neurodiversity

For a long time, I never understood why I’d feel so completely drained after a small task. I’d observe others working away, barely breaking a sweat. Meanwhile, I’m over here running a mental marathon just trying to keep up.

Maybe it’s because I’m constantly overthinking, or maybe it’s genuine exhaustion. Either way, it affects me more than I ever realized.

It’s always been difficult to navigate my energy. Sometimes I feel ready and raring to go. Other times, I feel like a zombie, frozen in place. I always push through my day regardless of how I’m feeling, but there are certain things that drain me beyond belief.

These probably don’t seem like big things. But for me, they’re often the reason I end the day completely exhausted.

For me, that looks like this.

Making Phone Calls

I can rehearse, memorize, and plan out what I’m going to say ten different ways and still feel my body tense the moment it comes down to crunch time—when the call starts.

There’s so much uncertainty when it comes to going into a conversation. Not knowing what the other person is going to say next. The pressure to respond in real time without the buffer of processing.

I’ve always struggled with making and receiving phone calls because it takes me a while to process information. Whenever I hear my own voice, I tend to focus on that instead of what I’m actually saying because it becomes such a distraction. I’m thinking too much about how I’m coming across while I’m in the middle of the conversation.

It’s not just draining. It’s nerve-wracking. Sometimes it even makes me physically ill. Sweats, headaches, tension, nausea—it all builds up from one small phone call.

Switching Tasks Too Quickly

Generally, it’s not the work that’s exhausting. It’s the sudden switch.

My brain doesn’t move like a clean slide between tasks. It feels more like shutting one room down while another is still full of noise.

Even small changes, like answering someone’s question while I’m already in the middle of doing something else, can make me feel like I’ve lost my place.

There are moments when I’m lost in writing a blog post or cooking a meal, and an outside distraction completely breaks my focus.

The thing is, I get so hyperfocused on what I’m doing that if I’m pulled away for any reason, it doesn’t just interrupt my task—it changes my entire mood. I become frustrated because I’m in the middle of doing something I love, and then I have to stop abruptly because I need to switch my attention elsewhere.

My caregiving duties require a lot of my attention, and I’m more than happy to help whenever I’m needed. But even when I finally have a break, I’m usually writing. One interruption is sometimes all it takes to lose my train of thought, and then it’s hard to begin again.

Hearing Multiple Sounds at Once

The hum of fluorescent lights. A high-pitched squeaky voice. Phone notifications. Car horns. People talking nearby.

None of it is too “loud,” but all of it is happening at me at the same time.

It’s like my brain tries to tune into everything equally, and instead of choosing one stream, it just… short-circuits.

I stop being able to think clearly. I just survive it.

There was a time when I went to a movie theatre and people weren’t following the rules. They were having side conversations during the film. Movies next door were vibrating through the walls. Phones kept going off because they weren’t silenced. People reacted loudly throughout the movie.

My brain couldn’t focus on what I was watching.

It drove me up a wall. I actually had to leave the theatre because there was too much going on all at once.

One, it always annoys me when people don’t consider other people’s experiences.

Two, my brain simply can’t handle that much happening at once.

When I’m trying to focus, I need quiet. Outside noise has always been one of my biggest distractions.

Unclear Instructions

“I’ll need this soon.”

“Just fix it a bit.”

“Can you make it better?”

These kinds of directions don’t give me something to do—they give me something to decode.

And decoding takes more energy than doing.

I don’t struggle with effort. I struggle with ambiguity.

I’ve never been good at following verbal instructions. I’ve always preferred visuals because that’s how my brain understands things best.

When someone gives me instructions just by talking, I’m too busy thinking about something else—the sound of their voice, what I’m going to say in response, or trying to remember the beginning of what they said while they’re already explaining something else. I just can’t focus on every word being told.

And if someone doesn’t specify exactly what I need to do, I’ll sit there for what feels like forever, completely stuck because I don’t know where to start.

I had a job where there were constant interruptions during my work. My boss would yell questions from her desk while I was in the middle of another task. It was like she expected all of us to stop what we were doing immediately, make whatever she wanted the priority, and then wonder why our original work wasn’t finished minutes later.

She mostly gave verbal instructions because she didn’t know how to visually show us what she wanted. Between the constant conversations, stacks of paperwork, her talking to herself, and her dog barking in the office, it became incredibly overwhelming.

It was work I genuinely loved, but all of the interruptions and verbal instructions left me mentally exhausted.

