I love stimming too much. I love the softness of my voice when I’m not forcing it. I love the freedom in rocking, spinning, flapping—my body speaking its tr...

Wednesday Season 2 is Coming... Like Wednesday Addams herself, I’ve been counting the days in silence... until now. On August 6th, the darkness returns and the weird takes the lead. Season 2 of Wednesday drops on Netflix—and I’ll be front and center, emotionally unavailable, and fully invested. I see myself in Wednesday: intense, honest, misunderstood, and brilliant in ways most people can’t grasp. She’s either autistic—or perfectly autistic-coded—and it’s why her story feels like mine, just with more spiders and fencing swords. 🕷️ Until then... sharpen your wit, practice your cello, and embrace the chaos. 🕷️

Why Do So Many Autistic People Look Younger Than We Are? It’s something I’ve noticed in myself and in others in the neurodivergent community — we often get mistaken for being younger than we are. I’ll be working, joking around, or just smiling off into space, and someone will say, “You look like a kid again.” At first, I thought it was just me. But the more autistic people I met, the more I saw it wasn’t just a coincidence. There’s something deeper going on. So I started digging into it. Is it neurological? Is it sensory? Is it how we show up in the world? Turns out… it’s kind of all of the above. 🧠 Neurological Expression Autistic people often express emotions, tone, and body language differently. Our faces may be more neutral, animated, or expressive in ways that resemble younger people. Some of us smile big, use playful tones, or stim with joy — and neurotypicals read that as childlike. But really, it’s just authentic e...

🌀 Zoned Out, Tuned In, and Giggling Yesterday at work, I had one of those moments . You know, the kind where the autism just takes over—in the best possible way. Me and John were working, and I was standing at the counter beside him, totally vibing in my own little world. He suddenly said my name, and I turned my head slowly to the left with a massive, shit-eating grin plastered on my face. Without missing a beat, he goes, “It’s the autism.” And just like that, I snapped back and started giggling. Turns out, John was on video chat with our friend Silas. He told Silas I had been staring off into space with that goofy grin, completely gone in the void. So Silas, being Silas, wanted to see it for himself and called my name through the video chat. I did the slow head turn again—still not totally back in reality—but that giggle I let out? Priceless . Silas died laughing. Honestly? It felt so good to be known like that. No judgement. No trying to “snap out ...

Two Moms, a Dad-Boss, and a Brother Who’s Not Because I don’t just work retail—I star in a full-blown family sitcom… complete with sass, unsolicited advice, and emotional support threats. Let’s get one thing straight: I was hired to work at a parts store, not accidentally join a chaotic found family. And yet, somehow, I now juggle two moms , a dad-boss , and a "little brother" who thinks he’s in charge. And me? I’m the neurodivergent gremlin at the heart of it all, dripping with sass and barely holding back from roasting them in real time. (But today… I blog.) Mom #1: Miranda, Queen of Calm and Sass Repossession Miranda has somehow appointed herself as my secondary mother—complete with “the look,” the sighs, and the ability to revoke my Sass License at will. One second I’m cracking jokes, the next she’s giving me that deadpan stare like, “Child, I swear.” Honestly? She's probably saved me from a dozen HR complaints and at least one concussion. Love...

The Dog Who Taught Me to Read Not all heroes wear capes. Some wear tiny Shakespearean costumes and solve mysteries on PBS. His name was Wishbone , and he wasn’t just a clever Jack Russell Terrier—he was the reason I fell in love with storytelling in the first place. Long before I knew I was autistic, long before I had words for dyslexia or anxiety, I had Saturday mornings. I had Pop-Tarts. I had cartoons and quiet. And I had Wishbone. For a kid who struggled with reading, who mixed up letters and fought against words that didn’t seem to want to stay still, books could feel like enemies. But when Wishbone told stories, he didn’t make me feel dumb or broken. He made me feel invited . He acted out adventures, played every character, and made the classics feel like fun—not schoolwork. Whether he was Sherlock Holmes, Robin Hood, or Odysseus, I was right there with him, absorbing every line like it was a secret spell to unlock the world. I didn’t just want to...

Choosing the Hard Path There comes a time in your life where you have to make the hard decision: do I keep going down the path I’m on just because it’s familiar? Or do I take the path that might actually help me—no matter how unknown or scary it feels? That was where I was a couple of months ago when I finally decided to get assessed for autism. When I started seeing a therapist again. When I met with a psychiatrist for the first time. When I began taking an SSRI and anxiety meds—ones that, if I didn’t truly need them, could have seriously harmed me. Let that sink in. But here I am. It’s August 2nd, 2025. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d live to see this day. And nearly didn’t—more than once. One of those times was by my own hands. I know, right? Messed up. But hey, I did just say I’m on meds. Dark humor helps sometimes. I want you to know—it does get easier. Not perfect. Not some magical Hollywood moment where the clouds part and you become a brand new person. That’s...

🧠 Mental Health Is a Journey: "The Search" with Two Therapists "Therapy doesn’t always mean fixing—we are allowed to carry our baggage while still choosing to move forward." 💜 In this powerful video from HeartSupport , therapist Taylor Palmby sits down with fellow therapist and lead singer Jake Segura to watch and unpack the music video for "The Search" by NF. What unfolds is a deeply relatable conversation about mental health, identity, and how healing isn’t a destination—it’s a journey. Many of us carry invisible burdens. This video reminds us that we don’t have to “fix” everything to move forward, and that every part of our story belongs—including the parts we’re still learning to live with. This isn’t just a reaction video—it’s an invitation to reflect. As the therapists discuss, "The Search" gives us permission to continue showing up, even with all our mess, confusion, and exhaustion. Healing is nonlin...

Why Neurodivergent Friendships Matter When you're constantly having to navigate through social situations that don’t make sense to you because of the neurological makeup of your brain, it can wear you down. You end up masking, overanalyzing, and burning out trying to decode a system that wasn’t built with your wiring in mind. This can make it incredibly difficult to form friendships or feel a sense of belonging in a neurotypical society. You're not broken—your brain just speaks a different language. And when no one around you speaks it too, the isolation is real. That’s why it’s so important to have other autistic and neurodivergent people in your circle. People who understand stimming, shutdowns, unspoken rules you didn’t sign up for, and the deep need for space, clarity, or sensory comfort. With them, you don’t have to translate yourself. You just get to exist. Neurodivergent friendships aren’t just helpful—they're vital. They keep you grounded, ...

🌿 Life Update – August 2025 🌿 Posted on August 2, 2025 Hey friends, It’s been a wild, emotional, and reflective few weeks. I’ve had a lot on my plate—between work stress, sensory overload, and trying to balance my mental health meds, things haven’t always been easy. There’s been some good, though. I’ve been leaning into what grounds me: journaling, cuddling Buc-ee, letting myself stim freely, and remembering that progress isn’t always linear . I even earned a couple of emotional bravery badges—because surviving hard days is its own kind of victory. I’ve also had some intense physical symptoms show up—like nerve tension in my neck and arm, and weird sensations in my head—but I’m tracking them, advocating for myself, and working with my care team. Most of all, I’m proud of myself for not shutting down. For letting myself feel things. For reaching out. For being real . If you’re also going through it right now, I see you. You’re not ...