I can’t think.

Sometimes things become bigger than they should. I get into a spot where I am trying to process what is happening. I am trying to make sure I am making the right decisions for everyone, but I can’t think fast enough. Thing move faster than I can process.

Often at the end of the day, I am exhausted. After I drop the children off at the gate, I need time to reflect, or process. I know I have to write a notice home to parents. sometimes it is for the whole group. Sometimes is is individual parents, to praise or inform of difficulties their child has had. If it has been a difficult day, I cannot do this immediately. I need time to process. What did I do right, or wrong? What can I do better next time? Could I have done better? How? What do I need to do to help these kids?

One of the things I have to unlearn is that it is not always my fault. Growing up, All miscommunications where blamed on me. I was not clear enough. I didn’t say things fast enough. I wasn’t assertive enough. I was too blunt. My tone of voice was wrong. My face was wrong when I was talking.

Often, I have moments in the middle of the day, where what I planned is not working. I have to switch gears and try plan B to explain things. Then Plan C. When Plan H has failed, I am left lost. Sometimes well meaning people come up and ask me what they can do to help.

I am left at a loss usually when this happens. I cannot begin to think about how they can help. I am at a loss. I am still processing what went wrong in the first place. My prepared response is always. “I don’t know right now. Can I get back to you?”

If I get 2 or 3 people asking me back to back, like today. I just… I don’t know. I can’t even think yet..

I know then mean well. At least one does. I may have misread the other’s face. To me their face was saying “Why can’t you do this on your own?” Again, I may be misreading.

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I have now taken an hour. let me start again.

Too many things.

When communication isn’t clear, I don’t just feel confused—I start blaming myself. Doubting myself. Spinning. Many autistic people prefer written communication—and I can see why. Emails can be great, because people take time to think about what they are writing. They look back over an email and edit for clarity. Instant Messaging can be terrifying and I still dislike it.

People text brief messages that are often misunderstood, and there is no review before sending them. Last night after work, I got a string of messages from my administrators. No context. No details. Just enough to make me feel like I’d done something horribly wrong.

I spent the whole night replaying the day—trying to figure out where I’d overstepped. I knew what I’d done, but not why it might be a problem.

In the morning, more messages: “Let’s meet.” No explanation.

I asked for clarification. Nothing.

You know how deer freeze in the headlights of an oncoming car? They aren’t being reckless—they’re overwhelmed. Their brains stall, trying to process what’s coming at them. That’s how I felt. Stuck. Not knowing what to think, say, or do.

The meeting was more positive than I had anticipated. But up to that point I was terrified. The team asked how they could help—but the truth is, as I’m still processing, I have no idea what I need. That is something that needs to be planned. If you show up and ask me what I need help with in that moment, I’ll freeze up.

I have students who freeze up like I do, and I’m not always perfect at giving them the time they need. I also have students who try to take advantage of that lag, which helps no one. I want to give them the space I sometimes don’t know how to ask for myself. But like me, they don’t always know what they need in the moment. And like me, they’re still learning. We’re not being difficult—we’re just trying to keep up with a game that moves faster than we can think.