My Mid-Life Autism Sh*tdown

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I don't have a mindset issue. I have a lack-of-support issue.

Let’s talk about it.

I'm not someone who lacks motivation or attitude when it comes to trying to accomplish things. Often it’s the environment I’m in that creates immense stress and pressure, which causes my nervous system to shut down or avoid tasks altogether.

I need very specific supports and conditions in order to function. Without those supports, I struggle to function consistently.

For example, something that helps me wake up in the morning is having a podcast or a livestream playing. It gives me the feeling of body-doubling, which makes it easier for me to transition between tasks. Without that kind of support, even simple tasks can start to feel neurologically overwhelming.

Another example of a support need for me is emotional mirroring in relationships. When someone takes the time to understand how my brain works, my ability to regulate my emotions improves. I’m able to trust my internal signals more, which is extremely important for my healing journey.

Growing up, my internal experiences were often misunderstood or denied by my family. My feelings and reality were frequently dismissed, and that led me to develop a lot of self-doubt. I became a chronic people-pleaser and tried to be “low maintenance” so I wouldn’t be a burden to others, which often resulted in me being taken advantage of.

Part of repairing that damage has meant finding safe people who can mirror the kind of safety I needed when I was a child, a teenager, and a young adult.

So for me, the answer isn’t “try harder.”

It’s recognizing that my environment needs to change in ways that allow my nervous system to feel safe enough to function.

There were times in my life when I was able to hyperfocus, and those moments were often used as proof that I could succeed if I “just applied myself.” But hyperfocus isn’t about trying harder. It’s about moments when my brain temporarily has extreme capacity.

Those moments don’t mean I suddenly became more disciplined. They mean the conditions aligned in a way that allowed my brain to function at full power.

So no, I don’t have a mindset issue.

I have support needs that were ignored for most of my life. Once I started understanding what those needs were, it became clear that my capacity was never the problem. The environment was.

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Today, I'm disappointed, today I'm disgusted

but it's almost to the point of being the same as apathetic.

This regime we have parading in masquerade has been nothing but clowns as they attend their galas and committees. Haven't we had enough, or must we continue sitting through more Acts until we can get to the prelude?

They say save and protect the children, but they've done nothing to actually protect them. If anything, they'd rather protect the predators, detain their parents, and remove their voices by repealing child labor laws. Let them at least be born but not care if they end up starving.

The fraud and waste they never found but instilled their own decaying filth instead. Since we stifled and stunted our public services into a shallow grave, our country's "great" wealth is to be funneled into this new War for Ego. Do the servicemen know that they are deployed

for the service and benefit of the money hoarders?

I guess "America First" is more like "America's Stockholders First" and that the actual citizens were never going to be part of the pie since we're all food and products to be manipulated.

This is the new beginning of the American neo-feudalism era.

Is America great yet?

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Today was a nervous system overstimulation day, or what I usually call nervous system fatigue.

I have been working fairly hard since getting my car back from the shop. This morning, even after sleeping for eight hours, I woke up feeling an extreme sense of fatigue along with pressure on the back of my head and around my ears.

I have always had issues with my ears. I was born partially deaf, and it was only discovered when I was three that I needed tubes placed in one ear and part of the membrane around the other ear had to be removed. I also experienced a lot of ear infections growing up, so pressure and pain in my ears has been something fairly common for me.

It was not until I started looking into some of the co occurring symptoms associated with autism that I realized many of the things I experience with my ears can be connected to sensory overload.

On days when I feel pressure around my ears and the back of my head, I try to take it as a signal that I need to rest because my nervous system is processing too much stimulation. Sometimes this can happen even after waking up. When that happens, it usually means I need to give myself another day to recover from the stress or overstimulation I have been carrying.

So today I stayed in bed after waking up and slowly took my time getting up. I think I finally made breakfast around 11:45. After that I heated a wet towel and used it as a warm compress on my neck and jaw, then went back to sleep for another five hours.

My bedroom is extremely dark. I have foil on my windows and a blackout curtain covering the doorway. I cannot fully close the door because Truck will claw at it and ruin the carpet.

After the five hour nap the pressure in my ears had reduced a bit, but I was still quite tired. I made myself some dinner and then spent some time doing maintenance and organization on my video clips for content. I realized I was starting to run out of space on one of my computer hard drives, so I began transferring most of the files over to one of my external drives.

Hopefully this coming week I can get back to posting regularly again.

