A Day in the Mind of Courtney

 The last time I spoke to my mom, she asked for something sweet. I remember it so clearly now, though at the time I didn’t think much of it. An ice cream sandwich. I handed it to her, and we didn’t say much. Maybe we didn’t need to. I didn’t know it would be the last time I’d see her awake, but somewhere, in the back of my mind, I think I felt it. There was a heaviness in the room, an unspoken awareness that time was slipping away. I watched her take slow bites, the vanilla softening at the edges, her hands wrapped around it in a paper towel. She always kept tissues and paper towels in her pockets. When she finished, I wrapped up the rest, put it in a Ziploc bag, and tucked it in the freezer for later. But I couldn’t throw it away. It felt like tossing out the last moment we shared, like cutting the final thread that connected us. For years, I kept it, a frozen reminder of when she was still here. It wasn’t just a sandwich anymore—it was a memory. The last bite of a life I wasn’t r...

 For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt like the world didn’t really understand me. Growing up, I always had this sense that I wasn’t quite like everyone else. People would tell me I was “different,” and not in the way that felt like a compliment. It was more like I needed to be “fixed” or changed to fit in. And for a long time, I believed that too. I thought if I could just be more like everyone else, maybe life would be easier. It wasn’t until recently, after discovering I’m autistic, that I realized there’s nothing about me that needs fixing. I’m not broken. Autism isn’t a flaw or a defect…it’s a part of who I am. For a long time, I masked my true self, hiding the little quirks and habits that didn’t fit the mold. I tried to blend in, not realizing that by doing so, I was rejecting the most authentic parts of me. Society has a lot of misconceptions about autism, and I’ve felt the weight of those misunderstandings firsthand. People tend to think of autism as something that nee...

 I’ve always believed that everything around me has feelings. It’s been like that since I was a kid. Back then, I’d make sure all my stuffed animals were laid out on the bed, with none of them left out or hidden. I didn’t want to hurt their feelings by making one feel less important than the others. I slept with them all, so none of them felt alone. Even now, as an adult, I still think this way. When we replaced our old fridge, I felt this strange guilt, like I was betraying it. I kept thinking, “Does it feel abandoned? Did I just toss it aside for something newer?” It wasn’t just a fridge to me. It had been part of my life for so long. It sounds weird, I know, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it didn’t deserve to be replaced like that. I know objects don’t really have feelings, but for some reason, I always connect with them in that way. Maybe it’s because objects don’t judge. They don’t expect anything from me, and they never change. They’re just there, quietly witnessing li...

  This picture. This picture makes my heart smile. This was the first time since I could remember Carson asked me to take his picture. I didn't have to sneak behind a headrest in the car, or pretend like I was texting someone, he wanted me to take this picture.  Shortly after this, Carson started opening up more, he started showing his true self to a few people that he selected very carefully. He made leaps and bounds where before he was scared to even take a step.  I am so proud of my Squish. He's venturing out. In his own way, at his own pace. He won't say hello or goodbye, but he will play with you while he's there. And he might talk too loud, but he has the biggest heart I've ever seen. Maybe he doesn't eat healthily, but he takes a daily vitamin, and damnit I try. He may seem shy and withdrawn, but him and his sister are the funniest kids I know. He's working on his speech, I wish you knew how far he has come. I’m hoping after a visit to the ENT we’ll h...

  I woke up today, with new eyes, Feeling a little more wise. I watched the sun kiss the grass,  Whispered "I’m me at last." I went inside, hugged my kids,  They hugged me back with giant grins. I feel different, accepted in a way- Not by you, but that's okay. I’m embracing myself today. I understand my weird quirks, I’m starting to see how my brain works. Embracing the oddness, releasing the pain.  From those years in school, spent racking my brain.  I felt like a puzzle always 1 piece not there,  I felt like a cake without icing, so bare.  I never understood my true ability, I never uncovered my true identity.  “Her clothes line is broken”, echoes in my head.  "She's challenged, she's different," put her in special Ed. "I’m worthless, I can’t," I used to say. "I’m stupid, I’m dumb," words I lived by every day.  Sarcasm, and jokes don't come easily for me. I take everything literal, literally. But today, I woke up today and reali...

In the midst of unmasking, I find myself caught in a limbo—torn between the freedom of being unmasked and the safety of staying hidden. It feels like half of me is exposed to the world, while the other half remains tucked away, hidden under layers of damaged dreams and aspirations I haven't faced yet. There are parts of me I may never fully unmask, and maybe that’s okay. Some pieces feel too raw, too private, to let anyone else see. Perhaps they’re meant to stay just for me, like fragile treasures I need to protect. I pour myself into this blog, my heart, and my soul. Each post is carefully thought through, sometimes revealing more of myself than I planned on. My phone is filled with random words and scattered thoughts—ideas that might one day find their way here, becoming part of the bigger story I’m trying to tell. But for now, they’re notes from the in-between, fragments of myself I’m still piecing together. As I navigate this journey, I wonder if it’s possible to unmask complet...

