Keeper of Secrets and Shadows

I'm sitting in the therapists' waiting room, waiting for my son to finish his session. He likes coming here. He says he can tell her anything and she has to keep it a secret. I've got my Air Pods, electronica clicking along to block out the piano Musak piped in.

Normally, my wife brings him here, because I'm usually working at this time, but she's gone to Minnesota today to visit a friend who recently gave birth. So I took the afternoon off from work, picked him up at school and brought him here.

The Sims 4 is free with PlayStation Plus this month, and I've been playing quite a bit the last couple of days. A neurotypical simulator, it's been interesting to put down the guns and role-play someone who can talk to strangers, who can do the things they need to do to get through the day. Of course, the game gets more complicated the longer you play, and I bailed as soon as my character had to juggle eating, socializing, and getting enough sleep.

It's been an interesting couple of weeks. I started out the year in an intensively productive place, and started changing a lot of things. It was probably too many things. I crashed and found myself in a burnout.

But it was different. Instead of trying to fight it, I accepted it and leaned into it. I pulled back on nearly everything. I allowed myself to be as autistic as I needed to be. I poured hours and hours into Borderlands 3, relentlessly playing through all the missions, fine-tuning my build and finding the equipment I needed. And it took some time, but I found myself recovering.

Last week, I might have not been able to bring him here. I wouldn't have wanted to leave the house. This week, I'm feeling stronger, more capable. This is something that I've gained with the diagnosis. Before, when the depression crept in, its origins were a mystery. Things were going so well; why would you get depressed then? Instead of framing it as a failing, seeing at as a disability, something that was beyond my control but something I can roll with, it was empowering. I pulled through.

Now we're in the pick-up line in the school parking lot, waiting for little brother to come out. I'll take them home, let them watch TV, make them dinner, put them to bed. He's hijacked my phone, making me play "#1 Cat in America" and "Gem Sweater" by Leslie Hall while he climbs over the seat and curls up under the passenger console. I try to smile pleasantly and acknowledge the other parents who are collecting their kids. Both our secrets are safe.