My Nephew Is Moving Out, and It Has Me Thinking Family reflections I can not have kids for medical reasons that I am not ready to share. Even if I could, I do not know that I would bring a child into this world right now. My health, my mental health, and my autistic challenges are real. It would not feel fair to them. I help raise my nephew and two nieces in our house with my mom and my grandma. I never planned this role, yet here I am. Their dad is gone. Their mom lives across town. I do what I can. I love them more than they know. Camren is moving out. In my mind he is still five, sprinting through leaves in the yard, both of us laughing while Mom shouts from the porch. Now he is taller than me. He works. He is finding his way. I am proud of him. If he leaves with one truth, let it be this. He will always have a home here. I do not understand how anyone can make home expire at eighteen. Love does not ...

Why I No Longer Go to Church, Losing Faith in What Never Reflected Jesus A personal reflection from my autistic point of view ✢ The reason I no longer go to church is simple. Most churches do not represent what Jesus stood for. I am not sure they ever did. The message was meant to be love, care, and mercy. What I felt was judgment, noise, and control. I tried to find God in rows of pews. Instead I found rules that asked me to hide who I am. I am autistic. My senses take in everything. Lights, microphones, side talk, perfume, a baby crying, shoes on tile, all of it stacks up. My body starts buzzing and my chest tightens. People say smile. People say shake hands. People say talk to your neighbor. It feels like a script I did not write. If I miss a cue, the looks tell me I missed it. They say come as you are. What they mean is come if you can blend in. Come if you can sit sti...

The Words I Needed When I Was Young Sometimes, I stay up late writing the words I needed when I was young. The world goes quiet, and for a few hours, I can finally hear myself think. I imagine a kid, an autistic kid sitting on the floor with a tablet or at the table next to their parent. They stumble onto my blog, scroll for a bit, and whisper, Hey… they’re just like me. That’s who I write for. The kid who feels everything too deeply. The one who tries to fit in but always ends up standing out. The one who’s told they’re “too sensitive,” “too honest,” “too much.” When I write, I pour everything out the confusion, the sensory overload, the loneliness, the beauty I see in details other people miss. At night, my mask is gone. I don’t have to filter it. I just let it spill out the way it really feels. Some nights, it’s messy. Some nights, it hurts. But every time I let those words out, I feel lighter. Like I’m making room for something softer. If my writ...

Grace in the Hard Places, Helping Mom with Grandma Quiet truth, family tension, and the practice of care There are days when helping my mom care for Grandma feels like walking through thick mud. Every step takes effort. Every memory of what she said or did still clings to me. Yet here we are, helping her eat, helping her sit, helping her live. It is strange, the way love and pain can live in the same house. Grandma was not gentle. She said things that cut deep and kept cutting long after the moment passed. She hurt my mom for years, and I watched it happen. I wanted to shout. I wanted to run. I stayed because Mom stayed. Grace is not pretending the past did not happen. Grace is how we choose to move forward anyway. Now when I help Mom, it is not forgiveness exactly. It is quieter. Maybe it is mercy. Maybe it is the choice to stop carrying bitterness today. Mom stil...

When You And Your Friend Have The Same Therapist Healing can be shared, but each story still deserves its own space. ••• Today brought a small twist. My friend Kenneth and I realized we share the same therapist. I had my appointment with Jennifer at one o’clock, and he met her for the first time at three. She had an hour between us, which felt merciful. Two of us in one day might test anyone’s clinical stamina. Before I left, I told her she would be meeting one of my friends later. She asked who. I said, “Kenneth.” She smiled and said, “Don’t tell me anything about him. I want to meet him with an unbiased mind.” That made sense to me. Therapy works best when each person gets a clean slate—no backstory, no influence, just truth meeting truth. On the way home, I couldn’t help laughing. Same therapist. Same couch. Same box of tissues. Different lives being unpacked in ...

A Song in a Weary Throat 🍂🍁🍂 🍂🍁🍂 Tonight at work, a coin caught my eye before I even realized why. I was counting down the register when I noticed the word HOPE stamped across a face I did not recognize at first. The letters stood bold over gentle lines, A Song in a Weary Throat. I turned it over in my hand, and for a second the noise around me faded. Just me, the hum of the store, and this quiet symbol that felt like it had something to say. The Reverend Dr. Pauli Murray. A name carved beneath hope itself. Someone who fought for equality, for identity, for justice, long before people had the words we use now. The phrase stayed with me. A song in a weary throat. That is what it feels like some days, to keep showing up, to keep speaking, even when your body and mind are tired of fighting to be understood. Yet somehow, there is still a song left. Still a reason to count the next coin, finish the shift, and keep believing that ...

