Boundaries Are a Belief Reflection Something unsettling happened at work right before closing. A stranger came in and started talking at me, not with me. He launched into conspiracy stories about secret camps, governments, aliens, and needing weapons to prepare. I did not believe a word of it, but that did not stop my body from reacting. It was loud. It was intrusive. It was scary in the way sudden chaos is scary. I removed myself, got food, came home, and went straight under my blanket. That part matters. Regulation came first. When I told him I was an atheist and did not believe any of it, he replied that it must be nice to not believe in anything. That comment stuck with me, because it was wrong. I do believe in things. I believe in the golden rule. I believe people deserve respect. I believe consent matters. I believe boundaries are real and should be honored. I believe no one has the right to dump fear into someone else without permission. Those bel...

Why I Shared My Stim Toy – And Why That’s Okay It was supposed to be a simple visit. I stopped by O’Reilly’s on my day off just to say hi to my friend Miranda. But like most things in my life, something small turned into something big inside my head. While I was there, Kenneth walked in. He’s Miranda’s boyfriend—and he’s AuDHD. As soon as he came through the door, I could tell something was off. I read it immediately in the way he moved, the way his body carried a weight most people wouldn’t notice. He was dysregulated. I just knew. Kenneth and I are buddies, and we’ve both been there—overwhelmed, out of place, overstimulated. So, I offered him my Nee Doh. He uses one at home, but he works at VW and isn’t allowed to bring stim toys into the plant with him. That sucks, honestly. So when I offered it, he took it. He needed it. No big deal to me. Five minutes later, he was calmer. Crisis averted. Miranda didn’t blink. She gets it. We’ve shared stim toys before, always with respect...

Mom and Grandma at it again Today has been another day of noise and tension. My mom and grandmother argued again—like they do almost every day. It’s always about something that doesn’t matter in the long run. My brain can’t understand the point of it. I try to tune it out, but the shouting cuts through everything, like a sharp alarm I can’t silence. It makes my skin crawl and my stomach twist. I just want quiet. I want peace. But that’s rare in this house. My grandmother is difficult. Honestly, she’s abusive—emotionally manipulative and cruel, especially to my mom. I see it. I hear it. I feel it in the heaviness of the air after every interaction. She talks down to us like we’re worthless, like our feelings and needs don’t matter. Sometimes I think she sees us as tools, not people. That’s hard to say. But it feels true. Even though she can’t walk on her own or take care of herself, she still finds ways to control everything around her. She uses guilt like a weapon. My mo...