Mental Health – untypicable.

Mindfulness for the Chronically Irritated

Dwight Warner — Tue, 28 Oct 2025 10:00:00 +0000

They say mindfulness is about being present. Unfortunately, so is everyone else.

Everywhere you turn, there’s a person loudly breathing through their stress in a public park as if they’ve just invented oxygen. Or someone online telling you that gratitude is the key to happiness while selling a £49 workbook. You want to be Zen, truly — you’ve even downloaded the app — but by minute three you’re fantasising about throwing your phone into a lake.

This guide is for people who yearn for calm but live in a world designed by maniacs.

Step 1: Accept That You Are Fundamentally Un-Chill

It’s fine. Some people radiate serenity; you radiate mild despair and the smell of burnt coffee. Inner peace doesn’t come naturally to everyone. Some of us were born with what the ancients called “a face like a Monday.”

Your journey starts by acknowledging that you are not the type who can meditate beside a waterfall without worrying about midges or signal coverage. The key is to lower the bar. Aim not for enlightenment, but for slightly less homicidal irritation by teatime.

Step 2: Breathe Like You Mean It (Or At Least Convince Your Watch)

Every mindfulness guide tells you to breathe deeply. Fine. But deep breathing becomes less spiritual when your smartwatch interrupts to congratulate you for “maintaining respiratory function.”

Try the British Method: inhale quietly through the nose, exhale audibly through a sigh that communicates centuries of disappointment. Imagine you’re trying to cool a hot brew while muttering about the state of the trains. That’s not failure — that’s cultural authenticity.

Step 3: Gratitude, But Make It Petty

Gratitude lists are wonderful in theory, but by the third day it’s hard to feel thankful for “the sound of birds” when one of them has defecated on your car.

Instead, focus on micro-gratitude:

The kettle that hasn’t yet exploded.
The colleague who’s off sick, making the office blissfully quiet.
The miraculous moment between pouring a gin and being asked to join another Teams call.

Gratitude doesn’t have to be cosmic. It can be passive-aggressive. Sometimes “thank you” really means “thank heavens that’s over.”

Step 4: Loving-Kindness (In Theory)

Traditional mindfulness encourages you to send loving-kindness to all beings. Lovely sentiment — until you remember that one of those beings double-parked outside your house.

Try conditional compassion:

“May all beings be happy and free, except the person who invented autocorrect.”

That’s still progress. The Dalai Lama himself would probably struggle to bless someone who uses speakerphone on public transport.

Step 5: The Art of the Strategic Walk

Mindful walking is supposed to connect you to the present moment. Unfortunately, the present moment contains joggers, scooters, and one man arguing with his AirPods.

Walk anyway — but redefine mindfulness as strategic retreat. Find a path so remote it has its own postcode. Walk slowly, breathe deeply, and when a cyclist appears unannounced, practise compassion by imagining them reincarnated as a traffic cone.

Bonus tip: nature sounds are more soothing when not accompanied by humans explaining them loudly to toddlers.

Step 6: Declutter, Gently

Minimalism is about letting go of attachment. You’ve tried this before. It ended with tears over an old mug and the sudden realisation that everything “sparks joy” once it’s discontinued.

Instead, adopt emotional decluttering:

Delete one social media app.
Unfollow your ex’s new partner’s dog.
Mute that WhatsApp group where people say “Happy Monday!” like it’s not a threat.

Your peace of mind is worth more than maintaining digital relationships with people you’d cross the street to avoid.

Step 7: Acceptance Isn’t Approval

Acceptance doesn’t mean liking things. It means noticing that you despise them, and then choosing not to act on it — mostly because you can’t be bothered.

When someone says “everything happens for a reason,” remind yourself that sometimes the reason is “you made a terrible decision.” Observe, breathe, and move on. The storm will pass, and with luck, so will they.

Step 8: Meditation for the Easily Distracted

You’ve lit the candle, you’ve sat cross-legged, and within twelve seconds your mind is wondering what’s for tea. That’s fine. Meditation isn’t about not thinking; it’s about noticing how quickly your thoughts escalate from “I should relax” to “what if the dishwasher is on fire.”

If you make it to thirty seconds without checking your phone, you’re basically enlightened. Reward yourself accordingly.

Step 9: Unplug, Unwind, Uninvite

Digital detoxes are great in principle, until you remember your entire sense of self is backed up to the cloud. Still, try it for an hour. The world will continue spinning without your input — though, worryingly, it might do so more efficiently.

