Day 28 — Mind the Gap

Today was a really intense but good day.

I wore my ochre African print trousers, a green cardigan, and a pink metallic handbag with pink lipstick. We had a long drive on the highway, and apparently, I don’t do so well in the car anymore. Yay self-awareness—but sometimes it’s uncomfortable to lose the comfort of denial.

I felt nauseous and overstimulated. So noise-cancelling headphones and an eye mask it was. Closing your eyes isn’t the same as wearing an eye mask. I always seem to crave an even deeper black, a kind of complete darkness.

The situation made me reflect on my relationship with my family—how much better they know me now than they ever did before. My needs are seen and met. As we approached our destination, I still felt unwell, so I asked to be dropped off at the shops to buy some lunch. In that state, I need food that feels safe and appetising.

Walking to the house, I felt abnormal. The light was too bright, my body still shaken. I walked down the street with my eyes fixed on the pavement, calming music in my ears. It felt disabling.

Before, I had the same reactions in my body, but I was terrified of standing out. I didn’t want to be seen as weak or different. But the price of that is too high.

Later in the day, I had an important appointment. I was about to speak with people I had never met before about my education. Standing outside the room, my nerves felt raw. What did I want to ask? What if I couldn’t get the words out?

Despite all that, the conversation went really well. Once we started talking about something I care about—product design—I could feel myself come alive. We ended up nerding out, and it felt like we could have talked for hours.

From the outside, I must have seemed well-adjusted. “Normal.”

At one point, I mentioned a stimming toy I am designing, and the professor made a comment about autistic people he knows who struggle a lot with communication. He had no idea what might be going on for me internally.

That’s the strange part. When things go well, even I start to question whether I’m different at all. It feels like maybe I’ve been exaggerating, that everything is actually fine. But when I struggle, I feel like an alien dropped onto the wrong planet—completely out of place, just wrong.

The contrast between these states, depending on the environment, is disorienting.

Now I’m in bed, trying to make sense of a day that held so much tension and dysregulation, and at the same time connection and joy.

How do you hold both at once?

How do you come home to yourself after a day like this?

I hope you are well, wherever you are.
Celine