neurodiversity

Lately, I’ve been getting outside more.

Which sounds simple, but for me, it hasn’t always been that easy.

More often than not, there is something within me that sees even simple things as a hassle. If I go outside, that means I have to stop whatever it is that I’m doing and make time for it. And when I’m hyperfocused on work, writing, or a project, I rarely want to do that.

It’s strange how I tend to neglect the things that would probably help me the most. I’ve never really understood why I do that, especially when I know that once I actually get outside, I’m happy.

I feel lighter, more focused, and more motivated.

The problem is always getting there.

I’ve always been someone who loves being comfy at home. I don’t really like to go out if I don’t have to. I like being in my own space.

And my safe space just so happens to be my room.

I’ve usually got my fan going because I overheat easily, my TV on in the background, and my computer right in front of me.

What can I say? It’s my little bubble of happiness.

But I’ve also realized that when I stay in that comfort zone for too long, my energy drops, my motivation disappears, and my world starts to feel a little smaller.

The other day, I decided to take advantage of my townhouse’s pool.

I love swimming. It’s always been my favorite form of exercise. But somehow, being comfortable inside often keeps me from it.

As a caregiver, my mom wanted to get some movement and therapy in by doing a little swimming. And honestly, doing that requires a lot of energy from both of us.

This was our first attempt at getting her into the pool, and long story short, it was exhausting—mentally and physically.

But once things settled and I got her back inside, I decided to stay by the pool for a little while.

I brought my portable speaker, some ice water, and a hat because my face burns ridiculously easily.

And honestly?

Just lying there on the chaise lounge, listening to my music and feeling the warmth of the sun against my skin helped re-center me.

It was peaceful.

There were no racing thoughts. No anxiety. No pressure to be productive.

I was simply there.

And it made me realize that I want—and deserve—more moments like that.

Moments that make me feel alive.

I think we sometimes put too much pressure on self-care.

We think going outside means we need to go on a long walk, hike a trail, or do some intense workout.

I used to think that way.

But going outside can look like different things:

Drinking your coffee on the patio.

Sitting in the sunshine for ten minutes.

Reading a book outside.

Gardening.

Taking a slow walk.

Eating a meal outdoors.

Sitting by the pool and doing absolutely nothing.

Those moments count.

I think that for many neurodivergent people, life can feel like a constant stream of stimulation.

We’re dealing with noises, screens, responsibilities, and thoughts that never seem to slow down.

Creating moments of quiet and connection can really help us reset.

For me, I’ve learned that sunshine, fresh air, and slowing down help me feel more grounded. They help me reconnect with myself.

You don’t have to spend hours outside every day, either.

Sometimes five or ten minutes is enough.

Enough to step away from everything for a little while.

I’m learning that some of the most meaningful things are often the simplest.

Sometimes self-care is stepping outside.

Feeling the sun on your skin.

Taking a few deep breaths.

Doing absolutely nothing.

Just being there.

And honestly?

I think I need more of that.

What is one simple habit that helps you feel more like yourself?

#MentalHealth #selfcare #Neurodiversity #Anxiety #ADHD #Autism #Mindfulness #MightyTogether

“In the middle of winter I at last discovered that there was in me an invincible summer.”

— Albert Camus

If I had to give one chapter of my life a title, I think I would simply call it The Lost Years.

The reason I would call them that is because it was a time filled with doubt, struggles, and uncertainty. Not because those years didn’t matter, but because I felt lost within them. I didn’t really know who I was, where I was going, or how to find my way back to myself.

In my mid to late twenties, I went through a really difficult period in my life—socially, physically, mentally, and internally. I felt like I had no sense of direction. Which path do I choose? That question was constantly on my mind.

But it wasn’t just the big life decisions. It was all the little things that added up each day.

I was in a deep state of depression. I barely left my bed. Tears seemed endless. My mind replayed everything that had ever gone wrong in my life and convinced me that things would never change. That I would never find stability, happiness, or a sense of safety.

There was one major event during that time that changed me in ways I never expected. I don’t really want to get into the details, but it left a lasting impact on me.

For a long time, I felt worthless. Like I was an afterthought. Like everyone else was moving forward while I remained stuck.

I had one friend during that time who helped pull me out of my funk every once in a while. He had the kind of personality that could always make me laugh and smile. We were practically inseparable for years.

Looking back now, I realize I spent much of my twenties helping him pursue his goals, dreams, and plans for the future. Mine, however, quietly took a back seat.

I’m not blaming him for that. If anything, it made me realize how much of a people-pleaser I was. At the time, I didn’t see it that way. I thought I was just being supportive and being there for someone I cared about. It wasn’t until later that I realized I had become so focused on helping someone else build their life that I stopped asking myself what I wanted for my own.

I didn’t socialize much outside of him and his partner. I had never been in a relationship, which made me feel behind in life. I felt like everyone else was moving forward while I was somehow stuck in the same place.

And because my depression had convinced me that I was somehow unworthy, I never really focused on building a life for myself.

So instead, I lived vicariously through him.