  Be kind. That's all.

I think it’s about time I share a little about my favorite Padre. Where do I even start? My dad is amazing. He’s always in my corner. He gives the best hugs—the kind where, in just five seconds, you feel completely safe. I’ll never forget this one time when we were in Korea. I was sound asleep, and suddenly, something landed at the foot of my bed. It was a Sylvester the Cat pillow. I carried that thing with me for years. It was the perfect fit for my face—soft, comfy, with ears I liked to run my fingers over and a tuft of hair on its head that I’d twist through my fingers. That pillow came with me to every sleepover and I slept with it every single night. My dad traveled a lot, but that pillow made me feel like I always had a piece of him with me. We had so much fun together. We played leapfrog, danced like nobody was watching, and laughed our way through Costco runs. My love for dancing? That’s all him—he’s always jamming, moving, and making life a little more fun. I remember when we’...

When I was a kid, my imagination was wild, and I had plenty of imaginary friends to keep me company. But the one who I remember the most is definitely Frederick. Ah, Frederick. Let me tell you, shopping with my mom was a nightmare. She could take hours to pick out just a single pair of shoes and a banana. We’re talking an eternity of wandering from aisle to aisle, while she carefully inspected every single thing. She had to see it all. I was too young to understand it then, but to my little self, she was the worst person to shop with. I couldn’t take it. The boredom, the endless wandering. I needed an escape. So, clever little me invented Frederick, the giant turtle. Not just any turtle—he was massive, big enough for me to ride on his back. Somehow, he made everything feel a little less suffocating. With Frederick, those harsh fluorescent lights didn’t seem so blinding, and the hours of waiting weren’t so unbearable. He was my shield, my distraction, and in a weird way, my comfort duri...

 When I think about the words “You Can,” I feel a flood of emotions. Growing up, I often felt like I couldn’t. Like I was too different, too confused, too out of place to succeed. I was the one standing at the edge, wondering if I’d ever be able to jump. But deep inside, there was always this little whisper, a quiet voice that said, “You can.” It wasn’t always the loudest or the easiest to believe, but it was there. As a child, I masked my differences, trying to fit into the world that didn’t quite fit me. I hid my stimming, tried to memorize steps that never stuck, and felt like I’d never measure up. I longed to blend in, even though everything in me was begging to stand out. I was living in a world where ‘normal’ seemed to be the only thing that was celebrated. But now, as I reflect on my journey, I see that “You can” doesn’t have to mean you can be like everyone else. It means you can be who you are, fully and completely. You can find your own way, even if it looks different fro...

I was inpatient from July 3rd until July 27th last year, and I think it’s essential to talk about this experience. It’s not easy to discuss, but I strive to share not just the sunshine and rainbows, but also the storm clouds and thunderstorms that come with life. The truth is, I felt like a burden. I lost my job and spiraled into a deep depression that I hid from everyone. I made up my mind that I didn’t want to live anymore. Not wanting to create a mess, I decided to take pills. I packed a small Ziploc bag full and walked outside around three or four in the morning. I didn’t truly want to die; I was just exhausted from feeling this way and couldn’t see any other way out. Before I went through with it, I decided to make three phone calls. If they didn’t answer, that would be my sign. The third call connected, and they advised me to go to the hospital, which I did. I couldn’t wake Calvin, so I just left. I’ll always regret that, but I needed help, and I needed it fast. I listened to “Oc...

I have one brother, but he’s really like having five. He’s my protector, my friend, and my support system. He knows how to make me laugh and is always there when I need him. I’ll always remember when we were kids and had this Ricky Martin CD. We would take turns hiding it in each other’s rooms and bookbags, playing a game of hide-and-seek with it. I once stashed it in a folder he took to school, and I still wonder if he hid it really well or got embarrassed and tossed it. The world may never know. He’s been my rock, especially during times when I felt unstable—something I could hold onto to stay grounded. His humor is unmatched; he has a knack for making me laugh, even on my saddest days. We don’t talk much these days. Most of our conversations are just us sending songs back and forth, knowing that the other will appreciate them. It’s our way of saying, “This song reminded me of you.” I really love him. We’ve been through a lot together, including those crazy times when we went pool ho...

