Collapse, Capacity, and the Fight for a Different Way

Collapse, Capacity and the Fight for a Different Way on Spotify

I’m checking in reluctantly, as you can probably hear in my tone. Friday, February 13th. Something must be going on astrologically because I’m having such a hard time. Today has been really rough. I realized I need to record. I need to document. I’ve totally fallen off the wagon with documenting. I had such a vision for starting this year and bringing my life documentation project to life.

That’s not what’s happened. This is my pattern, and it’s not because I’m not working hard enough or don’t know what to do. It’s collapse. It’s freeze. It’s overwhelm and over-stimulation and shutdown.

Today I’m processing how I suddenly have a disability. I use that word reluctantly. I don’t want to identify as disabled, but I’m not able to show up in the world like the average person. I’m having to ostracize myself because everything is too overwhelming for my system. I finally have a safe place. I moved in yesterday. I was so focused on finding a safe place, and now I’m realizing this might be the only place I’m safe. I can’t even leave.

The motorbikes shake my whole system. The world is overwhelming. I’m suddenly afraid, like what if I can’t exist here? I feel like the autistic person you see in movies covering their ears. I wasn’t like this before. I don’t understand what amplified my sensory system. I don’t know if this will go away. Maybe I was always autistic and just masked it. But this level of sensory overwhelm is new.

Today I had to go to the bank. I thought I was signing a paper. It took three hours. The lighting, the noise, the small talk, the hypervigilance tracking everything around me. My brain was overloaded. Small talk felt impossible. I only had capacity for one-word answers. Then came the guilt for not being friendly enough. I was trying to concentrate while my system was overwhelmed. It demanded everything from me.

I came home completely depleted and realized I’m not going to “heal autism.” This is who I am. I feel like I’m meant to know this experience. I know what it’s like to mask and move through the world differently, and now I know what it’s like to be visibly struggling. I see how the world responds to people who need support. People don’t understand.

I’ve fallen off track with everything. I have dreams and goals and it’s go time. I have the safe place, the systems, the tools, the time. But money is running out. The pressure is intense. Am I avoiding or do I not have capacity? The truth is I don’t have capacity. I’ve been in overwhelm for so long.

When I’m overstimulated, my brain loops. I shut down. I escape into screens for dopamine because it requires zero processing. I know I need meditation and breathwork in those moments, but it feels almost impossible to sit still when my skin is crawling and my brain is attacking me.

The pressure to produce, to survive, is intense. I opened job listings today out of fear. I understand how financial pressure breaks people. I am not in danger, but I understand the intensity of survival fear.

I don’t have family to fall back on. I’ve always landed on my feet. I trust that. I have a hundred percent success rate of survival. I am smart, capable, resilient. I’ve worked incredibly hard. I’m burnt out.

I left alcoholism. I left systems that didn’t work for me. I survived abuse and trauma. I’ve spent seven years healing. I’ve reclaimed power. I’m proud. I know I have a purpose. I know I can build this business. I know I can serve people.

But right now my work is nervous system regulation. Vipassana starts Wednesday. Between now and then, I need to reduce mental load. Wake up and sleep at the same time. Eat regularly. Reduce screen time. Stay indoors. Keep it simple and predictable. No cafes. No unnecessary stimulation.

I need comfort in this space. A few pillows, a floor cushion. I need to build safety.

This is my lockdown. My reset.

I don’t need to be productive before Vipassana. I need to prepare. After ten days of silence and routine, it will be easier to return here grounded. I know this will serve me.

My work is to stop fleeing. My trauma response is to flee. I move constantly to avoid feeling. Now I need to stay. Be bored. Sit with rage, overwhelm, discomfort.

Everything is exactly as it’s meant to be. I have what I need. It took longer than I thought, but it took the time it took.

I am healing burnout and nervous system collapse. It’s uncomfortable, but discomfort doesn’t mean torture. It can just be truth.

I choose this. I want this. I want to stay in my body and feel safe. I want to live aligned with purpose. I know I’m here for something big.

I will fall off the wagon. I will spiral. I will flee and fight. And I will get back up. That’s what I do.

I feel called to be a voice for my people. I understand more deeply now how hard it is to survive in this world as a neurodivergent person. There’s nothing wrong with us. We function differently. We need different systems and accommodations. We are capable in extraordinary ways.

“I’m not going to heal autism, this is who I am.”

“Am I avoiding or do I literally just not have capacity?”

“Discomfort doesn’t mean torture, it can just be truth.”

“There’s nothing wrong with us, we function differently.”

“I will fall off the wagon and I will get back up, because that’s what I do.”