So, 2025 hasn’t exactly been super… and if you’re reading this, I probably don’t need to tell you that.
This time last year, I was presenting to federal agencies and big-name companies about how to better support Neurodivergent employees. New clients were reaching out for Autism assessments faster than I could answer emails. It felt like the tide was finally turning. People were curious, open, and ready to learn what Neurodivergence actually looks like.
But this year? It’s felt like watching that progress unravel in slow motion.
Clients are scared to seek diagnoses because of conversations around an “Autism Registry.” Government departments that once brought me in to consult have been dismantled. Instead of evaluating assessments, I’m now writing endless documentation for accommodations that get denied just as quickly. Clients are losing jobs, flexibility, medical care, and safety nets that were already too thin to begin with.
As an Autistic person, I know all about “the pivot.” I’ve changed directions more times than I can count…shifted special interests, reimagined my work, reshaped my focus. And this year has been a major one. My job title hasn’t changed, but the day-to-day has. There are fewer assessments. There are more couples on the verge of divorce. There are more legal cases for discrimination, more clients asking, “Will anyone find out I’m Autistic if I work with you?” (The answer is no, by the way.)
I’ve thrown myself into podcasts, articles, and Instagram education. And still, I hear “everyone thinks they’re Autistic these days” from people who don’t understand the first thing about it. Autism is still seen as “niche,” even by many professionals. Meanwhile, trauma is happening. Real, serious trauma, because of that ignorance. And my brain does not know how to rest when there’s this much at stake.
It sounds brutal because it is. But I’m not stopping there.
This year, I hosted our second Unmasking Retreat. Ten minutes in, I felt it…my body eased, my brain quieted, and the Autistic joy crept in. Our conversations ranged from puzzles to weather forecasting to food to podcasts. And none of us had to explain why we needed a break or a stim or some quiet. We just got each other. After four days of raw, unfiltered, affirming connection, I sat in the kitchen with my husband and teared up with so many emotions all at once. I had never felt so full.
And then, of course, I crashed. And cried again.
The retreaters kept texting, making plans, staying connected. I felt so lucky to have witnessed that. But I also felt something else. My husband saw it right away and said, “Are you sad that it’s over?” And I was. Not just the retreat, but the sense of community, the shared regulation, the ease.
I’m always going to lead the retreat as a professional, and I take that role seriously. But I don’t believe being a therapist means I have to be a blank slate. In fact, I think that whole idea needs to go. I don’t help people because I’m separate or all-knowing (not even close). I help by being real. I help by showing up fully, yes, as a licensed professional, but also as a Neurodivergent human who’s learning right alongside you. Even learning from you.
The most energizing, grounded moments of this year weren’t when I was trying to “fix” anything. They were when I was sitting in a room with other Autistic adults, being fully myself, and watching them do the same. And that’s why I’m doing it again.
You’ve asked, and now it’s happening: we’re launching another Unmasking Retreat in 2025.
We're also launching Neurodivergent Adventures, a way to connect more regularly in small, meaningful, low-pressure ways like nature walks, talks, crafts, and creating free or close to free spaces that are safe and about just being you.
This year has taught me that the most powerful version of “helping” doesn’t always happen in therapy. Sometimes it’s a shared meal. Sometimes it’s a quiet nod, or a shared podcast or book. Sometimes it’s a new friend who gets it. For me, connection has been the antidote to burnout, and the clearest reminder of why I do this work.
To my clients, colleagues, readers, retreaters, and those who are just finding me, thank you. You’re shaping the way I show up. I don’t have it all figured out, but I know this: we need each other. And where the world strips support away, we’ll keep building more of it. Together.