  Growing up, I always had this feeling that I didn’t quite belong—like there was something different about me that I couldn’t put into words. I wanted so badly to fit in, to be like everyone else, to be the horse running in the same direction as the herd. But no matter how hard I tried, it never felt right. It wasn’t until recently that I realized: I was never meant to be a horse. I’m a zebra . And I believe Carson is too. I think back to all the times I tried to hide the “weird” parts of myself, whether it was stimming in private or struggling with routines that everyone else seemed to breeze through. I masked those parts of myself, hoping no one would notice. I didn’t want to stand out or draw attention to the fact that I wasn’t quite like everyone else. But masking came at a cost. I wasn’t being true to myself, and that made me feel even more lost, like I was trying to live someone else’s life. When I found out I was autistic, everything suddenly made sense. It was like I final...

I recently learned a word for a behavior I’ve had for as long as I can remember: echolalia. It’s when I repeat things someone else just said, usually just moving my lips. For instance, if Calvin says, “It’s in the top drawer,” I find myself mouthing those same words. I tend to do this more when I’m overstimulated or overwhelmed, and honestly, it’s always embarrassed me quite a bit. I’ve felt like it makes me stand out in a way that I didn’t want. I've even had people laugh at me for it.  Finding out that this is a common trait among autistic people has been eye-opening. Echolalia can be a form of communication or a way to self-soothe, and it helps me process what I’m hearing. Instead of feeling ashamed, I’m starting to accept that it’s just part of who I am. I want to share this to let anyone else who relates know that it’s okay. Our quirks and differences are valid, and they shape our experiences in unique ways. Embracing echolalia is a reminder that we’re all navigating the world...

  When I started this blog, it wasn’t just about finding a place to pour out my thoughts. It was about hoping that somehow, through my words, I could touch someone else’s heart. Maybe my story would help another person unmask their true self, or give someone the courage to heal out loud, to face their own journey with the honesty it deserves. We live in a world that often pressures us to wear masks—to blend in, to be “normal,” whatever that means. I know firsthand the weight of wearing that mask for too long, it gets heavy . The struggle to hide my quirks, my feelings, my truth. It’s exhausting. But I’ve come to realize that there’s strength in being vulnerable, in showing up authentically, even if that authenticity doesn’t always fit the mold, or please everyone. If I can help even one person take off that mask, to stop pretending, to start living as their true authentic self—then this blog has served its purpose. If my words can reach someone who feels alone in their journey, let...

When I first started this blog, I wasn’t sure what it would become or if I would even stick to it. It felt like I was opening a door to my own thoughts, but I wasn’t sure who, if anyone, would be standing on the other side. Yet, here we are, and this space has grown into something more than I imagined—my safe space. Each post, every thought, random idea, and poem, has been a reflection of my experiences, my heart, and sometimes my fears. It’s strange how something as simple as writing things down can feel like opening a window. With every word I type, I release pieces of myself that I’ve been holding onto for years. Some parts are heavy and difficult to share, while others are light, it’s all so relieving to release. This blog has given me the space to be unapologetically me. It’s where I can talk about my life with autism, my agoraphobia, my children, my husband, my past, and how I’m learning to unmask the parts of myself that have been hidden for so long. It’s also where I can be mes...

  I read something today: “You glow differently when your confidence is fueled by belief in yourself instead of validation from others,” and I felt that in my soul. To be completely honest, this blog started with a “who will clap for me” vibe. Now? It’s an “I clap for me” vibe. At first, I cared about how many views I got each day. Now? I just want to make sure my heart goes into every post, without holding back out of fear of who will read it. In a strange way, this blog has helped me cope with so much. It’s made me write more poetry, given me an excuse to practice what I love—writing. It’s made me pause, reflect, and really evaluate things in my life. And it has really helped me grow, as a person. Most of all, it’s helped me start shedding this mask. Some people may never see my blog. And that's okay, because this one, I’m doing for me. 

Carson did incredible at his evaluation—no surprise there. He showed real strength, especially in math, which put my worries about dyscalculia to rest. He also impressed me with his reading, identifying difficult words like “revolutionary” which eased my fears about dysgraphia. At first, he was too anxious to talk, he often is around adults. He would answer questions by nodding and shaking his head. But eventually, he started answering questions, and I was so proud of him for pushing through his shyness. Throughout the evaluation, when he wasn’t sure about something, he’d glance over at me, and I could feel his need for reassurance, which of course he got from all three of us. Watching him face those hard math questions and seeing how brave he was filled me with pride. We won’t have the official results for another 10-12 weeks, but the evaluator suspects Carson has autism. While that wasn’t a surprise, having it officially diagnosed will mean he can get extra help if needed. More impor...