I hated having to ask someone to repeat themselves after they’d already explained something, so I’d sit there trying to remember key words and piece everything together on my own.

Decision Making

I only recently learned about decision fatigue, and it makes so much sense.

Even the smallest decisions drain me.

Whether it’s deciding what to order for dinner or figuring out my next step in life, I feel overwhelmed.

It’s not that I don’t know how to decide. It’s that every decision costs energy.

Any time someone asks me, “What do you want to do?” “What do you want to eat?” or “Where do you want to go?” my immediate answer is almost always, “I don’t know.”

The thing is, my brain starts running through every possible option. What sounds good? What if I change my mind? What if I regret my choice?

Sometimes I’ll stand in front of the refrigerator knowing I’m hungry and still not know what to make because making the decision feels harder than making the meal.

It’s Never Just One Thing

None of these moments would matter on their own.

But they stack.

By the end of the day, I’m not exhausted because of one big event. I’m exhausted because of a hundred tiny things that most people would never think to count.

I used to think I was just stupid, lazy, and weak. But I’m finally learning to accept that this is just how my brain works. It doesn’t mean I’m incapable. It just means I use my energy differently than other people do.

And that’s okay.

What are some of the “tiny things” that quietly drain your energy each day?

“I am tired in the way only a soul can be tired.” — unknown

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #ADHD #Autism #Anxiety #MightyTogether

I had a beautiful day today.

It’s a rarity that I feel joyful, and I think it’s because I don’t always allow myself to feel that way.

For most of my life, I’ve struggled to fully feel connected to myself. You know, appreciate, respect, and even admire the person I am. I’ve been too caught up in my own head, questioning and second-guessing my every thought and every action. There’s so much going on in my mind that I’m rarely still enough to enjoy what’s happening around me.

But today, something was different.

I didn’t feel the usual heaviness that I generally carry. I woke up thinking today was going to be a good day because I was seeing one of my very best friends. She’s been in town for a while now, but it was our first chance to really hang out, just the two of us.

We did what we always do—eat.

We went to an Italian restaurant for lunch and ordered a few things off the menu. We sat outside to enjoy the ocean view, feeling the breeze coming off the water as we sipped crisp white wine with our pasta dishes. We talked, laughed, and caught up on everything happening in our lives. It felt so nice to just sit there, enjoy the moment, and be together.

And for once, I wasn’t stuck in my head.

I was just there.

I love being with her because she brings back so many wonderful memories. That’s the beautiful thing about being close to someone for over twenty years. You build a lifetime of memories together.

We were talking about that—how close our friend group has stayed since our middle school and high school days. We’ve always been a tight-knit group, and we’ve always been there for one another through thick and thin. She reminded me of that, and it made me realize that I really do have the right support system in my life.

One of the things we’re all looking forward to at the end of the summer is attending her wedding in Romania. First off, I still can’t believe I’m actually going—pinch me, please. And second, I get to watch one of my best friends marry the love of her life. I couldn’t be happier to celebrate such a special moment with the people I love.

Just talking about it today filled me with so much happiness.

Being by the beach, sharing a meal, laughing together, and talking about both old memories and future adventures reminded me how much joy can exist in the simplest moments.

Today made me realize that not every day will hold the heaviness I always assume will be there.

And maybe that’s something I need to remember.

I shouldn’t assume how a day is going to feel before I even experience it. I shouldn’t expect the heaviness to always show up.

Maybe I just need to live in the moment a little more.

No expectations of myself.

No second-guessing.

Just be.

And maybe that’s the key to letting joy and happiness in.

Maybe joy doesn’t come from waiting for life to be perfect. Maybe it comes from noticing the moments that were there all along.

When was the last time you allowed yourself to be fully present and enjoy a moment without overthinking it?

“Be where you are; otherwise you will miss your life.”— Buddha

#mentalheath #Neurodiversity #MightyTogether #Depression

Personally, I’ve always considered myself a picky eater. I remember refusing certain foods that found their way onto my plate night after night. Things like broccoli, pork chops, or fatty bacon.

I think when people think about picky eating, they imagine a child who refuses vegetables or only wants chicken nuggets.

For me, I had my safe foods. My comfort foods. Dishes that I knew exactly what to expect from.

I learned early on that I was sensitive to textures, smells, and tastes. But as I’ve grown older, my taste buds have expanded and I’m more open to trying new foods. Even with that, I still go back to the meals that make me feel comforted and safe.

I knew that autistic people can sometimes experience food aversions and sensory differences around eating, but I didn’t know there was a condition called ARFID (Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder).