Unplugging also gives you space to re-engage with the analog world: books, cups of tea, existential dread. It’s surprisingly refreshing.

Step 10: Redefine Enlightenment

True enlightenment isn’t achieved on a mountain or in a retreat centre. It’s found in small acts of not losing your temper: when the kettle finally boils, when someone uses the word “journey” unironically, when you manage to endure a full supermarket self-checkout session without shouting “UNEXPECTED ITEM IN THE BAGGING AREA” at the top of your lungs.

You are not broken. You’re just highly attuned to the absurdity of modern life. And that, in its own way, is mindfulness — awareness mixed with rage, compassion topped with sarcasm.

Closing Reflection

So, breathe in. Breathe out.

Notice your thoughts, your surroundings, and that faint hum of irritation that reminds you you’re still alive.

Inner peace isn’t the absence of annoyance — it’s the decision to put the kettle on before it ruins your day.

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Dwight Warner

Dwight Warner is the quintessential oddball Brit, with a weirdly American-sounding name, who has a knack for turning the mundane into the extraordinary. Hailing originally from London, now living in the sleepy depths of Lincolnshire but claiming an allegiance to the absurd, Dwight has perfected the art of finding the surreal in real life. Whether it’s a spirited rant about the philosophical implications of queueing or a deep dive into why tea tastes better in a mug older than you, his blogs blur the line between the abstract and the everyday.

With an irreverent wit and a penchant for tangents that somehow come full circle, Dwight Warner doesn’t just write; he performs on the page. His humour is both sharp and delightfully nonsensical, like Monty Python met your nosiest neighbour and they decided to co-write a diary.

Known for being gregarious, Dwight is the life of any (real or metaphorical) party, whether he’s deconstructing the existential crisis of mismatched socks or sharing his inexplicable theories about why pigeons are secretly running the economy.

A larger-than-life personality with a laugh as loud as his opinions, Dwight Warner invites readers to step into a world where everything’s slightly askew—and that’s exactly how he likes it.

Masking 101: The Hidden Curriculum of Being Socially Acceptable

AJ Wright — Mon, 22 Sep 2025 10:00:00 +0000

They say all the world’s a stage, but for some of us, the performance starts before we’ve even left the house.

Take last Tuesday, for example. I’d barely made it out of bed when I realised I was already rehearsing. Not for anything in particular—just for being perceived. The spotlight doesn’t wait for an invitation; it flicks on somewhere between brushing your teeth and wondering if cereal counts as a proper breakfast.

The morning started with the usual mental checklist: Shirt? On backwards, but passable. Smile? Set to “pleasant but non-threatening.” Tone? Calibrated through 17 pre-rehearsed scripts. Eye contact? Just enough to say “I’m listening,” but not so much that Sandra from HR accuses me of trying to read her soul.

By 9 a.m., I’d already given the performance of a lifetime—and I hadn’t even clocked in. It’s a miracle I don’t have an agent.

Learning the Lines

This, dear reader, is masking. It’s the subtle, exhausting, often absurd art of pretending to be the version of yourself that makes everyone else comfortable. It’s neurodivergent stagecraft at its finest: no script, no director, and definitely no union benefits. There’s no interval. No exit stage left. Just the relentless curtain call of yet another social scenario.

No one teaches you how to mask. There’s no school module titled “How to Not Make People Uncomfortable with Your Face.” You just… pick it up. Slowly. Painfully. Usually after a few dozen encounters where people look at you like you’ve just licked a light switch. One awkward silence too many, one “Why are you being weird?” and you realise: ah. There are rules. I just never got the manual.

So you start observing. Mimicking. Testing lines in your head like a stand-up comic workshopping material. You learn to smile when you’re supposed to. Nod thoughtfully. Laugh at jokes that make no sense. Stifle the urge to talk about your latest hyperfixation—even though Victorian sewage systems are genuinely fascinating, and frankly, people are missing out.

It’s the hidden curriculum of being socially acceptable, and neurodivergent people are expected to pass it without ever being shown the syllabus. Everyone else seems to coast through the group project that is human interaction while you’re clinging to your metaphorical PowerPoint slides, praying you remembered to include a conclusion.

