End of August Update

August always weighs on me. My birthday sits in the same week as the memory of my grandfather’s passing, and that combination pulls me between joy and grief in a way that my body can’t always process. It feels like buzzing under my skin—like my nerves are carrying too much information at once. Sometimes I sweat when no one else is hot, or everything sounds like it’s happening at the same volume, and my body just says, enough.

Turning 36 brought mixed emotions. I don’t feel like I’ve “arrived” anywhere in life, and my brain often tells me I should be further ahead. But when I look at the reality, I’ve survived so much. My autistic brain and body make everyday things harder—like interruptions at work that completely throw me off, or noise in the store that makes me lose my focus instantly. Even something as simple as trying to reset after being pulled away feels impossible some days. Still, I made it through, and that counts for more than people realize.

Sleep has been rough. Between sleep apnea, insomnia, and restless legs, my body doesn’t rest the way I need it to. The fatigue carries into everything. It makes the world feel heavier, louder, and brighter than it should be. Some days I catch myself laughing when I’m actually overwhelmed—it’s like my body’s last-ditch effort to regulate.

Even in the middle of all this, connection showed up in small ways. A silly moment with a coworker, or someone just being kind in passing, reminded me that I’m not invisible. As an autistic person, loneliness clings to me like a shadow, even when I’m surrounded by people. So when I do feel seen, even for a second, it means more than words can explain.

To get through the month, I leaned on my tools: my spinner, my Buc-ee beaver, my weighted blanket. These little anchors helped when the world felt too loud or too fast. I’m learning to see using them as care, not weakness. Writing has helped too—sorting through the weight of my thoughts on paper makes them less heavy.

What this month taught me is that small victories matter. Surviving an overstimulating shift, letting myself laugh even when it’s messy, or finding comfort in simple routines—all of it counts. And what I need to carry forward is gentleness. More recovery time after the chaos, less self-criticism, and more honoring my limits instead of pushing until I crash.

So here I am at the end of August—tired, buzzing, overstimulated, but still standing. I’m holding grief, holding hope, and holding on to the tools that keep me grounded. It’s messy, but it’s real. And real is enough.

If August was heavy for you too, know you’re not alone.

— Caleb