A Lesson From Papa: Why We Lift Each Other Up When I sat down with my therapist, Jennifer, she gave me a simple assignment or at least, it sounded simple. She told me to name three things I like about myself. She even took writing off the table, since that one was a given. But that left me staring at the wall for a bit, wondering what I could honestly say. Eventually, I realized that what I like about myself isn’t something I built alone. It’s something that runs deeper something Papa planted in me long before I knew to call it a strength. Papa always told me, “You shouldn’t have to pick yourself up by your bootstraps when your neighbor’s standing right there beside you.” He’d say, “All it takes is for one person to reach down, help lift you up, and then you do the same for the next person. Before long, the whole world’s standing on even ground.” That stayed with me. I’ve always believed people should be seen for their compassion, not their wealth. I ...

One Day at a Time This past year in therapy has taught me more than I ever expected. I have learned that it is okay to be me. I am autistic. I have depression, anxiety, and a handful of health problems. I can still take life one day at a time. I have learned that needing help is not failure. I can rely on my supports without guilt, my mom, my friends, my therapist. I can have meltdowns or shutdowns and know they will pass. I can use the tools I have built to keep them from spinning out of control. Here is the deeper truth that I found. I could lose the job, the books, or the blog, and I would still be okay if I had my people. My mom and my friends are the reason I am still standing. The rest is the bonus. I am still depressed. I am also here. I am still trying. I am still learning. I am still me. For once, that feels enough. Written by Caleb Powers, Chronicles of a Quiet Fighter End note. If this helped you, you can join my Q...

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 ...

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...

🌙 In for a Penny, In for a Pound There’s something I’ve been carrying that I rarely say out loud. Most nights, after the weight of the day stacks up, I cry myself to sleep. It feels exposing to admit that—to actually type it here, where someone else might read it. Part of me worries it’ll sound like too much, or like weakness. But my papa always used to say, “In for a penny, in for a pound.” If you’re already being honest, you might as well go all the way. The truth is, the overwhelm doesn’t stop just because the world gets quiet at night. Sometimes, that’s when it shouts the loudest. And for me—being autistic, anxious, and carrying all this old grief and pressure—I don’t always know what to do with it except let it spill out. I’ve realized I’ve never even told my therapist about this. Not because I don’t trust her—but because saying it feels like tearing down the last wall I have left. Even though she cares, and I know she won’t see me as weak, it’s still scary. Most nig...

Today was therapy day with Jennifer—who, let’s be honest, is basically a fan at this point. I gave her several of my recent blog posts: the one about the crown, the hot jerky shutdown one, and the recovery post. (Yes, that flaming cow meat tried to take me out, and yes, I lived to tell the tale.) Anyway, she loved them. She even asked for my blog link. Apparently, she wants to share them with the practice owner and some of the other therapists at the clinic. She said I’m one of her success stories. Me? A success story? Honestly, I don’t feel like one. I’m just an autistic person trying to survive in a world that’s too loud, too bright, and absolutely allergic to clear instructions. I write because I need to. Because if I don’t, the thoughts pile up like unsorted laundry. It’s not about being seen—it’s about staying sane. But something shifted today. The idea that my words could actually help someone? That maybe what I’ve been surviving could offer someone else a bit of light? That’s… h...