Scripted Encounters

There’s a script for every occasion. At work: “How was your weekend?”
Default response: “Quiet one, you?” (Never say “I reorganised my LEGO by emotional colour wheel.”)

At meetings: Rotate through weather, traffic, coffee. Don’t mention how your brain staged a full mutiny at 3 a.m. over an email you sent in 2019. And when someone says, “Let’s touch base offline,” you nod sagely while your inner monologue asks, “Touch what, now?”

Even casual chats are rehearsed. You watch people for clues and cues, mirroring their expressions like you’re doing some low-budget improv exercise. All the while, your brain is running diagnostics: Am I smiling too much? Was that laugh too loud? Is this what interested eyebrows look like?

It’s not interaction. It’s performance. Except the costume is your personality, and the script keeps changing. One wrong move, one misread cue, and the illusion cracks.

The Comedy of Errors

Despite the effort, things go wrong. Often hilariously wrong. You say “you too” when someone wishes you Happy Birthday. You try to leave a conversation and accidentally become its host. You laugh at a statement that wasn’t a joke and then try to cough to cover it up, which only makes things worse.

You nod at a rhetorical question. You wave at someone who wasn’t waving at you. You misjudge the appropriate reaction and end up looking either disinterested or manically enthused—no in-between. Social nuance is less of a grey area and more of a black hole.

Idioms become landmines. Someone says, “Let’s circle back on this,” and you’re halfway through imagining two colleagues rotating in a car park before you realise it’s just office jargon. You spend an entire networking event pretending your drink is interesting so you don’t have to talk, then end up giving a five-minute TED talk on cutlery design to a passing intern who just wanted a sausage roll.

When the Mask Comes Off

The moment you get home, the mask slips off like a too-tight pair of shoes. Relief floods in, followed almost immediately by exhaustion. Masking fatigue isn’t just tiredness. It’s the kind of brain-deep weariness that makes you stare at a wall for twenty minutes wondering if you remembered how to blink. It’s crawling under a blanket, lights off, ears ringing from silence. You’ve performed all day. And now, the curtain has fallen. You just hope there’s no encore tomorrow.

And if someone texts you to go for drinks, you pretend you didn’t see it. Not because you don’t care. But because you’ve used up every single shred of your social capacity on nodding at the right moment and not saying something you’ll lie awake cringing about later.

Choosing When to Perform

We mask to fit in. To avoid awkwardness, confrontation, or becoming That Person in the office who gets quietly excluded from group chats. It’s about survival. And yes, sometimes it helps. Sometimes it keeps us safe. But it also chips away at us—little by little. Because masking means hiding the parts that make us, well, us.

We’re told to “just be yourself” by people who’ve never been punished for doing exactly that. They mean well. But they don’t get it. To be authentic in a world that demands conformity is a rebellious act. And some days, it’s a risk we’re just too tired to take.

Slowly, gently, we learn where we can unmask. In certain friendships. In quiet spaces. With people who don’t flinch when we stim, or ramble, or go quiet without warning. People who don’t need you to translate your joy into something digestible—who let you be weird, or blunt, or enthusiastic about moths.

Unmasking isn’t about rejecting people. It’s about reclaiming our own pace, our own patterns. Our quirks aren’t flaws—they’re fingerprints. It’s a slow process, like thawing. But it starts when someone sees you, really sees you, and doesn’t ask you to tidy up first.

So if you see someone who seems a bit “off-script,” give them a moment. Maybe they’re just taking off the mask. And maybe that mask was never hiding something broken—just something brilliant, waiting for air.

Cue the standing ovation.

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AJ Wright

AJ Wright is a quiet yet incisive voice navigating the surreal world of sociology, higher education, and modern life through the unique lens of a neurodivergent mind. A tech-savvy PhD student hailing from South Yorkshire but now stationed in the flatlands of Lincolnshire, AJ writes with an irreverence that strips back the layers of academia, social norms, and the absurdities of daily life to reveal the humour lurking beneath.

As an autistic thinker, AJ’s perspective offers readers a rare blend of precision, curiosity, and wit. From dissecting the unspoken rituals of academia—like the silent war over the office thermostat—to exploring the sociology of “neurotypical small talk” and the bizarre hierarchies of campus coffee queues, AJ turns the ordinary into something both profound and hilarious.

