A Day in the Mind of Courtney

I’m sorry you had to grow up so fast, You closed the door to your childhood, Left it all in the past. You carried burdens that were never yours to bear, Facing a world that didn’t seem to care. I’m sorry you always seemed to go without, For the hunger, the silence, the endless doubt. I’m sorry for the nights you cried alone, Wishing for comfort, but no one was home. I’m sorry for the moments you felt so small, When the world demanded more, but gave you  nothing at all. I’m sorry there were parts of you that you had  to hide, To protect your heart, just to survive. Now I see you, standing tall, A warrior who survived, despite it all. Love; Me

Have you ever felt like you were holding your breath for years, and if you exhale all hell WILL break loose? Like you’re carrying a burden so heavy it’s literally changing you as a person; and there is nothing you can do about it? Have you ever carried a burden so unbearable that it makes it impossible to look people you love in the eye? I have. It eats away at you—every day. It steals your sleep, ruins your appetite, and twists the way you see the world—and yourself. It’s conflicting. I battled with myself for 21 years. Do I bottle it up deep inside myself and pretend it’s not there? Do I let the rage and sadness consume me? Or do I speak out and finally face that ugly, heavy, excruciating burden? For 21 years, I pushed it down, pretended it wasn’t there, and held my breath. Literally. Held. My. Breath. On January 18th, 2025; after 21 years, of holding by breath, I finally exhaled.

  The Cloud Keeper My legs were tired, the day was long,  I listened to music,   I hummed a song.   Then something caught my eye, something strange, something awry.  I rubbed my eyes, I pinched my skin, A man with a cloud hung over him. This can’t be real, I must be tired, No way this is how my night transpires. “Excuse me, sir, there’s a cloud overhead,” I spoke to the man, and then I said, “Do you feel its weight, the rain it brings? Or does it just hover, a shapeless thing?” I watched as the clouds took form in his sky, I couldn’t help but wonder “why?”  He put down his book, straightened his tie,    and gave a long and drawn out sigh: “It follows me, rain or shine, Through hail and snow—this cloud is mine. It might seem odd or set me apart, But this cloud is my burden and my art.” I stared for a while, unsure what to say, Fiddled my fingers, looked away. “Isn’t there a song to sing, A spell to cast, a magic ring? Can’t you scare away...

As a kid, I always felt out of step with the world around me. It was like everyone else was moving to a rhythm I couldn’t hear. I didn’t know why I felt different—I just knew I wasn’t the same. I tried so hard to hide it. I masked the little things that made me stand out, like the way I moved my hands or the way my thoughts spilled out faster than I could catch them. I wanted to blend in so badly, to be “normal,” to be what I thought everyone expected me to be. But no matter how hard I tried, I always felt like a zebra in a world of horses. My stripes—my differences—set me apart, and I hated them. I hated the way I didn’t fit, the way I couldn’t seem to do what others did so easily. Now, looking back, I see how much I hurt myself trying to erase those stripes. I didn’t know then that they were a part of me—a beautiful part of me. It wasn’t until I found out I’m autistic that things started to make sense. My stripes weren’t something to hide. They weren’t flaws or mistakes. They were th...

My diagnosis has flipped my world upside down. At first, it felt like a blessing, like a piece of the puzzle I’d been searching for my whole life. Now, it feels like a curse. Autism has made me feel like less of a person. Subpar, mediocre at best. It’s like there’s a constant comparison to others that I can never quite reach. Every time I try, I fall short. I see everyone else moving through the world with ease, while I’m stuck, standing still in a place that feels wrong. Autism has made me a shell of who I was. A fly on the wall, watching life happen around me but feeling disconnected from it all. I’ve spent so much time pretending to be someone I’m not, trying to fit into spaces that don’t feel right. I feel like if I unmask, if I let people see the real me, I’ll be “too autistic.” I’ll be too much. People might think I’m trying too hard or that I’m faking it, as if this isn’t really who I am. On the other hand, if I hide myself, if I don’t allow myself to truly be who I am, I’m doin...