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I didn't sleep well last night. I think it has to do with how much I posted yesterday — I was desperately monitoring everything to see if anything would pop off. Across all posts and platforms, I got maybe 4,000 views total. The videos I wanted to do better didn't.

I can't seem to get myself out of this hypervigilance mindset. I want to be asleep by 11 tonight so I can wake up at 7 and dedicate four hours to content work.

I want to work on content today, but my brain is so tired and fuzzy. Still, I think I could use the time to figure out some systems to make content creation easier.

I've been thinking — maybe the route I take with my content is being an in-between neurodivergent. Someone who doesn't particularly fit in a neurotypical world OR a neurodivergent space. I'm tired of trying to fit into either place. I just want to make one for myself.

I'm feeling a little lonely today. I don't feel like I have a true space to be me. It's hard to put into words — not feeling like I have a place with either neurotypical or neurodivergent groups. Feeling off in both, in different ways.

The way to explain it better: I'm too aware to fully belong in a neurodivergent space, but too different to function in a neurotypical space. It's a lonely place. It still feels like I need to conform to one or the other.

This in-between can feel suffocating sometimes.

But I am proud of myself. I made three phone calls today:

1) Car insurance — payment will be made on the 25th

2) Car payment extension

3) Creditor — agreed to settlement terms in the next two months

It might be hard on me financially, but I'm hoping I can make some headway, especially with content.

I'm so tired, but I'd like to finish some things before bed in a few hours.

There's someone I'm missing today, but they're busy. I'm sure I'll hear from them soon.

For now, I know I'm safe and I can work. I hope I can work toward creating the safety I need, and that the result will be less stress.

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What is your idea of perfect happiness?

I found this question difficult to answer because I don't want something that's perfect — but I also don't want something unfulfilled or incomplete.

Maybe what I'm really thinking about is happiness that fulfills me. It doesn't have to be perfect. Just not soul-sucking, performative, or materialistic.

I want a happiness that comes from finally finding connection with people who don't see me as a burden — who accept me and want to be part of my journey. I find happiness in simplicity. In the quiet moments, not the loud and grandiose. Safety and stability would make me happiest, but only in the arms of someone willing to cherish my imperfections.

I want a happiness that grows from my good work — where the seed that grows comes from my creativity and sincerity, radiating outward to foster other people's journeys too.

Happiness is often fleeting. So maybe we need to grow many branches of it — branches that stay firm and strong, or at least don't break off from neglect.

I know I've failed many times to work toward the happiness I wish for. But I've discovered things along the way — things that have helped me prune away inaccuracies in my knowledge, learn more about myself. Now my destination looks a little different than the one I was brought up believing in.

I have a long way to go before I reach the happiness I desire, and even then it's not guaranteed. But it's something I'm willing to rest for and work toward.

I just hope I make it in time.

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Today was a brain-fuzzy day.

The kind of day where I can’t get out of bed or make a decision about anything — but my brain somehow feels both dizzy and heavy at the same time. It’s honestly hard to be productive when my brain acts like this, but it’s also dangerous to be around people, since I wouldn’t be able to keep track of things or my surroundings.

With my car in the shop, I feel like I have an excuse to not be around people.

I guess a way to explain this is that many of my brain functions — around planning, decision-making, working memory, and emotional regulation — are all running on low battery mode. So I’m not able to function fully, which means super easy foods, lots of rest, and watching shows that don’t require a lot of processing ability… like corny harem anime.

Though I actually had a lot I was planning to do today, like posting about “what my last 14 days have been like on my content creation journey,” or “the accommodations I’ve given myself as an AuDHDer.” Those will have to wait until tomorrow. I’ll at least write up this journal entry, because I wanted to post something blog-like today.

On the topic of my last 14 days with content creation, I can tell I’m actually struggling a bit — and that has a lot to do with how my brain works. Things just take longer for me to complete. Doing face-showing videos feels so uncomfortable that I wish I could bury myself, but the administrative work — like writing scripts, looking up information, and analyzing data — has been quite fulfilling.

It makes me think I might be more suited to social media managing than content creation… but I still want to keep growing and learning.

Over the next 14 days, I’d like to work on making my content more engaging — or at least improving my video hooks so that my content can generate more interest. This seems to be more of an issue on Western apps than on Eastern ones.

I hope this new year will ignite a greater spark — to give me a chance to improve myself and find the stability I’ve been craving.

