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As of January 1, 2026, I am no longer an Assistant Scoutmaster for my son’s Boy Scout troop. While I enjoyed my time as a leader, it is apparent that it is time to move on. I

The evidence my eyes saw did not at all match the rhetoric of the government. Immediately, I thought of Orwell’s well known quote from 1984, “The Party told you to reject the evidence of your eyes and ears. It was their final, most essential command.” I was not the only one. Within hours, the quote was trending on social media. My second thought was, “Damn, I’m teaching the wrong novel.” 

I am part of a lost generation of autistic women, girls who never really fit in socially but functioned well enough in school to be overlooked. Girls who could perform academically, even if they struggled to make friends. Girls who were labeled as being shy because making eye contact and conversations were difficult.

Undoubtedly, many of the issues regarding student performance and capability can be traced to COVID. This, however, is not the same as faulting COVID, which is what society tends to do.

Why am I bold and brazen when it comes to embracing one identity, but sheepish and borderline embarrassed when it comes to the other?

On the other hand, I am incredibly concerned that this new social media policy wishes to silence me, wishes to prevent me from speaking out against a woman who wronged my son. This policy is meant to protect the perpetrator by muzzling the voice that chooses to expose the way in which she attempted to destroy a scout’s self-esteem and his experience in scouting.

I hate that this question has even entered my thought process, but is it possible that I’ve asked too much of them?

I didn’t want to be seen. I didn’t want to be noticed. If I could have made myself invisible I would have—I still would—because it’s the act of being seen that made me self conscious. A byproduct of being noticed was that I couldn’t just be. Others observed my awkwardness, my mistakes, my differences, and they commented on them.

Why did my commentary about the Committee Chair (amended to read ‘troop representative’) piss you off so badly, but you are unbothered by her false accusations toward G3 and her attempt to have him ousted as Senior Patrol Leader? Why are my words so egregious, but her actions are acceptable?

Now, I think G3 still likes going into the city because it reminds him of you. Saturday morning, before we left, G3 looked through the bin of hats and gloves that were once yours, looking for something to wear, a piece of you to bring with him.

I stepped away from my original lesson plan and invited my students into my very messy, confused, neurodivergent brain. I may have multiple graduate degrees, a book to my name, and an unquenchable desire to read, but that doesn’t mean reading is easy. I still struggle.

That’s when my friend leaned in, set her elbows on the table, and very gently asked, “Have you considered that you might be autistic.”

Although, there is a tiny voice in my head questioning if it is wise. Has my dream of being a writer brought more pleasure or pain?

It’s so unfair that Dad didn’t live long enough to be able to celebrate G3’s success. He dreamed of his grandson being an Eagle, but died before he got to see him take flight.

But now that my book is out, now that the anticipation and initial celebrations are over, what comes next? Where do I go from here?

We were on the road for less than five minutes when one of the scouts got a flat tire.

What can I say, he’s my kid. The lure to swim was simply too great.

For four years, G3 has talked about his Boy Scout trip to Block Island. It was his first Boy Scout camping trip and also his favorite.

My fear was that no one would show up. Kati promised me that wouldn’t happen. That people would want to be there to support me, and she was absolutely right.

I celebrated my birthday. It only took me fifty-one years to achieve my dream—but I did it.