Tomorrow, we're taking Carson for some tests. I can feel his nerves; he keeps asking questions like “Are they just checking to see how smart o am?” and “Will I have to do puzzles? Are there going to be mazes?” But what really hit me was when he said “I probably won't get as many answers right as you did.” If I had been driving, I might have had to pull over.  Taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I replied,  “Carson, Mommy got a lot of questions wrong, and that’s okay!” In that instant, a wave of emotions washed over me. I just hope my kids never feel what I did—like they’re not enough, just average, or like a weird horse. (I’ll explain the strange horse thing later.) It breaks my heart to think that Carson is entering this situation expecting to fail. That’s a feeling I know all too well; I grew up never believing I would succeed. But Carson is the smartest, sweetest, and most special boy I’ve ever known. No matter what happens tomorrow, I’ll love him with all my heart. And ...

 It’s easy to get caught up in doing everything for everyone else. As a parent, and a wife, just trying to make it through each day, it feels like my needs fall on the back burner most days. Some days, I feel like I’m on autopilot, giving everything I have. In the middle of all the giving, it’s easy to forget something important—I deserve love and care, too. Loving yourself can feel harder than loving anyone else. I know I’m my own worst critic. I felt myself shrink when Calvin had to help me untangle my hair the other day, but the truth is, I needed help. Needing help made me feel like I was being a burden, and I didn’t want to ask for help, but he so freely offered. Self-love is about moments like that, reminding myself it’s okay to ask for help and that it doesn’t make me any less capable or worthy. The truth is, I’m still learning to love myself. It’s not selfish to take care of me—it’s necessary. I can’t take care of everyone else if I’m running on empty. I need to remember t...

  Living with agoraphobia is extremely isolating. I miss my family, I miss going on target runs whenever I wanted. I miss doing instacart, and not having to think twice about going when someone invited me somewhere. I miss smiling at strangers, and small talk with old ladies in the produce aisle.    I just can't get past this impending doom. My anxiety skyrockets, my inner dialogue starts saying nasty things, my heart races, I become hyper aware of everything. And to be quite honest, it isn't fun. It’s exhausting.  So yes, the walls close in, and I talk to myself and the animals, yes I get bored out of my skull, and yes I miss human interaction. But sometimes I would take all of that over leaving my house.  And that's what its like living with agoraphobia. 

Yesterday, I was frustrated with my hair, completely stuck on how to get it unknotted. It was a complete mess. I was frustrated, flustered, and honestly, a little ashamed. I just couldn’t do it myself. Calvin saw how upset I was and, without hesitation, offered to help. He spent hours combing through the tangles and knots. There was no judgment, no hesitation, just kindness.  He spent hours carefully working through each knot, gently untangling the mess I couldn’t handle on my own. I expected at least a little frustration, but there was none. He didn’t complain or push me to deal with it myself. He just showed up for me, patient and kind, like he always does. As he worked, I felt supported, seen, and cared for in a way that reminded me I don’t have to carry everything on my own. Sometimes, even when the smallest tasks feel impossible, having someone there makes all the difference. In that quiet time together, I was reminded of how lucky I am to have someone who’s there for me—even ...

Last night, Camila asked to snuggle. Of course, I didn’t hesitate for a second. It only lasted a few minutes, but we lay there in silence. And yet, the silence was so loud . Her little hand stroked my face, and my thoughts were racing, thinking about how I could lay there forever and a day. Her breath was warm on my cheek, and all I could think about was how she won’t always want to snuggle with Mommy. One day, she won’t need me like this, she’ll need me, just in different ways. My heart was so full, and breaking at the same time. I couldn’t stop thinking about how fast time is FLYING—she’ll be 5 next month. It feels like just yesterday I was holding her as a baby, she was the most perfect baby. Now, she’s growing, changing, needing me less in ways I’m not ready for. In those few minutes, I wanted to freeze time, to stay in that moment where she was still my little girl, needing the comfort only I can give. But I know that’s not how it works. Time keeps moving, and she’ll keep growing....