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Clarity Is Not a Cure

I've been thinking a lot recently about my diagnosis and the struggles I still face. How I ended up with a new set of problems instead of resolutions has left me feeling more lost than I expected.

Being late diagnosed neurodivergent doesn't actually solve anything. It gives clarity to my circumstances and to experiences I couldn't make sense of growing up — but it doesn't heal the pain from those times. And people won't let it just be clarity. Once you have a diagnosis, the expectation shifts: now that you know what the problem is, you should be able to fix yourself enough to meet society's baseline. The label becomes another demand.

The betrayal of that is dehumanizing. You get a diagnosis hoping for understanding, only to find that people would rather you fit inside a specific scope than accept that different minds occupy different rooms. Was getting diagnosed actually beneficial to me? Or is it just a reminder that I'll always be minimized — that my suffering, and the suffering I'll continue to experience from a world not built for me, is considered normal unless I can offer something of value in return?

It's either struggle to stay within the status quo or suffer if you reject it. So much of existence becomes conditional. You're left with very little to appreciate, hollowed out, living only to appease.

That's not the life I want. I want to live in a way that gives me meaning — where the exchange feels reciprocal, where I give and receive in equal measure.

So much of my life has been defined by shame and self-hatred. I didn't want this brain. I blamed it for the pain, for the misunderstandings, for everything I went through without proper support or accommodation. But this is my brain, and there was never anything wrong with it. It was handed tools that weren't built for it and expected to perform as if they were. That was the failure — not the brain.

And even though the world expects me to fit a specific frame, I don't want to anymore. I don't want to keep suffering, and I don't want others to keep suffering inside systems that keep harming them. This world is big enough to hold all of us.

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How do I feel about the last five days?

I know I’ve managed to post something on most of my social media pages every day so far, and that feels good. I actually really enjoy the admin work involved — organizing, updating, setting things up. It’s been surprisingly fulfilling, even though at times it also feels a little overwhelming. I’m trying to remind myself: small steps at a time.

I’m pretty much out of food right now, so I’ve been clearing out the remaining sides and ingredients in my fridge. I even forgot that I’d taken out some ground beef a few days ago, so I needed to cook that up before it went bad. The bibimbap I made isn’t traditional, and I’m definitely not presenting it as some original recipe — it’s just food. Something to eat and nourish me.

I did try a small experiment, though: seasoning blanched bean sprouts with crispy chili oil, soy sauce, and a little sugar. I think it worked well enough to add to my growing list of simple sides. The mochi donut was sent to me by a friend, which I really appreciated.

The auto shop is closed over the weekend, so I’ll have to wait to hear back from them when they open again on Monday. I know the Super Bowl is happening tomorrow, but I don’t really have a way to watch it. It kind of sucks, especially because I know it would’ve been a great day for delivery earnings. Instead, I’m trying to put that energy elsewhere — working on content, little by little.

If I’m being honest, though, I really don’t like how I look or sound on camera right now. It almost feels like a kind of dysphoria. I’m not sure how to work through those feelings other than continuing to lose weight and trying to better myself, even if that’s a slow process.

These are just some of the random thoughts I’ve had throughout today.

We’ll see what tomorrow brings.

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My Cat Friskal

This is my cat Friskal. He’ll be turning 9 this year, and he weighs about 20 pounds. On Chinese social media, he’s known as “Truck.”

I got Friskal during my first year living on my own, when I finally had my own apartment and knew I wanted a cat. At the time, I was still delivering around the Seattle Eastside area, and on my short breaks I would stop by the PetSmart in Kirkland just to play with the cats.

Originally, there was an older cat I was thinking of adopting. I tried to connect with her over several weeks, but she never really warmed up to me. Then one day, they were showcasing a 1.25-year-old brown tabby with traditional stripes—the kind with those big, thick cinnamon-roll patterns. His previous owner had passed away due to old age, and he’d been placed with the Humane Society, which partners with PetSmart for adoptions.

The adoption center had named him Friskal, and I decided to keep the name because it was so unique. The first time I met him, he immediately connected with me. I just knew he was going to be mine. I did feel a little guilty, because I really wanted to adopt an older cat—I know how hard it is for them to find homes—but Friskal was just so handsome.

Friskal has definitely had his chaotic moments. He’s chewed through electrical cords, eaten yarn and onion skins, swatted my face to wake me up, and gone nearly feral at any cat that dared appear outside our window. Over time, I learned my lessons: switching to cloth-covered cords (or crocheting around them), covering windows, putting baby locks on cabinet doors, and keeping the apartment as clear and vacuumed as possible so he wouldn’t eat everything off the floor.

