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I just got back from a crisp afternoon hike in the nearby forest with Atlas. I've been a bit of a grumpy pants today, so I was pretty resistant to getting out for the hike. Then once we got out of the car and I was in the trees, feet on the Earth, I almost immediately started to feel more resourced. At some point along the trail. my mind wandered back to Friday. I found myself savoring the experience of that day some more.

Reading isn't for everyone, so I’ve included a link to download the audio version-just click the “read more” button to access it. Otherwise, continue reading below.

Before we begin, I want to encourage you to bring a beloved sensory delight or stim on this journey we're about to have together. This is a deeply heartfelt writing, and may also be a difficult read. Please honor your sensitive nervous system and support yourself along the way and afterward.

I did the thing! And I lived to tell about it 😊. Even my digestive system made it through! (big anxiety = lots of poops for me).

What a growth spurt these past couple months, and how freakin cool for it to be instigated by a not-traumatic event, but ultimately something exciting. I’m still digesting how profoundly supported I felt throughout this time, how much nourishment I allowed myself to take in.

These last five years have been such a journey of consistent bravery. Coming out after coming out, liberating myself from the inside out, again and again and again.

So I’ve been thinking a lot lately about language and names, especially as they relate to some Neurodivergent concepts and identities. The one that’s the loudest in my head at the moment is what I’ve started calling ADH, but is widely known as “ADHD”. Even just including that last “D”, knowing it stands for disorder sends a jolt of harm and pain through my system.

I don’t have words and yet I have so many words. Speechless overwhelmed with big feels and yet I could easily rage on the page and express so damn much. The Club Q Shooting happened on Saturday night-it was the start of Transgender Remembrance Day, when we honor and acknowledge and remember the lives of trans folx who have died or been killed.

Last Sunday night began Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. I have a complex relationship with Judaism, one that evokes a multitude of feelings, memories, and experiences, some very painful, some sweet. Over the last decade, largely thanks to a good Jewish friend who “took me under her wing,” I finally felt safe enough to explore my Jewish identity and seek out Jewish community for the High Holidays. Even though I felt rejected by Judaism when I was growing up, something about the High Holidays always resonated with me.

I am so humbled and inspired to announce that fall 2019 marks the 10th anniversary of The Infinite U! I am filled with immense gratitude for the many families whose lives I’ve had the privilege to touch and who have deeply touched me in return. All the families who have welcomed me into their homes or have come to my office, trusted me with their children, and opened their hearts to greater possibility. All the young people who’ve attended our summer camps, grown their confidence, tried new things, and navigated the journey of making new friends. All the teens and tweens who have attended our social groups, discovered what it means to belong and to be connected to others in a community founded on mutual respect.

Have you ever noticed that while we are kind, caring, and thoughtful to others, we often say really mean, critical, and punishing things to ourselves that we wouldn’t dare say to another? Others make a mistake, and we find patience and forgiveness. We make a mistake, and we doom ourselves to failure, punishment, even self-sacrifice. We trick ourselves into believing that we need to bastardize ourselves in order to grow, learn, be our best. We find clever ways of excluding ourselves and think we are being humble when we reject compliments and appreciation.

For a lot of my life, I believed that my joy was at the whim of just about every circumstance, person, or situation outside of me. When it arrived, I both clung to it and resisted it. I desperately wanted it, but I was so stricken with fear, convinced it was only a matter of time before the “other shoe would drop.” Joy was fleeting, and when it left, it left behind a trail of disappointment and loss.

At 5 years old, my family joined a swim club. I “decided” that I knew how to swim and insisted on taking the swim test, which meant I would have to swim all the way to the deep end. Despite my mom’s insistence that I didn’t know how to swim, I convinced her and the life guard to let me try. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I couldn’t do it. With the life guard’s help, I got out of the pool, but not without making a brazen declaration: “By the time the summer ends, not only will I pass the swim test, but I will also jump off the high diving board!”