I’ve personally never experienced this condition, but my godson has. And he has taught me that ARFID is so much more than what it sounds like.

I’m still learning about ARFID. I asked his mother, my best friend, the other day what it really looks like for him. She lives in Michigan, so I only get to visit about twice a year, but when I do go out there, I try to stay as long as possible to spend time with them.

I’ve noticed his distaste for most foods. Even ones that most kids love.

He won’t touch anything with cheese (mac and cheese, pizza, grilled cheese)—all out the window. He doesn’t like sandwiches unless they’re peanut butter. His favorite safe comfort food is Chicken McNuggets. He can go to town on those. Also, give him some French fries and he’s a happy camper.

His mom told me that any type of chicken tender she gives him has to be similar in size, shape, texture, and flavor. Jokingly, she told me she gave him those dinosaur nuggets once, and he refused them because they looked different.

One memory that really sticks with me happened when we took a little day trip to Frankenmuth, Michigan. It’s such a cute little German town, and they have the largest Christmas store I’ve ever seen. The best part is that it’s open all year round.

After walking around for a while, the three of us—my godson, my best friend, and I—decided to go out to eat. We went to one of the local eateries, a place known for their fried chicken.

We sat down in a nice booth and ordered our meals. Naturally, my friend ordered chicken tenders for her son.

When the food arrived, he took one bite and spit it out.

It wasn’t what he was used to.

The chicken looked different, tasted different, and had a different texture. He also could’ve been extremely overwhelmed by the restaurant itself. There were different smells, sounds, and a lot happening around him.

So instead of focusing on the fact that he wasn’t eating, I just started playing Hangman with him.

I remember feeling bad that he didn’t eat, but I also understood why.

Before I knew what ARFID was, I probably would’ve assumed he would eventually “grow out of it.” I didn’t understand that eating could genuinely feel overwhelming.

ARFID is an eating disorder where a person eats a very limited range or amount of food. It can be connected to sensory sensitivities, fear of negative consequences like choking, vomiting, or getting sick after eating, or simply having little interest in food.

It isn’t stubbornness. Certain textures, smells, tastes, or even the thought of trying something unfamiliar can cause real distress.

As I’ve learned more about autism and sensory differences, I’ve come to understand how closely food can be tied to feeling safe.

For my godson, having familiar foods is about predictability. It’s knowing what to expect.

And when so much of the world can already feel overwhelming, that predictability matters.

Watching him has changed the way I think about food.

As a kid, I probably would’ve been right there with him. I was drawn to foods that made me feel safe: mashed potatoes, pasta, cheeseburgers. But as an adult, I’ve noticed myself asking, “Why won’t he just try it?”

Now I know the better question is, “What would help him feel safe?”

As he’s getting older, his mom is trying to give him little tastes of something new. Of course, she tells him it’s new because she told me you never want to trick them into eating anything.

Even though he’s more than likely to spit it out, he’s willing to try.

He actually discovered he likes flan. A food I’m not particularly fond of because of its texture, but it made me really happy that he found something new that he enjoys.

I won’t lie, it sometimes breaks my heart to see him eat the same thing every day, always having to be the same brand name. But I understand so much more now, and I’m just happy he has foods that make him feel comfortable.

I’ve learned that you can’t force someone with ARFID to eat something or pressure them into trying new foods. You have to respect their safe foods and celebrate those small steps.

My godson has taught me that food isn’t just about what’s on the plate. Sometimes it’s about comfort. Sometimes it’s about safety. And sometimes it’s about knowing that someone understands you.

I may never fully understand what eating feels like for him, but I can listen, learn, and meet him where he is.

And honestly, if Chicken McNuggets are what make him happy right now, then I hope he enjoys every single one.

#MentalHealth #ARFID #Neurodiversity #Autism #MightyTogether

Hi everyone 🤍

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the thoughts we carry around with us—the ones that feel so real in the moment that we don’t even question them.

I’ve been reflecting on how anxiety can convince us of things that aren’t always true. That we’re behind. That we’re not doing enough. That we have to figure everything out before we can feel okay.

But I’m learning that not every thought deserves my attention.

I’m curious—what’s something your mind tends to convince you of when you’re feeling overwhelmed or anxious?

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #ADHD #Autism #AutismSpectrum #Anxiety #Depression #MightyTogether

For a long time, anxiety has felt like something that has shaped parts of who I am. I feel like it has taken over pieces of my personality and parts of my life in ways I didn’t always understand.

