Include 'In' Autism

14/03/2026

11/03/2026

10/03/2026

09/03/2026

Something I realised about my ADHD today…

Does anyone else with ADHD feel completely overwhelmed by decluttering?

People often assume it’s just about being messy or disorganised. But for me, it’s much more than that.

Every single thing I pick up needs a decision.

Do I keep it?
Where should it go?
Why did I buy this if I never used it?

Before I know it, decluttering turns into hundreds of tiny decisions one after another ,and it’s mentally exhausting.

Then the emotions come with it.

The guilt of buying things I never used.
The shame of finding things I completely forgot about.
The uncomfortable reminder of money spent that’s now sitting there unused.

And the fear of throwing away the wrong thing, because I’ve actually done that before.

So decluttering isn’t just tidying up.

For me, it’s decisions, memories, guilt and “what ifs” all mixed together.

Which is why so many people with ADHD struggle with clutter.

It’s not laziness.
It’s the mental load behind every single item.

Please tell me I’m not the only one who feels this way.

23/02/2026

In light of the recent passing of our beloved kev, I have noticed tha… Mel Rutherford needs your support for Raising funds for the choppington community defib

22/02/2026

“You don’t look autistic.”

I hear that more than I ever expected to.

And every time someone says it, I’m left wondering, What exactly am I supposed to look like?

Do they expect me to look confused? Overwhelmed? Awkward? Do they expect me not to make eye contact? Not to speak well? Not to run a business? Not to lead?

I don’t know how to “look” autistic in the way people seem to imagine. I only know how to look like me.

Autism doesn’t have a uniform. It doesn’t have a facial expression. It doesn’t sit neatly on someone’s posture or tone of voice. It lives in the way my brain processes information, in how deeply I feel things, in how I analyse situations, in how I prepare for conversations, in how exhausted I am after social interaction, in how I mask without even realising I’m doing it.

When someone says I don’t look autistic, what they often mean is: “You don’t fit the stereotype I have in my head.” But that stereotype was never me.

And then there’s the other comment: “We’re all a little bit autistic.”

That one lands differently ,but just as heavily.

Because no, we’re not all “a little bit autistic.”
That’s like saying we’re all a little bit pregnant, or a little bit blind. These things are not personality quirks on a sliding scale of relatability. They are lived neurological realities.

Yes, everyone can feel overwhelmed.
Yes, everyone can dislike noise.
Yes, everyone can struggle socially sometimes.

But autism isn’t a collection of occasional traits. It’s the wiring of my brain. It shapes how I experience the world every single day ,even when you can’t see it.

What people don’t see is the processing time I need when they say things like that.

In the moment, I often freeze slightly. My brain starts scanning:

Were they being dismissive?
Were they trying to be kind?
Do I challenge it?
Do I educate?
Do I let it go?
Will correcting them make it awkward?
Will staying silent invalidate me?

By the time I’ve worked through all of that internally, the conversation has usually moved on, and that’s the part people don’t see.

Autism for me isn’t about looking different.
It’s about processing differently.
Responding differently.
Feeling differently.
Carrying conversations home in my head long after they’ve ended.

I don’t want pity.
I don’t want disbelief.
And I don’t want my neurology diluted into something trendy or universal.

I just want space for it to exist without commentary. If you tell me I don’t look autistic, I might smile politely. But inside I’m thinking:

Autism affects how I process the world not how capable I am.

What does autistic look like to you?
And why is looking “normal” considered the benchmark of validity?

I am autistic.
Not a little bit.
Not occasionally.
Not when it’s convenient.
I AM FULLY AUTISTIC

And I don’t need to look any different to be that.

Marie J 2026

21/02/2026

21/02/2026

Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD)

Can we talk about that feeling?

When someone says something and it’s small, maybe even harmless but inside it feels huge and you feel like your world is ending.

Like your whole nervous system lights up.

RSD isn’t just “being sensitive.” It’s that intense emotional overwhelm that can come out of nowhere. One shift in tone. One piece of feedback. One facial expression. And suddenly your mind is racing.

You replay it.
You analyse it.
You pull it apart word by word.

“What did they mean?”
“Did I get that wrong?”
“Are they annoyed?”
“Have I messed this up?”

And before you know it, the inner critic is wide awake.

It gets loud, doesn’t it?

“You always do this.”
“You’re too much.”
“You’ve failed again.”
“No wonder people get fed up.”

And when shame joins the conversation, everything escalates. Shame doesn’t gently suggest things it convinces you. It makes that one tiny comment feel like proof.

Proof that you’re not good enough.
Proof that you’re difficult.
Proof that you’ve let someone down.

Even when logically you know that might not be true.

That’s the exhausting part knowing it might not be real, but feeling it as if it absolutely is.

Defensiveness often creeps in at this point. Not because you’re trying to argue. Not because you can’t take feedback. But because something inside feels threatened.

Defensiveness is usually a sign that RSD has been triggered.

It’s protection.

Sometimes it looks like over explaining.
Sometimes it looks like shutting down.
Sometimes it’s intense emotion that seems to come from nowhere.
Sometimes it’s withdrawing completely.

Constructive criticism can feel crushing ,not because you don’t want to grow, but because your brain translates it as rejection.

And rejection feels unbearable.

So you try to fix it.
You try to smooth it.
You try to keep everyone happy.

People pleasing even at the detriment of your mental health, becomes armour.

Because if everyone is okay with you, then maybe you’re safe.

But here’s what many of us don’t talk about enough ,how quickly it spirals. How one comment can lead to hours of overthinking. Replaying the moment. Rehearsing conversations. Imagining worst case scenarios and the feeling of impending doom.

It can start to feel like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

“It must be true.”
“I must be the problem.”

And all of this from something that, on the outside, looked small.

If any of this resonates, you’re not dramatic. You’re not weak. You’re not broken.

RSD is intense. It’s real. And for many neurodivergent people, it’s part of how our nervous systems process perceived rejection.

It doesn’t mean we can’t grow.
It doesn’t mean feedback isn’t valuable.
It just means our emotional response can be amplified.

And sometimes just naming it ,recognising “this is RSD”,can soften the spiral.

Not fix it instantly.
But create a little bit of space.

If you’ve ever felt crushed by a comment that others barely noticed…

If you’ve replayed conversations long into the night…

If your inner critic can turn one moment into a full character assassination…

You’re not alone in that.

And you’re not the only one trying to navigate it.

MJ x

17/02/2026

I’m tired but I’m wired 😩

I am exhausted.

My body is done. My eyes burn. My shoulders ache.
But the second the lights go out, my brain clocks in.

It’s like I come alive at night.

Not the soft, creative kind of alive.
The wired kind. The ticking kind. The replaying every conversation I’ve had kind.

I re run the day like CCTV footage.
That look. That tone. That pause.
Did I say too much? Not enough?
Did I miss something? Forget something?
Was I too direct? Too quiet? Too much?

And just when I’m done dissecting today,
tomorrow barges in.

What if I’m late.
What if I forget.
What if I don’t have the energy.
What if something changes and I’m not ready. What if, what if, what if……

So now I’m not just tired. I’m bracing myself for something. My nervous system doesn’t know I’m in bed. It thinks I’m in danger. It thinks I need to prepare. Constant fight or flight is debilitating and wears me out.

ADHD finally has silence and decides it’s brainstorming hour. Autism wants to process every detail properly.
Anxiety wants certainty that doesn’t exist.

So I lie there. Exhausted and pray sleep will come soon. My body begging for rest. My brain refusing to power down.

And people say, “just switch off.”

If I had a switch,

don’t you think I’d use it 🤷‍♀️