When I look back now, I think, it is what it is.

I can’t go back and change it.

I can only learn from it.

The reason I call them “The Lost Years” is because I only knew how to be there for other people. I didn’t know how to be there for myself.

I didn’t know who I was outside of helping others. I didn’t know what I wanted, where I was going, or what kind of life I wanted to build.

I think we all have a chapter like that. A season marked by grief, uncertainty, burnout, disappointment, anxiety, and simply trying to keep our heads above water.

I remember isolating myself from the outside world. I’d spend day in and day out locked away in my room, trying desperately to quiet the negative, nagging thoughts about how much of my life I had wasted.

I kept thinking, my life could have been what I always envisioned if I had only tried to make it a reality.

But no.

I was stuck.

Stuck in a never-ending cycle of past decisions, past experiences, and things that changed the trajectory of my life.

I kept myself “entertained” by watching comfort shows and movies. I couldn’t read because it was too hard to focus on anything other than my misery.

I ate comfort foods: cheese quesadillas, grilled cheese sandwiches, beef taquitos—anything familiar and safe.

Exercise was out of the question because I could hardly move beyond my comfort zone.

It’s funny how the place that brings you the most comfort can also become the place where you hide from your life.

I felt so disconnected and dissociated that I couldn’t even imagine who the real person was beneath all of the weight I was carrying.

Essentially, I had zero clue who I truly was.

Mind you, I was undiagnosed at the time and didn’t understand my feelings and emotions as well as I do now.

For years, I carried all of this without understanding why I felt the way I did. I thought I was lazy. I thought I was too sensitive. I thought I was too emotional. I thought everyone else had somehow figured out life while I was still trying to understand myself.

Then, a few years ago, I attended an ADHD conference.

Something there struck me to my core.

For the first time in my life, I felt seen.

I remember listening to people describe experiences that I had spent years thinking were just personal flaws or things that made me different. Suddenly, I had words to explain things I had struggled with for years.

It was a true “aha” moment.

That conference changed me.

Not because everything suddenly became better.

It didn’t.

I still had struggles. I still had difficult days.

But something shifted.

A massive weight lifted from my shoulders because I finally had a better understanding of myself.

It gave me hope.

It gave me a reason to start again.

I felt a little more comfortable in my own skin.

So, I started writing. A lot.

Eventually, I created this blog to share my story in hopes that others might resonate with it.

Writing became a way for me to process my experiences. It became a way to connect with others. It became a reminder that the things I thought made me feel alone were actually things many other people quietly experienced too.

It gave me passion. It gave me a desire to make improvements and small changes.

I no longer wanted to sit back and watch life happen.

I wanted to be a part of it.

That’s why the quote above resonates with me so much.

Even in the midst of winter, there was still an invincible summer within me.

I just couldn’t see it yet.

Looking back now, I realize I spent so much of my life trying to become who I thought I should be that I never stopped to ask myself who I actually was.

I was constantly comparing myself to other people. I was measuring my life against timelines that didn’t belong to me. I thought I was behind.

But I think that’s the thing about difficult seasons.

You don’t always recognize how hard they were until you’re on the other side of them.

At the time, I thought I was wasting years of my life.

I thought I had fallen too far behind.

Now, I have a little more compassion for that version of myself.

She was depressed. She was overwhelmed. She was carrying more than she realized. She was trying to survive without understanding why everything felt so difficult.

And maybe that’s why I don’t look at those years quite the same way anymore.

Were they hard? Absolutely.

Were they years I wish had looked different? Yes.

But they also shaped me.

They helped me understand myself.

They led me toward writing.

They led me toward building something meaningful.

They led me toward finally asking myself what kind of life I wanted.

Maybe they were lost years.

But maybe they were also the years that slowly brought me back to myself.

Have you ever had a season of life where you felt lost? What helped you find your way back?

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #Depression #Anxiety #AutismSpectrumDisorder #ADHD #ADHDInGirls #MightyTogether

While the world isn't always kind or accommodating to those of us with neurodivergent minds and bodies, that doesn't mean there aren't wonderful and beautiful qualities that make us who we are.

A few days ago, I was scrolling online and came across the idea of "embracing your whimsical side," and I thought it was such a fun perspective! It's inspired me to appreciate my own whimsical side—to be unapologetically myself, embrace my depth, honor my high sensitivity, celebrate my creative mind, and cherish all the things that make me different.

What about you? What's something you appreciate—or are learning to appreciate—about your neurodivergent self? ☺️

#Neurodiversity #ADHD #Autism #SensoryProcessingDisorder #Dyslexia #Dyscalculia #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Depression #PTSD

This question really got me thinking.

For the longest time, I thought all chaos was bad.

Now I realize there are different kinds.

There's the kind that overwhelms me...and there's the kind that turns into a memory I wouldn't trade for anything.

What kind of chaos feels good in your life—and what kind doesn’t?

I'd love to hear your thoughts!

#Thoughts #Neurodiversity #ADHD #ADHDInGirls #Anxiety #chaos #quote #MentalHealth

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