Sundays Not So Fun Days Sunday is supposed to be a slow day, a day of rest. Somehow it never is. I wonder what happened to people keeping the Sabbath holy. When I was a kid the town felt calm on Sunday. Stores closed early. Families slowed down. The day had a soft rhythm. It felt like the world took a long breath before Monday. Now Sunday feels like chaos in a different outfit. Folks rush to church. Then they rush out of church. Ten minutes later they rush into the parts store and act like the sky is falling because a battery died. By the end of the night some come in drunk and loud. The contrast is hard to miss. I am not part of a church anymore. I will share why in another post when I am ready. I still remember the talk about living your faith every day. Not only in a pew. I see people who say they follow that path. Their actions do not match the talk. Maybe they forget. Maybe the week grinds them down. Maybe it is easier to speak faith than to live it w...

🎃 When My Brain Just Can’t Let It Go Today at work we had a customer come in with a jeep that he had turned into a rock crawler. He said he had a code for a downstream O2 sensor, then told us he had removed his catalytic converters. I explained that he would need someone to reprogram his ECM to work without them. He didn’t want to hear it and said, “Well, it didn’t have a code for months after I did it.” I tried to tell him that you have to drive enough miles before the ECM even realizes something is wrong, but he just brushed it off and left. Thirty minutes later, I was still talking about it with John. He finally asked, “Why do you and Miranda not leave stuff in the past? You both just keep talking about people or things that happened for days instead of letting it go.” I stopped for a second and said, “I can’t speak for Miranda, but for me, my brain loops when something bugs me.” That’s the truth. When something doesn’t make sense, ...

🎃 When Time and Money Slip Away 🎃 Some days it feels like time and money just vanish without warning. I’ll check my bank account and realize I’ve spent more than I thought. Or I’ll glance at my calendar and realize I’ve missed a week, forgetting when my appointments were supposed to be. It’s not because I don’t care or because I’m careless. It’s because my autistic brain struggles with executive dysfunction. Executive dysfunction makes it hard for me to keep track of things that seem simple to others. My brain doesn’t always remember time the same way. Hours can slip away while I’m trying to get ready for work or finish one small task. I can plan ahead the night before, wake up early, and still somehow be late. It’s frustrating because I know I’m trying my best. That’s why I’ve learned to rely on reminders, alarms, and notes for nearly everything. My phone has become my external brain. I use timers to keep me on track when get...

Working with Miranda Friendship at work, autism awareness, and small moments that keep me steady. I work with my friend Miranda. We move through busy days together, one small moment at a time. Some days I am the helper. Some days she is. Most days we trade places without saying a word. That is what trust looks like for me at work. How we team up Miranda knows my patterns. When the store gets loud, she checks on me. When I get lost in a task, she gives me a simple cue. Sometimes it is a soft beep sound to help me shift attention. Sometimes it is a gentle look that says breathe. I do the same for her in my way. I grab parts, I keep things moving, I crack a joke when we both need a reset. When change hits hard Updates to the system can throw me off. My breath gets shallow. My body feels tight. When that happens, Miranda crouches so we are eye to eye and says breathe with me. One bre...

Goodbye September, Hello October A quiet recap, a gentle reset, and a steady vow for care 🍁🍂✨🍂🍁 September in a few breaths September brought small wins and a few hard days. I kept writing. I kept learning how to pace my body and my mind. Some plans changed. Some stayed the same. I am proud that I asked for help when I needed it. I am also proud that I rested when my energy ran low. That was real growth. I had moments of joy with friends. I made progress on creative work. I had heavy moments too. I named them. I tracked them. I moved through them one step at a time. That is the story I want to carry forward. October intention October begins with a calm breath. I choose simple routines. I choose clear steps. I choose soft edges around hard days. I will keep my focus on what I can control. I will let go of what I cannot. I will measure progress by kindness, not by speed. Advocacy...