Anxiety is something I live with every day, and I’m still trying to understand why it affects me so deeply.

Anxiety tells us we’re unsafe. It tells us our bodies are in protective mode. That we’re trying to fight through something that feels too hard to manage or navigate.

For a long time, I treated every anxious thought like it was a warning I needed to listen to. I thought my brain was protecting me.

But I’ve started realizing that anxiety doesn’t always tell the truth.

Sometimes it just tells the story it’s afraid of.

Anxiety has convinced me that I’m behind in life. It has convinced me that I’m not as capable as I thought I was. It tells me that I’m someone who won’t be accepted by society.

I compare myself to other people and suddenly I feel like I’m not doing enough. Like I’m not trying hard enough. Like everyone else is moving forward while I’m stuck.

I want to live life in the moment, but anxiety pulls me into analyzing every little detail about a situation, an environment, or a person.

Sometimes I don’t even know if it’s anxiety or fear. Maybe there’s a difference. I think there probably is.

Anxiety has also convinced me that I have to get everything right.

Make the perfect decisions. Avoid mistakes. Never mess up.

That is a lot of pressure to carry.

I’ve always been someone who tries my best. But even when I was trying, I still felt behind. I made mistakes. I questioned my choices. And I let fear and anxiety steer the ship for a long time.

And that made life so much harder than it needed to be.

I’m also convinced that people are constantly upset with me.

My rejection sensitivity dysphoria can be so intense that it’s hard to leave that space of sensitivity. I’m always in my head overthinking what I said, how I said it, and what other people’s reactions might mean.

There are times when I’m with friends and I notice a side look or a small laugh after something I’ve said. Something that seems small can instantly make my brain tell me I’m stupid or unlikeable.

And then I dwell on it.

Instead of being present, I’m stuck analyzing the moment. My mind starts turning a fear into something that feels like a fact.

Anxiety tells me I should be doing more.

It tells me I’m lazy. That I’m unmotivated. That I’m not accomplishing enough. And that I’m too small to achieve anything.

It convinces me that I don’t deserve rest.

It tells me I should always be active, productive, and busy.

And that brings so much guilt.

I can’t tell you how many times a day I let out a sigh because I feel like I’m not doing enough or that I wasted a day.

Rest has always been hard for me.

Anxiety has also convinced me that I can’t handle hard things.

It tells me I’m not strong enough. That I’m not the type of person who can chase big goals or overcome difficult things.

And the hardest part?

I listened to it for most of my life.

It told me not to pursue certain opportunities because I wasn’t good enough. It told me I would never find love because I was unlovable. And it told me I was a failure and that I was always going to be one.

But when I look back, I realize something different.

I survived things I never thought I would.

I survived my entire school career and earlier jobs undiagnosed. I’d masked my way through hard moments, pretending to be calm, collected, and like I had everything figured out.

People saw that version of me and were drawn to her.

But they didn’t always see how much I was carrying underneath.

I survived years of feeling misunderstood.

And I’ve grown so much since finally understanding myself better.

I’m much stronger than I ever gave myself credit for, and that realization has changed the way I see myself.

Sure, anxiety will probably always be there whispering that I can’t do something.

But now, I’m learning that I don’t have to listen.

I’m still learning how to recognize the difference between my intuition and my anxiety.

I’m still learning that a thought can feel real without actually being true.

Healing isn’t about never having anxious thoughts again.

It’s learning that I don’t have to believe every single one of them.

What is something anxiety has convinced you is true that you’re learning to question?

“You don’t have to believe everything you think.”— Unknown

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #Anxiety #SocialAnxiety #ADHD #Autism #MightyTogether

When you spend most of your life feeling unseen, it’s hard not to let it affect you mentally. It affects your self-esteem, your confidence, and how you perceive yourself. And for me, I’ve always struggled with being comfortable in my own skin.

Recently, I was hanging out with a close group of friends. Most of the time when I’m with them, I can be myself without feeling too in my head. But this time around, I was so trapped inside my head. I kept thinking that literally everything that came out of my mouth was annoying. The sound of my voice. The “foolish” responses. And the underlying fear that I was being either too much or too quiet.

Lately, I’ve just been doubting my every move. I feel so insecure and have just been in an overthinking loop of negativity. I haven’t been treating myself very kindly, and I keep thinking that I’m just a nuisance. That I’m just a waste of space. That I’m boring, dull, and just…there.

It’s been really hard to like the person that I am right now. In fact, I’ve always had a difficult relationship with myself. Sometimes, I genuinely appreciate the person that I am. I’m stronger than I thought possible. But other times, I look at myself with a level of disgust I hate admitting.

