Life in Full Spectrum: Adventures in Creative Living

  Sometimes I feel like keeping my peace takes more effort than anything else I do in a day. It’s not because I don’t want peace—I crave it. But when someone comes along armed with lies and manipulation, my autistic brain kicks into high gear. Dealing with dishonesty feels personal. It digs under my skin because I thrive on truth and clarity. I can spend hours replaying their words, trying to make sense of what they said and why. My mind doesn’t let things slide easily, and sometimes, I wish it did. The truth is, I don’t always handle these situations well. My emotions can get the better of me. It’s like my brain short-circuits, trying to find logic in something illogical, and before I know it, I’m caught in a loop of frustration. But I’m learning to take a breath (and say a prayer) before I respond—or not respond at all. I’m realizing I don’t have to engage with every lie or accusation thrown my way. It’s not my job to prove anyone wrong, even when it feels like I should. That doe...

  Let’s bridge the gap I get so scared of sharing my beliefs and showing who I am and who I support and what I support because I’m in the middle: I am a God-believing woman that supports gay rights and trans rights and I don’t believe in condemnation and violence—whether it’s verbal or physical. People have been voted off my island for less. 😉  It is my intention to love all, not just some. What I Believe I’ve been reflecting a lot on where I stand on certain issues, and I want to share my thoughts—not to argue or convince anyone, but to be open about who I am and what I believe. I believe in human rights—across the board. Gay rights, trans rights, women’s rights—they’re all just human rights. Every person, regardless of gender, race, religion, sexuality, age, or body type, deserves to live a life of freedom, safety, and dignity. Every year, I take my daughter to the Pride Parade in Athens, and we cheer right along with the people walking by, celebrating all of our right to l...

  I woke up  this morning  to a familiar but unsettling sensation—the world tilting beneath me, my head swimming, my stomach lurching. Vertigo. Again. If you’ve ever experienced vertigo, you know how disorienting and scary it can be. The simplest movements—rolling over in bed, standing up, turning your head too fast—send your body into a spiral of dizziness, making even the most basic tasks feel impossible. It’s like being trapped on a ride you never wanted to get on, unable to steady yourself, no matter how much you try. And then there’s the nausea. Ugh… 😩 For me, vertigo is more than just an occasional inconvenience. It’s tied to a deeper fear, one rooted in watching my mom battle  years of crippling vertigo due to Meniere’s disease.  She still struggles with it to this day, and I’ve seen firsthand how it impacts her—how it can steal her independence and turn even the most routine days into unpredictable challenges. I remember how helpless she  feels ...