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  Türkçesi Aşağıda 👇 If you’re autistic, you usually hit overload before you even register it. If you’re ADHD, you often don’t notice until you’re already reacting. If you’re both, like me, you learn to say “I’m fine” while your nervous system carries out the sensory equivalent of flipping tables and setting small fires. We don’t miss the signs because we’re oblivious. We miss them because attention is already working overtime: tracking every flicker of light, every micro-shift in someone’s tone, the typing six metres away, the sock seam that feels like barbed wire, and the fact that it’s suddenly Tuesday again and the furthest you’ve gone is the fridge. By the time capacity is exceeded, the system is already snapping, shutting down, or grinding through whichever socially required situation you accidentally said yes to. I’m talking about the Body Scale: simple, refined, and actually useful. A functional measurement of load, somatic, sensory, and cognitive. Ten points, based on wha...

Türkçesi Aşağıda 👇 One day, I went to see an excellent craniosacral therapist for my insomnia and the long list of other things my nervous system had decided to collect. At some point, she asked me this question: "How do you rest?" I laughed. Not politely. The kind of laugh you give when someone suggests Father Christmas is real. I keep hearing about this magical thing called "rest". People insist it exists. They say things like, "I spent the afternoon just being." Just being? My brain does not come with a "just being" setting. It comes with tabs. And more tabs. And a few secret passageways that open at 2 am."How do you rest? This question stuck with me because it revealed something I hadn't considered: I didn't know how to rest. Not really. I knew how to collapse. I knew how to crash. But rest? That was a rumour. I never believed I was tired. Why would I be? I was certain I could outwork gravity itself, as if bottomless energy were...