AJ’s unassuming nature belies the sharpness of their commentary, which dives deep into the intersections of neurodiversity, tech culture, and the often-overlooked quirks of human behaviour. Whether questioning why university bureaucracy feels designed by Kafka or crafting surreal parodies of academic peer reviews, AJ writes with a balance of quiet intensity and playful absurdity that keeps readers coming back for more.

For those seeking a blog that is equal parts insightful, irreverent, and refreshingly authentic, AJ Wright provides a unique perspective that celebrates neurodiversity while poking fun at the peculiarities of the world we live in. Also a contributor at Thinking Sociologically.

untypicable.co.uk

Why Adults Deserve Gold Stars for Basic Tasks

Kerry Freeman — Sat, 15 Feb 2025 10:00:00 +0000

As children, we were showered with praise for the simplest achievements—tying our shoelaces, eating our lunch, or merely participating in activities without causing chaos. Stickers and gold stars were freely given, reinforcing the idea that even the smallest accomplishments deserved recognition. However, as we transition into adulthood, these affirmations abruptly vanish. Despite balancing jobs, finances, and personal responsibilities, there is little to no recognition for simply keeping our lives together. Lets explore the idea that adults, too, deserve symbolic rewards for their efforts in navigating the complexities of everyday life.

The Lack of Recognition in Adulthood

In childhood, even the most basic tasks were met with celebration. Whether it was completing homework, sharing toys, or following simple instructions, these actions were acknowledged with positive reinforcement. In contrast, adulthood presents an array of mundane yet necessary responsibilities that receive no commendation. The expectation is that adults will pay their bills, maintain their households, and fulfill their work obligations without the need for validation. This shift in societal expectation creates a void where small achievements go unnoticed, contributing to feelings of burnout and monotony.

The Everyday Tasks That Deserve Recognition

Making a Difficult Phone Call

For many, making phone calls is a daunting task. The effort involved in mustering the courage to dial a number, preparing mentally for the conversation, and maintaining composure while speaking to another person can be overwhelming. Successfully navigating a phone call, particularly one that involves resolving bureaucratic matters, is an accomplishment that should be acknowledged.

Preparing a Proper Meal

In a fast-paced world where convenience foods are readily available, preparing a meal from scratch is no small feat. The process of planning, cooking, and cleaning up afterward requires time and effort. Furthermore, ensuring that the meal is balanced and nutritious adds an additional layer of difficulty. Such efforts should be recognized as significant achievements in self-care and responsible living.

Maintaining a Healthy Sleep Schedule

The temptation to prolong bedtime, whether through binge-watching television shows or scrolling through social media, is a challenge many adults face. Choosing to sleep at a reasonable hour, despite the lure of distractions, demonstrates self-discipline and foresight. Prioritizing rest is essential for well-being, and the ability to do so consistently deserves commendation.

Enduring a Work Meeting with Patience

Work meetings often require a level of engagement that can be mentally draining. Remaining attentive, contributing meaningfully, and refraining from disengagement requires focus and self-control. Those who successfully navigate long and sometimes unnecessary discussions deserve acknowledgment for their perseverance and professionalism.

Being Honest About One’s Well-being

Society often encourages individuals to respond with a simple “I’m fine” when asked about their well-being. Choosing to be honest, whether in admitting exhaustion, stress, or uncertainty, takes courage. Such moments of vulnerability should be met with encouragement rather than dismissal, as emotional honesty is vital for mental health.

The Need for a Symbolic Reward System

To address the lack of recognition for adult achievements, a system of symbolic rewards could be introduced. Stickers for minor accomplishments, gold stars for notable achievements, and certificates for exceptional feats could serve as tangible affirmations of effort. Additionally, humorous yet meaningful tokens such as “I Did My Taxes” badges or “Survived Another Workweek” mugs could help reinforce a sense of accomplishment in daily life.

Conclusion

Adulthood is often marked by an absence of recognition for the everyday challenges individuals face. While society expects adults to fulfill their responsibilities without affirmation, it is essential to acknowledge the effort that goes into maintaining a balanced and functional life. By reintroducing small forms of validation, whether through personal acknowledgment or symbolic rewards, we can foster a culture that celebrates perseverance and resilience. If childhood achievements warrant gold stars, then adulthood surely deserves them as well.