Carson wanted french toast sticks today and we were plum out. It was a huge problem. Tears were shed. He REALLY wanted French toast….. So, Calvin and I simultaneously had the same thought to make him pancakes, and cut them up into strips so it was kind of like French toast, ya know? Carson was pleased with this decision. We even put the syrup in a bowl so he could dip the pancakes in it. He apparently doesn't love it when I put the syrup on the plate and it gets on his French toast even though he is going to dip them in it anyway. Carson logic. I do understand though, if it were on the French toast aka pancakes his fingers would get sticky and he hates that just like me.  Oh the things we do for our children. I hope he doesn't expect me to always cut his pancakes into strips so he can pretend it's French toast everytime we run out of French toast. Meatloaf says it best “I will do anything for love, but I won't do that”

 Facebook may think I've lost my mind. I don't know, maybe you do, too. I’m just letting go. Releasing if you will. I think it’s important we all do that.  I usually just shove all of this so far down, and it's lost forever. I’m tired of doing that. As far as i’m concerned I’d rather be hated by the world for who I am, than loved by the world for who I’m not.  I don’t know. I don’t really have a lot to say for once. Thanks for reading.

 We’re getting out of the house tonight. I only left the house one time since September 8th. Kind of crazy when you think about it. I guess the worst part is, I’m content with it. I feel safe here.  Anywho, we are going to Jason and Grace’s it’s one of my two “safe spots.” I’m sure it will be fun. I will have to wash my hair, which I’m dreading.  I used to want to go to the store throughout the week, and do instacart and LOVED it. Man, now just thinking about going to the store gives me palpitations. Not only am I scared of the world right now, part of me is scared to show my face to the world. I’m hiding. I’m going to do it though, maybe tomorrow. I have a prescription I need to pick up. This can't be “how it is now.” I have to get past this. I can get past this. I will get past this.  I can't spend the rest of my life stuck in my house. Calvin would never push me to do something uncomfortable, and he would be with me every step of the way.  Baby steps. Baby st...

 I used to have a best friend named Brendon. We met in 6th grade. He was my rock, there when everything was falling apart. When I moved to Dillsburg, he was there for me when my mom died, too. We spent so many hours just sitting in his car, listening to music we both loved. Sometimes we’d talk, but most of the time, we’d just chain smoke and enjoy each other’s company. Brendon kept me grounded. He stopped me from doing reckless things and always knew what to say when my heart was breaking. I remember those times we’d get bouncy balls and stand on either side of the parking lot, bouncing them to each other. It was terrifying, but we loved it. I loved him a lot. I really did. He was there through all my heartaches, always saying the right things to make me feel better. He used to make fat jokes about me, but that stopped the day I actually got fat. Then one day, he just disappeared. No goodbye, no explanation. He never met my kids, never checked in. I deleted his number because I did...

If you look past the mess on the table-  honestly, I’ve been struggling and just haven’t had the capacity to clean it off, you’ll see something sweet. You’ll see two kids. Two best friends who love each other very much. They got to stay up late, just to chit chat and play with their sticker books that daddy got them. A big brother who wrote “favrite stikers” in his little sister’s book, right where she put all her favorite princesses. They laughed, they smiled. There were quiet moments, and loud moments. The dogs were playing on the floor. Calvin and I just sat back and watched. The table was messy, but in this moment, none of that mattered. Everyone was happy. Every once in awhile, when the planets align just right , Carson will hug his sister goodnight. This was one of those nights. My heart exploded. 

I’ve always found it really hard to love myself. I still do. I mean, I’ve always thought of myself as a subpar human being, at best. Growing up with learning disabilities, and later finding out I have ADHD and Autism, I just thought something was wrong with me. I struggled through life, unable to do basic things that other people could do without thinking twice about it. My brain just worked differently. It always has. People constantly pointed out how I wasn’t like them. I did it to myself too. “What do you mean you don’t know what 9 x 3 is? That’s easy!” Well, it wasn’t easy for me. On top of all that, I’ve always struggled with body dysmorphia. Even when I was at my best, I could always pick out the flaws. I’d never look like my cousins or my sisters. Funny enough, looking back, I looked damn good. But now, the body dysmorphia is worse than it’s ever been. I can’t stand looking in the mirror, shopping for clothes feels like a punishment, and the scale is my worst enemy. I try tellin...

 We had a nice family night.  We had a little bonfire, and made s’mores. It was a nice change of pace.  Carson enjoyed watching the marshmallows burn and fall into the fire, but he refused to eat any of them once they touched a skewer. He would eat them raw though. Is that what you call them? Raw? A raw marshmallow? I don’t know. Anyway, he was quite the little pyro, he wanted to watch everything burn. Paper plates, empty boxes, leaves, ANYTHING that he could think of.  Camila was just in her own little world kicking her little feet, and every time her legs swung back she would kick her cup making the most horrendous noise from her cup scraping the patio. No cares were given from her. Calvin and I cringed every time. She loved the s’mores, but she had to drop everything a total of 3 times JUST so she could wash her hands. I totally get it, I can’t stand sticky either.  Calvin of course was Mr. Selfless as usual. He made sure everyone had a s’more before he even ...