Health-wise, he’s been pretty lucky. He’s only been constipated once—bad enough that I had to take him to the vet—and he somehow got fleas once, which was odd since he’s an indoor cat. I’m fairly sure I must have brought them in myself, though I still don’t fully understand how that happened.

I do worry about his weight. The tricky part is that when he gets hungry, he becomes a menace and starts acting out. I’m considering getting him an automatic feeder so he can learn to recognize when it’s actually time to eat. Right now, I feed him about a quarter cup of food in the morning and another quarter cup at night. At the moment, I can only afford dry kibble.

I just want to do my best for him and make sure that his home is always here with me.

If you have a cat, what’s the most chaotic thing they’ve done?

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What Happened To My Car?

I swear it wasn't stolen but it won't be home for a while!

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Where's my car?

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My Sincerity Was Born From My Trauma

It’s hard to try to fix something you didn’t even have a name for. And even after it’s finally defined, the reality doesn’t fully settle—especially when the truth is, there was never anything “wrong” with you in the first place.

I remember being a child and hearing the same words over and over: how annoying I was, how much I cried, how there had to be something wrong with me. Now, with proper diagnoses and a deeper understanding of how my brain works, I can see that it wasn’t about me being broken—it was about being in an environment that couldn’t meet me where I was. But the trauma I experienced there still rewired my mind and body. It still leaves me reacting to certain triggers with fear and threat. No amount of “letting go” will undo that wiring.

That’s the hardest part—knowing why it happened doesn’t mean it can be undone. Even with all the insight and knowledge about how the trauma happened and how it affects me, there’s no reverse engineering this. I’m left knowing exactly how I became this way—but also knowing there’s no going back. This is my brain now. These are my limits. It’s not about giving up—it’s about working within those thresholds, building a steady baseline so that when I hit capacity, I don’t crash all the way down. That means surrounding myself with people who don’t trigger my nervous system, structuring my time to match my energy, and noticing my limits early so I can pace myself before overwhelm takes over.

And yes—my trauma defines me. It shaped me into the person I am. My sincerity was born out of it, as a way to honestly show myself in hopes of finding connection. My understanding of pain and suffering gives me the ability to truly empathize with others. The same hurt that rewired me also gave me a voice—one that can write with honesty, tenderness, and depth, because it’s the only way I know how to fully express what I feel. My trauma is not just the reason for my wounds—it’s the root of my sincerity, my empathy, and my ability to turn pain into something that reaches other people.

And you? How would your story define you?

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okay here is the new edit, let's base it off the outline again:

I was born into a Mormon household and spent most of my life in Utah.

My dad’s family traces their Mormon roots all the way back to the church’s founders.

My mom’s family were converts, so she didn’t have as many roots in the religion — or in Utah itself.

Growing up in Utah had its moments. The landscape is beautiful, geologically significant.

But the social environment was rigid and often suffocating.

Being part of the church meant better opportunities, but even among members, silent hierarchies shaped everything — from your last name to your church callings.

It was a patriarchal system, and from early childhood, I was told the highest role a woman could hope to achieve was motherhood.

When my parents divorced, the community changed — not kindly.

My mother, my sisters, and I all carried the quiet social stain of being a “broken family.”

We were never close with the other kids at church.

Most of our friendships came from the outsiders:

non-members, ethnic minorities, other misfits.

We just never fit in with other members.

I could tell when I was entering middle school, that I was a little different from other Mormon students. I would often try my best to be liked and could never really understand why I would often be left out and misunderstood. Even though, I was in spaces in school that would allow for community, like being part of Orchestra or Book Clubs, there was always some sense of distance.

I came to Washington through a friend, after dropping out of college and reaching a breaking point with my family.

I packed what I could into my old 1993 Geo Prism and drove 1,300 kilometers across the mountains and into a new life.

Here in Washington… it’s different.

For one, the government isn’t run by church members.

The people I meet come from different countries, cultures, languages.

There are Asian markets, La Tiendas, Italian bakeries, Kenyan restaurants.

In the spring and summer, neighborhoods host cultural festivals, street fairs, art markets.

It’s not perfect, but the diversity of thought, food, and lived experience makes me feel like I belong to something real.

Building a new life in a place where you don't have any family, with only one friend to support you was a bit scary at first. And it took a while to really find my footing. Had so many first experiences, liking getting my first car note, going to my first Comic Convention, adopting my first cat, learning how to do general maintenance on my car.

