Unmasking Didn’t Free Me... At First I was told that unmasking would make me feel free. That I’d finally breathe easier, laugh louder, stim openly, and just exist as myself without fear. But no one told me it would crack open the vault of everything I’d buried to survive. I didn’t expect the grief, the rage, or the way my body would tremble when I let myself move differently—freely—for the first time. “I’m learning that freedom sometimes starts with falling apart.” It hurts more right now because I’m finally feeling it. Every unprocessed wound, every "just push through," every mask I wore so well they started believing it was me... I'm facing all of it now. Unmasking didn't make me happy. It made me real. And real is harder than I thought. But I’m Not Going Back I love stimming too much. I love the softness of my voice when I’m not forcing it. I love the freedom in rocking, spinning, flapping—my body speaking its tr...

When Loyalty Hurts: A Goodbye I Never Got I wasn’t prepared to lose Mikey like this. He didn’t die. He just… disappeared. Turned off his phone. Didn’t show up for work Saturday. No call. No warning. Just gone . He finally texted Sunday . Said he quit. That he’d been planning it for two weeks. But I didn’t know. Not me. Not any of us at work. The customers knew, though. Let that sink in. I thought he was one of my safe people. One of the few I could unmask around. I laid my soul bare with him—shared things I don’t tell just anyone. I don’t open up easy, and when I do, it’s not halfway. It’s all or nothing. And with Mikey, I gave it all. Now I’m sitting here, wondering why everyone I open up to eventually leaves. It’s not just sad. It’s grief. It’s confusion. It’s betrayal. And yeah—my eyes are leaking. That’s how my body processes this kind of thing. I guess it’s funny in a way. I wasn’t expecting a plot twist like this at work. But here we ...

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...

They told me I was cold. Too quiet. Too distant. Too calm. What they didn’t know—what I didn’t even know—is that I wasn’t calm. I wasn’t fine. I was caged. I was suffocating under layers of forced smiles, muted reactions, and silent screams. I wasn’t allowed to feel. If I cried? I was dramatic. If I got angry? I was dangerous. If I showed joy? I was “too much.” So I learned to shut it all down. I masked so hard that even I couldn’t tell what was real anymore. I thought maybe I didn’t have emotions like other people. I thought maybe something was broken inside me. But here’s the truth: I wasn’t emotionless. I was surviving. Now I know I’m autistic. Now I know I wasn’t “cold”—I was conditioned to suppress everything. And now that I’m unmasking? It’s like a dam breaking. I feel everything. In full color. Full volume. Full impact. There’s no such thing as “mild” in my emotional world. There’s no polite little wave of sadness. It’s a tsunami. There’s no casual happiness. It’s sunlight explo...