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...

When My Body Says No: An Autistic Moment in the Drive-Thru Something small happened at Zaxby’s today, but it made me realize something important about myself. I was in the drive-thru, just expecting my usual. The girl working the window wasn’t the one who handed me my drink—this time, it was a guy. I think he’s the manager or something. I’ve seen him there before, and he’s done this before too. He’s not rude or mean, but…I just don’t like him touching my stuff. It’s not all guys. Other restaurants have guy workers, and I’m fine with them. It’s him . Something about him just makes me feel off. And I finally noticed that. When he tried to hand me my drink today, I just stared at him. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared. He stared back and asked, “Are you going to take it?” Still, nothing from me. I had my autism shirt on under my work uniform (which was unbuttoned), and the girl standing beside him leaned in and whispered something in his ear. He backed off. Handed her t...

 Some days at O’Reilly’s are quiet. Other days, they’re like this. Mikey had just left, and I was standing at Miranda’s counter while she and Chaz were talking. Well… they were talking; I was mostly just listening, like usual. Then this customer walks behind me and says what I swear I heard as: > “I need a room, a plastic shit, and some measuring cups for paint.” I immediately start laughing — badly trying to hold it in, failing miserably. Miranda notices and asks, “Why are you laughing?” I can’t talk, so I just hold up one finger and keep giggling because words? Not happening. Gotta love being autistic sometimes. Customer finally leaves, and both Miranda and Chaz look right at me, dead serious, and say together: > “Tell us what’s so funny, or we’re calling your mother.” That got my attention real quick. 😂 I finally manage to say: > “I thought he said he needed a roll of shit on plastic and measuring cups.” And Chaz, in perfect comic timing, says: > “I hope he can pinc...

When Kindness Feels Protective Instead of Patronizing Earlier today at O’Reilly’s, something small but kinda big happened. Mikey stopped by and was showing some photos to Miranda and Chaz. One of them happened to have a girl completely nude in it. Mikey was about to show me, too — but Miranda quickly stepped in and told him, quite frankly, “Don’t show Caleb.” At first, it caught me off guard. She didn’t stop him from showing Chaz, just me. And yeah, a part of me wondered: Was it because I’m autistic? The answer is probably yes — and you know what? I’m okay with that. Because it didn’t come across as patronizing. It came across as protective. The way she said it felt direct, caring, and honestly, a little endearing. Being autistic means people sometimes see me as needing more shielding from certain things. That can feel othering — like I’m being singled out. But today, it didn’t feel that way. It felt like someone saw me, knew me, and cared enough to say “Nope, Caleb doesn’t...

Have you ever been stuck in a place where the noise feels like it’s crawling under your skin? That was me today. I had to do inventory at the Hwy 58 store in Chattanooga, TN. The scanners beeped nonstop. It felt like every beep punched through my head until I had a migraine. I don’t even remember the 30-mile drive back to my home store in Cleveland, TN. My brain was running on empty autopilot. Right now, I’m sitting at my home store trying to ground myself. My body is so tense it hurts. And the worst part? I didn’t have my Loop earplugs. No stim toys. Nothing. I’m holding back tears because I’m not home yet. I’m writing this because sometimes being autistic means our bodies remember every sound, every flicker of fluorescent light, every vibration—long after it’s over. And sometimes we forget that we do deserve to protect ourselves, even if it means carrying a pocketful of stim toys or wearing earplugs people might ask about. If today taught me anything, it’s this: bring your supports. ...

💌 A Break-Up Letter to Beef Jerky By Caleb — the Quiet Fighter with a Tender Gut and Zero Tolerance for BS Dear Beef Jerky, We need to talk. And before you even flex your leathery little muscles—I’m not here to fight. I’m here to walk away. You and I? We had a thing once. I thought you were tough, bold, full of flavor… the kind of snack that said, “Yeah, I survive the wild.” But it turns out, I’m not into survival mode snacks anymore. I’m into peace. I'm into regulation. I'm into not bleeding out of my rectum at the worst possible moment. Remember that spicy episode? You know the one—where you sneak-attacked me with a flavor so hot I literally shut down, lost speech, and had to stim my way back to Earth? Yeah. That wasn’t cute. That was traumatic. And now… you made me bleed. In the most humiliating way possible. Through my underwear. Through my pants. In broad daylight. That’s not love. That’s violence. I don’t care how protein-packed you are. I don’t care how rugged your pack...

🌀 When You’re Not Supposed to Laugh… But Your Autistic Brain Says LOL Anyway 🌀 That time I nearly laughed myself into another dimension Date: June 23, 2025 Posted by: Caleb Intro: There are moments in life that hit you so sideways with laughter, you forget everything else—where you are, what’s happening, and sometimes even how to function. If you're autistic like me, that kind of laughter doesn’t just sneak up—it ambushes you, full-body style, and refuses to let go. What follows is a tale of facial expressions, uncontainable giggles, and hallway chaos with my nieces. Also… I nearly peed my pants. This is your warning. You ever have one of those moments where you’re not supposed to laugh—and that just makes it even funnier? Yeah. That happened today. And it completely wrecked me in the best way. My mom was getting on to my niece Haley. I don’t even remember what for, honestly. What I do remember is the face she was making. Something abou...