When Burnout Wears a Smile People keep asking me why I have been so grumpy lately. Coworkers, even customers. One of them asked if I was aggravated or just ready to go home. The truth is, I am both, and neither. I am tired in a way that sleep does not fix. Lately, I have been burning both ends of the candle. Work, writing my books, helping my mom with my grandma. I tell people I am fine because it is easier than explaining that I feel like I am disappearing. That my mask is slipping and I cannot keep it in place anymore. When people see me quiet or withdrawn, they think I am upset. But really, I am trying to hold myself together. Trying not to shut down. Trying to stay present when every part of me wants to find a dark corner and stop existing for a while. Burnout does not always look like tears or collapse. Sometimes it looks like irritation, blank stares, or snapping at the wrong moment. It looks like someone who is still standing, but ...

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...

I was just lying here tonight, quiet and still, when a realization hit me like a soft but undeniable wave: I mask more at home than I do at work. That might sound backwards to some people, but if you’re autistic like me, you might get it instantly. At work, I’m surrounded by Miranda, John, Chaz, and Mikey. That crew—those people—they make me feel safe. Fully safe. Like I can exist exactly as I am, stims and pauses and all, without worrying about judgment. I don’t have to think so hard about every little facial expression or body movement. I don’t have to constantly scan the room to see if I’m “too much” or “not enough.” I can just… be. But at home? That’s where the mask comes back on—tight, subtle, exhausting. Even though I’m technically “home,” I don’t feel truly safe unless I’m closed off in my bedroom. And even then, I don’t fully let my guard down. Some part of me stays on edge, waiting. Bracing. Managing. It’s wild how much your body knows who you can be yourself around. Safety is...