I’ve Got It: When Hyper-Independence Becomes Both Armor and AuDHD Survival

There is a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from being the person who always says, “I’ve got it.” Not because you actually have it. Not because you want to carry everything alone. But because somewhere along the way, doing it yourself became safer than depending on anyone else. Hyper-independence is often discussed as a…

How Dysautonomia Impacts Daily Life: My Story

After sharing my latest heart and tilt-table updates, I realized something: I keep throwing around words like IST, dysautonomia, tachycardia, autonomic nervous system, and adrenergic response as though everyone has spent the last several months earning an honorary medical degree alongside me. 😅 Most people haven’t, so I thought it might be helpful to explain…

The Porch Light Is Still On: When Loving a Friend Means Stepping Away

There is a quote that has been sitting particularly heavy with me lately: “No one trashes your name better than someone who is afraid you’ll tell people the truth.” Whew. That is a loaded statement. And unfortunately, it’s one I’ve learned the truth of more than once in my life. I’ve never been particularly good…

When a “Negative” Tilt-Table Test Became Anything but Negative

Test Experience Today, I finally had my tilt-table test—and saying it started off rough would be an understatement. Before the test had even begun, the doctor looked at my baseline numbers and announced that I was “so negative for everything.” The nurses actually had to talk him into proceeding with the test that I was…

The Rosy Maple Moth: subtle but still powerful.

The Rosy Maple Moth looks like something painted by a daydreaming goddess with a sweet tooth. With its bubblegum pink legs, buttery yellow wings, and tiny fuzzy body, it barely feels real when you spot one resting near your porch light or curled beside your doorway at night. 🌙🍓✨

The Quiet Magic of a Chronically Ill Witch

There’s a version of me the outside world doesn’t see. She is not standing tall in a candlelit circle every night, not draped in ritual regalia, not summoning storms with a flick of her wrist. No… this version of me is sitting on the edge of the bed, calculating energy like it’s currency. How much…

Let’s just get this out of the way:

My body is not a well-oiled machine. It’s more like a haunted Victorian house where all the wiring is questionable, something creaks at 3am for no reason, and every system occasionally just… does its own thing. It’s a bizarre environment where shadows loom unexpectedly and every corner seems to hold secrets of its own. And…