Let’s talk about chaos and me—an inseparable duo, like peanut butter and jelly, if jelly occasionally decided to explode and peanut butter had a penchant for existential crises. You see, I’ve learned to embrace the whirlwind that is my brain, and, surprisingly, it’s been one of the most liberating experiences of my life.

The journey began years ago when I received the life-altering diagnosis—a combo pack of ASD and ADHD (this was diagnosed as a kid but never made sense till very recently), lovingly referred to as AuDHD. And let me tell you, if life with one of these is like juggling flaming torches, having both is like juggling flaming torches in a hurricane while a marching band plays “Flight of the Bumblebee” in the background. It was a game-changer, though not the “press X to level up” kind of game-changer. It felt more like realizing you’ve been playing checkers while everyone else was playing chess, and oh, by the way, you’re the checkerboard. It forced me to confront a lot about myself, most notably the soul-crushing impact of masking—pretending to fit societal norms—which was absolutely tanking my mental health. And when mental health decides to take a nosedive, physical health is right there, eagerly joining the downward spiral. Chronic pain? Oh, it went wild. My body was practically a full-time saboteur.

Years later, this website became my haven—a place to share my chaos and random deep dives into whatever my brain fixates on at any given moment. One day, it’s medieval bread-making techniques; the next, it’s the migratory patterns of Arctic terns. (Did you know those birds can fly up to 70,000 kilometres a year? That’s wild, right?) If nothing else, the website became the place where I could stop pretending, stop wasting precious energy on trying to “pass” as neurotypical. Instead, I could redirect that energy into writing, diving headfirst into topics that fascinated me, no matter how niche or bizarre they seemed.

And let me tell you, the unmasking journey has been…well, chaotic, obviously, but also beautiful. I’ve started embracing things that used to make me feel self-conscious. Like how I always ask “why.” Not to irritate or challenge people, but because understanding the reasoning behind things helps me remember and prepare. Need me to do something? Explain why it’s important, and suddenly it sticks in my brain like a song you can’t stop humming. For years, I thought this habit made me difficult or weird, but now I see it for what it is—a strength. A quirk, yes, but one that serves me well.

The best part? Writing feels like it’s coming back to me, like an old friend I’d lost touch with but who’s still just as supportive and weird as ever. My focus is sharper—well, sharp for me, which is to say it’s less like a scatterplot and more like a slightly wobbly line graph most days. And as I write, I’m finally learning to accept myself, chaos and all. It’s like looking in a mirror for the first time and realizing, “Oh, hey, that’s me! And you know what? I’m pretty okay with that.”

Don’t get me wrong; I still have a long way to go. Self-acceptance isn’t a one-and-done deal. It’s more like a never-ending road trip, complete with occasional flat tires and wrong turns. But the thing that keeps me going is you—yes, you, reading this right now. Every like, every follow, every comment, every random message saying, “Hey, your post about medieval bread inspired me to bake a loaf!”—it all means the world to me. It’s like tiny doses of acceptance, which, let’s be honest, is harder to come by than an undisturbed parking spot in a city center.

Through this chaos, I’ve learned that the world doesn’t need me to be someone else. It just needs me to be me—spaghetti-on-the-floor levels of messy, curious, and unapologetically chaotic. And if my chaos resonates with you, if it makes you feel a little less alone in your own whirlwind, then that’s more than I could ever hope for. So here’s to chaos, self-discovery, and the beautifully messy journey we’re all on. And to anyone out there juggling flaming torches in their own personal hurricane, just know—you’re not alone. We’re all part of the same chaotic marching band, and honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now to go and look at that bread. See if it compares to my Bannock.