I think part of the reason I struggle so much with liking myself is because I’ve spent so much of my life feeling overlooked. When you don’t feel seen, it’s easy to start wondering if there’s a reason for it. You start questioning your worth. You start wondering if maybe you’re not interesting enough, important enough, or good enough to be noticed. Over time, those thoughts stop feeling like insecurities and start feeling like facts.

What makes all of this so frustrating is that if a friend spoke about themselves the way I speak about myself, my heart would break for them.

The thing is, I offer great advice, but I never take it for myself. I always remind people of all the good things I see in them. I tell them that their feelings are valid and that they matter. I’m there for them in every sense of the word.

Yet somehow, it’s always easier to extend that kindness to other people than it is to myself.

Maybe that’s why I’ve been thinking so much about the idea of becoming someone I actually enjoy being.

I don’t think I need to become a completely different person. I’m just tired of feeling like I’m constantly at war with myself. I’m tired of viewing myself critically. Tired of assuming that everyone else sees me as negatively as I see myself.

I think that’s where this starts.

Not with confidence. Not with self-love. And not with suddenly waking up one day and feeling comfortable being me. But with questioning whether the voice in my head is telling me the truth.

Because if I’m being honest, I’ve spent years assuming that the way I see myself is the truth. That every insecurity is a fact. That every criticism is accurate. And that every fear I have about myself must somehow be justified.

But what if it isn’t?

What if I’ve just spent so long listening to my inner critic that I stopped questioning it?

Because maybe I’m not a nuisance. Maybe I’m not boring. Maybe I’m not too much. And maybe I’ve just spent so long looking for reasons to dislike myself that I’ve stopped looking for reasons to appreciate who I am.

Because when I step outside of my own head, I know that isn’t the whole story.

I know I’m someone who cares deeply. Someone who shows up. Someone who feels things deeply because I’m deeply connected to the people around me. I know those things exist too.

I just forget them sometimes.

And I know I haven’t become someone I actually enjoy being yet. But I think the first step is learning how to stop assuming the worst about myself.

It’s going to be a long process on my healing journey because there’s a lot to unlearn. I need to unlearn years of thinking there was something wrong with me.

That’s why this feels so difficult.

You can’t spend a lifetime believing you’re not enough and expect to undo it overnight.

But I’m trying.

And maybe becoming someone I enjoy being doesn’t start with loving myself.

Maybe it starts with finally believing there was never anything wrong with me in the first place.

And maybe that’s where becoming someone I actually enjoy being begins.

What is one negative belief about yourself you’re trying to unlearn?

“You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.”— Buddha

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #Loneliness #Depression #MightyTogether

There are certain lyrics that stay with you. You hear them once, and they just kind of settle somewhere inside you. For me, one of those lyrics, along with many others by Linkin Park, is, “The hardest part of ending is starting again.”

This resonates so deep in my soul. I don’t really know why. Whenever I hear it, it’s like this weight lifts off my shoulders. I scream it, belt it out loud, and then just sit there after like… okay. Yeah. That’s it. That’s something I’ve felt but never really said out loud.

And then it makes me think about my life in ways I don’t always want to sit with.

I spent most of my life feeling disconnected from myself. Like I was there, physically, but not really there there, if that makes sense. My mind was always wandering, daydreaming about a world where I actually fit in. Or it was just full of nerves—constant pressure in my body to be someone more likable. More acceptable. More… something.

Personally, I felt like I was just observing life rather than really being in it. I remember growing up, I would usually skip playing games with other kids and just sit on the sidelines instead. Watching. Always watching. And it always felt like everyone else got the memo on who they were supposed to be, and I just… didn’t. I didn’t have anything solid to hold onto other than the fact that I was quiet.

I compared myself constantly. Other people seemed so sure. They knew what they wanted. They knew where they belonged. And me? I always felt kind of outside of that, like it was something I was supposed to understand but just couldn’t quite reach.

The truth is, I never really knew who I was. And I don’t think I fully understood how hard it is to move through life when you don’t have a clear sense of yourself.

A lot of my life has felt like this cycle of ending something and starting again. I mean even the small things. School years ending. Summers ending. Chapters of life closing and something else opening right after it.

And then there are the bigger ones. Friendships ending. Relationships shifting or breaking apart. Losing people. Losing versions of myself too, honestly.

