I’m Very Good at Everything Until I’m Not

Autistic Burnout (or: The Day a Soccer Field Ruined My Life)

Autistic burnout isn’t just “tired.” It’s what happens right before the lights go out. It’s what happens when you’ve spent too long making everything look effortless. Until the effort finally catches up, And your internal operating system just… stops.

I usually spot the signs and try to reset. Sometimes it works.

Yesterday, it took ten minutes.

It wasn’t a real crisis, nor a major event: a soccer field changed location (second time in a row though).

So, yesterday, the field moved, which is, objectively, fine - whatever.

My brain: total system collapse.

I walked over with the puppy and the kids, in a downpour. The rain wasn’t cute, it was kind of aggressive. The kind that soaks through your clothes and your patience at the same time. The kids loved it, obviously. Running ahead like they’re in a black-and-white movie.

We get there to an empty field.

No game, no people. Just wet grass and unmet expectations. And this is where it gets disproportionate. I didn’t panic, I just stood there staring at mud like I’m waiting for it to explain itself, hiding that I was feeling so exhausted I could barely hold my umbrella.

Internally, though? Absolute chaos. Because here’s the thing about being “high-functioning”: You can run complex systems. You can make big decisions under pressure. But move a soccer field? Apparently, that’s where the empire falls.

We walk back.

I say nothing because I would love to explain what’s happening internally but it sounds insane even to me. We get home, I get into the shower. And my brain goes: Great, now we collapse.

Then I cry and cry. Cool. Love that for me.

And this is the part that actually hurts:

In that moment, it doesn’t feel like “I’m overwhelmed.”

It feels like:

what is wrong with me.

How can I just break over a field change? What kind of broken math is that?

And standing there under the water, crying harder than this situation could ever justify. I didn’t feel misunderstood.

I just felt completely alone.

Not the visible kind of alone.

The quieter version.

Where it feels like there is no environment designed for how your mind actually works.

And when I feel like that, not in a dramatic way, just in a very tired, practical way, I think: It would be easier to just… not be here.

Eventually, the water runs cold, I get out. Sit on the rug in the kids room. Kids are playing. Puppy is committing small crimes. I’m there, but like in beta mode.

At some point, I do what every highly competent adult does in 2026:

I ask an AI if I’m okay. I explain everything. The field. The rain. The glitch. Gemini listens. Then gently suggests: “Have you considered talking to a mental health professional?” I ignore it. It insists. At this point, I’m being referred to therapy By a machine I opened for efficiency.

Fine. I text my therapist. I say, “So, Gemini told me to talk to you.” He goes. “Oh good. So you still need me.” Then tells me “I’ve been using it sometimes. To prep.”

Of course you have.

So now we have: Me → Asking AI Therapist → Asking AI AI → Sending me to therapist

It’s not even a loop. It’s a fully integrated support ecosystem.

Anyway. No big resolution here. No life lesson. I’ll run the usual reset protocols:

Hot yoga.

Cold exposure (because apparently suffering, but on purpose, counts as nervous system regulation).

Writing, which, in hindsight, is probably just structured burnout in my case.

Huberman would be proud. I’m out here doing the physiological sighs and the morning sunlight, trying to biohack my way out of a logistical glitch.

But my actual favorite reset? Spring cleaning. There is something profoundly corrective about it.

When my internal operating system is crashing, I find I can manually reboot by organizing.

I’ve attempted this specific cleaning six times this year, but the weather, and my nervous system, keep messing with me.

It’s the ultimate Slow Fashion reset: purging the noise, finding the meaning, and finally shopping my closet. I’m currently teeing up another collaboration with my favorite slow fashion advocate, hopefully coming soon.

People ask me how I write a book.

This. This is how.