I do miss the snow sometimes. But I love the rain.

I love watching it fall outside my windows while I drink tea, read, or crochet.

The rain calms me.

I’ve lived in the same apartment for seven years.

It hasn’t always been easy. I’ve struggled a lot.

But it’s the first place that has ever felt like mine.

It’s where I feel safest.

It’s where I adopted Truck.

It’s where I get to be fully, unapologetically myself. With my mismatched aesthetic, a Squishmellow Pikachu and a few Asian bowls.

What sort of space do I wish I had as a child? One where I would be seen, one where it was unconditional, where I didn't feel like I had to keep hiding to protect myself. A space where I would want to be instead of working over 30 hours a week at my part-time job just so I didn't have to be there.

I am still trying to figure out more about myself and the wounds from so many years of performing. It does help that I have been able to name things like getting diagnosed with ASD and ADHD, understanding my attachment wounds (calling out to the anxious-avoidant types out there) and having a space to explore ways to better heal.

I know it didn't have to be Washington state but it's where I ended up at just due to circumstances. The connections I have made here are important to me, many allow me to be who I am, the quirky sincere person who may info dump topics about geology, talks about her new friends she made on Xiaohongshu, the funny vanity plates she sees out delivering, or having that one really horrible customer she had to put up with. I have found many safe circles but often I still feel reluctant to open myself to new experiences, fearing rejection and dismissal. It takes a lot of courage and practice to open yourself, even if it ends up in pain.

I know it's hard, I expect many of us wish for a safer space, to not have to perform for others, to have our needs respected and accepted. A place where we can experience the security we were we got to experience when we were younger. I hope to be able to give myself that. We all deserve that level of security.

Back in Utah, my needs were invisible.

And if you didn’t meet the church’s standards, you were shamed, manipulated, or quietly excluded.

You learned to perform — but only if you were one of them.

Otherwise, you were discarded.

Washington hasn’t fixed everything.

I still carry wounds I’m only beginning to untangle.

But I don’t think healing would’ve even started if I’d stayed in the place where it all began.

Would I ever move back?

Utah is beautiful, sure. I’d go back to visit, if I could afford to.

But I would never live there again.

Washington didn’t just give me rain. It gave me room. To feel. To grow. To become something honest.

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I overdid it.

I pushed too hard and it cost me two critical workdays—days I really couldn’t afford to lose. And yet, this isn't the first time something like this has happened. When I'm in burnout recovery mode, I tend to forget how fragile things still are. Especially with the gym. I go in thinking I’m okay, and sometimes I am—for a little while. But the reality is that my nervous system is still running too hot to handle more than average.

This is what it means to be both ADHD and autistic with a hyperactive, overreactive nervous system. It’s not just emotional sensitivity, not just mental overwhelm—it’s physical hypersensitivity too. The kind that makes mild soreness feel like deep bruising, and everyday strain feel like injury.

When you grow up misreading your body—because so many people told you, *“That’s not real pain,” “You’re fine,” “That shouldn’t hurt”—*you learn to ignore the early signs. You don’t recognize discomfort until it’s full-blown distress. So yeah, it’s easy to overdo it at the gym. The signals are there, but I don’t always hear them. Not until the inflammation hits and I’m laid out for days afterward.

It always feels like I should have known better. Like I should’ve learned by now. But the truth is, I’m trying. I’m always trying not to tip into full shutdown—because I know what happens then. I disappear. I lose connections. I don’t want that. Not again.

So these past two days, I let myself sleep. I ate what I could—mostly dumpling soup and fruit. I reminded myself that meals don’t need to be fancy, just simple and soothing. Kimchi over rice with pork slices works. I didn’t have heat packs, but I had my electric blanket. Even in 17°–27°C weather, it helped bring the inflammation down. I curled up with the Truck and let myself rest. I took the painkillers. I slowed everything down.

The hard part is that this still puts me behind. It means rent will be late. It means this week becomes another survival marathon—twelve to thirteen hours a day, seven days in a row, just to keep up. I’m bracing for it. I hate it. But I’m bracing for it.

What I do know is this: I need to start being kinder to my body. There’s only one of me. Only one survivor in this skin. And if I’m going to get through this, I need to be careful. That means eating good food—yummy, soft, comforting bento boxes—and watching myself closely. No heroics. No pushing past the edge.

Just care. Gentle, honest care.