It’s that space in between that gets me. That weird in-between where something has already ended but you’re still standing there like you’re supposed to know what comes next. Life keeps going anyway. It doesn’t really wait for you to catch up. And you’re just left staring at this empty page thinking… okay, now what?

For me, the hardest part has always been going back to the beginning.

I’m really sensitive to time, to change, to the way things end. I don’t know how else to explain it. Even small endings hit me more than I expect them to. Finishing a book. Leaving a place I liked. The last day of something that felt good. It all sticks with me more than I want it to.

And I think part of it is that awareness—you don’t get to go back. You don’t get the exact same moment again. Even if something similar happens later, it’s not the same version of you, not the same feeling, not the same anything.

That kind of awareness can be a lot.

I think the endings that hit me the hardest are friendships and relationships… because they take pieces of your life with them. Real pieces.

I’ve experienced a lot of heartbreak. Friendships ending suddenly. Losing people I never really got closure with. Grief in different forms. And yeah—it hurts. It just does.

And for me especially, I don’t move on quickly. I feel things for a long time. Not because I choose to, but because it just… stays. I replay things. I revisit memories. And I sit with the “what ifs” even when I know I shouldn’t.

Sometimes I’ll think about old friendships years later, not because I want them back exactly as they were, but because they hold parts of my life that don’t exist anywhere else anymore. Certain versions of me only existed inside those moments. And when they’re gone, it’s like I can still remember them but I can’t actually go back.

And I don’t know. That stays with me.

But eventually, you don’t really get a choice. Things end whether you’re ready or not. And then you’re left figuring out what to do with that.

There’s so much uncertainty in that space, and I’ve never been great with uncertainty.

I’ve had to start over more times than I can count. Some were chosen. Some definitely weren’t. And some came from growth. Others came from life just kind of forcing me in a different direction.

Honestly, one of the biggest shifts in my life came after my autism and ADHD diagnoses.

For years I was trying to fix myself without really understanding why. I thought I was lazy, inconsistent, too emotional, just… not able to do things the way other people could. So I pushed myself constantly to become someone I thought I was supposed to be.

When I finally got answers, there was relief. But also grief.

I remember sitting alone after my diagnosis just replaying everything. Years of memories that suddenly looked completely different. Things I had judged myself for didn’t look like failures in the same way anymore. They just… made sense in a different context.

I thought I would only feel relief.

But I didn’t.

I felt grief.

Grief for all the years I spent blaming myself for things I didn’t even understand yet.

People talk about diagnosis like it’s just validation—and it is—but they don’t always talk about the emotional aftermath. The weird unlearning. The way your past kind of reshapes itself whether you’re ready or not.

It’s like suddenly you’re looking at your entire life through a different lens and realizing you have to let go of a lot of the stories you built just to survive it.

And that’s freeing, yeah.

But it’s also unsettling.

Because once you see it differently, you can’t really go back.

The version of me I spent years trying to become… that chapter was ending.

And I was kind of just left there in it.

Not knowing what comes next.

Not knowing who I was without all of that.

I realized how much of my identity had been built around trying to compensate, trying to fix things I didn’t understand, trying to be “better” without even knowing what that meant for me.

And without those old narratives, I honestly didn’t know who I was anymore.

I started questioning everything. What parts of me were real? What parts were masking? And I didn’t have answers. I still don’t, not fully.

Just a lot of uncertainty.

And yeah… that’s always been hard for me.

I think that’s what this lyric really captures.

Not just endings.

But that weird space after. That in-between where nothing is fully formed yet and you’re just kind of… there.

Endings hurt.

Beginnings are scary.

Endings ask you to let go.

Beginnings ask you to trust something you can’t fully see yet.

I’ve noticed this pattern in my life over and over again. When routines fall apart. When burnout forces me to stop. And when life just doesn’t go the way I planned.

The hardest part is rarely admitting something ended.

It’s letting myself begin again.

Because that means vulnerability. It means risk. It means not knowing what happens next.

And I don’t always do that gracefully. Sometimes I resist it longer than I should. Sometimes I stay stuck in the in-between because at least it’s familiar.

But eventually something shifts.

Not because everything becomes clear.

But because staying still starts to feel heavier than moving forward.

And when I look back, I can see it now… so many of the endings I thought would break me actually became the things that led me somewhere better.

And every time life begins again… I get another chance to figure that out.

What version of myself do I keep grieving, even though I’ve already outgrown them?

“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” — Semisonic

#ADHD #Autism #Neurodiversity #AutismSpectrumDisorder #MightyTogether #MentalHealth