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.

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?

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

It is 5:55 and we are off. Our intention was to leave as close to 5 as possible, but we were delayed with last minute things we forgot to do

Day 4 The wind this morning is fierce. I woke up and the wind was whipping my rain fly. I was afraid, despite the stakes, my fly might blow away. Packing up the tent was a challenge, but G3 helped me which I appreciated. The view from our site is spectacular. We can see the hills in the distance, but more amazing are the clouds—light and fluffy—sitting in the valley. It looks like a frozen ocean, the waves in various stages of breaking. The sun is out this morning and it is l

It was cold last night. We went to bed early because we were all tired from such an early start. I changed into thermal underwear and a...