Wired Differently - Week of 04/13/2025

April is half over. I am not particularly OK with this situation.

Met with a health coach on Friday. It’s a benefit we have through our insurance at work. Her job is to help me come up with reasonable and reachable health and wellness goals, act as an accountability partner, and check in with me regularly on how things are going. I committed to watching one video a week for the next six weeks about diabetes. I need to understand it better so that I can manage it better.

My financial situation is becoming more stressful. I really, really need to curb spending and find an additional source of semi-steady income. We’re going on a long weekend vacation soon, and it’s too late to get any kind of refund if we were to cancel, so we’re going. Maggie Cat’s surgery is coming up, too, and it’s going to be expensive. But I can’t not try and help her. The thought of giving up on her - well - it’s not a thought I can stomach. I keep meaning to work with ChatGPT to come up with a workable plan, and then avoiding it.

I came across a Venn diagram that really resonated with me. The three areas are Autism, ADHD, and giftedness. When I look at the intersection of all three, I feel like it may as well have my full name written there. It’s so liberating to understand why my brain works the way it does, and that things l’ve been made to believe are character flaws aren’t flaws at all.

One of my SMART meetings was unusual. At it, an attendee checked in with a story that might’ve been true, but that was so pitiful and contained so much recent tragedy that it was hard for me to believe it. It was also hard to believe because they lied about their sobriety remaining in tact throughout these events, painting themself as some kind of hero. I’m not a sobriety purist. Some groups, AA in particular, call for total abstinance - one sip of a beer erases years of recovery and sobriety. I think that’s stupid and that it inflicts unnecessary shame and guilt. I’ve even heard someone say, “Oh, be careful about putting Bitters into your mocktail because Bitters contain alcohol.” I mean, you do you and all that, but I’m not gonna sweat three dashes of bitters in my ginger beer.

But this person wasn’t lying about Bitters in their story. Their relapse, as I understood it to be, was significant and they lied about it. I tried to refrain from judging or saying anything, but my gut was screaming at me and I decided to listen to what it was telling me.

I expressed a cautious sympathy. I expressed a sincere hope that they’d obtain the help being sought. And I expressed that I wasn’t sure I could believe any of the story they’d just shared. I got up, said I wasn’t comfortable being there any more, and left.

I felt betrayed because I trusted the person and the space. Their lie made me feel manipulated and made me feel like that person violated the implied trust and social contracts that are so essential for groups like that to function effectively. I was proud of myself for saying what I was feeling and walking out. I wouldn’t have had the fortitude to do that a year ago.

I had to exit the building through the back because one set of doors was blocked and one set was locked. The terrain off of the back exit isn’t paved - it’s a bunch of rocks and cinderblocks and junk. I stumbled, fell, and hurt my knee badly enough to make a trip to the urgent care.

I’m not sure if I’ll return. On one hand, I shouldn’t give that person any free rent in my brain. I should show up, be basically respectful, and if the moment calls for it express what I need to express without taking any crap. On the other hand, why put myself into a situation that I know will be mentally and emotionally exhausing? Of course, conflict avoidance has been my lifelong song. Maybe it’s time I started singing a new tune. I deserve to be in that space as much as anyone else, after all.

Celebrated Dad’s birthday on Saturday. I wore eyeliner, less as an act of defiance and more of an act of assertive authenticity. No one complained (to my face anyway) and my youngest niece pointed it out happily and giggled at the blue. I giggled with her.

A cousin of mine is having a hard time. She’s hurting. I didn’t know much how to comfort her, except to tell her that her positive influence on me extends beyond what she probably knows and sees.

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