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Kerry Freeman

Born and raised in Sheffield, Kerry Freeman is an unrepentant tea addict, cat enthusiast, and lifelong expert in the art of looking busy while doing the bare minimum. By day, she works as a minion in a government department (no, not one of the cute yellow ones with dungarees). By night, she brings her wicked sense of humour to untypicable.co.uk as an occasional contributor, where she fearlessly tackles life’s nonsense with sharp wit, historical references, and the occasional inappropriate joke.

Kerry has no children (by choice, obviously), but she does have a cat, which is basically the same thing but with more attitude and fewer school runs. When she’s not writing, you’ll probably find her at a historical re-enactment, enthusiastically pretending she’s living in another century—preferably one with fewer emails and better hats.

Error 404: Motivation Not Found

AJ Wright — Sat, 25 Jan 2025 10:00:00 +0000

We’ve all been there: staring at a task that desperately needs doing, while every fiber of your being screams, “Not today.” Your brain cycles through excuses, distractions, and existential dread faster than you can refresh your Instagram feed. But where is motivation in all of this?

It’s like trying to load a webpage only to be greeted with the digital equivalent of your brain: Error 404: Motivation Not Found. Let’s take a closer look at why motivation sometimes feels like a missing file and what we can do about it.

Why Motivation Feels Like a Glitchy Program

The Motivation Myth
Motivation isn’t a constant stream of energy—it’s more like a pop-up ad. Sometimes it appears at the perfect moment (rarely), and other times, it’s a cruel tease, vanishing just as you need it most. Think of it like an unreliable browser extension: you expect it to work, but half the time, it doesn’t load properly because the conditions aren’t right.
Mental Bandwidth Overload
When you’re juggling a dozen mental tabs—work deadlines, grocery lists, existential crises—it’s no wonder motivation fails to load. Your brain’s processing power is maxed out, and instead of doing the important task, you end up doom-scrolling or watching videos of raccoons stealing cat food.
The Procrastination Virus
Procrastination is the malware of motivation. It sneaks into your operating system, disguising itself as “just five minutes of TikTok” (and I don’t normally use TikTok!) or “I’ll clean my entire house first,” and suddenly, the task is forgotten.

Common Errors in the Motivation System

Error: Task Overwhelming (Code 500)
Your brain freezes because the task feels too big. Why write one paragraph when it feels like climbing Everest?
Error: Undefined Purpose (Code 418)
If you don’t see the point of the task, your brain might file it under “Why bother?” and divert energy elsewhere.
Error: Background Apps Draining Energy (Code 302)
Mental fatigue from emotional stress, physical exhaustion, or decision overload can zap motivation before it even gets started.

Fixes for the Motivation Error

Run a Diagnostic: Break It Down
Large tasks feel impossible, but smaller chunks are manageable. Instead of “write the whole report,” start with “write the first sentence.” Progress snowballs.
Reboot the System: Take a Break
Sometimes, your brain just needs a quick reset. A walk, a snack, or a 10-minute dance party can refresh your mental RAM.
Install Rewards: Gamify the Task
Motivation likes incentives. Promise yourself a treat—coffee, chocolate, or an episode of your favorite show—when you complete a small milestone.
Turn Off Unnecessary Programs
Close those mental tabs that don’t serve the task. Worrying about next week’s schedule or what Karen from HR thinks of your email can wait.
Call Tech Support: Find Accountability
A friend, colleague, or app can help keep you on track. Sometimes, just knowing someone’s watching is enough to spark action.

Embrace the Lack of Motivation

Here’s the truth: even the best systems have downtime. Motivation is fleeting, but discipline and habits are your reliable backups. When you can’t summon the energy to care, lean on structure to carry you through.

And when all else fails, remember: it’s okay to rest. Sometimes, Error 404 just means the system needs maintenance.

Conclusion: The Search Continues

Motivation might feel like an elusive treasure, but it’s not entirely out of reach. With the right hacks, humor, and a touch of grace, you can navigate the glitches and keep moving forward—even if it’s one tab at a time.

So, the next time you’re tempted to give up, picture your brain as an old PC. Sure, it’s a bit slow and prone to errors, but with the right inputs, it’ll load eventually.

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AJ Wright

untypicable.co.uk

The Tyranny of Notifications: How Your Phone Became Your Boss

James Henshaw — Mon, 23 Dec 2024 10:00:00 +0000

Picture this: you’re sipping your morning coffee, basking in a rare moment of quiet, when your phone buzzes. It’s a message from a colleague, a calendar reminder, or perhaps just an app nudging you to check its latest update. Without hesitation, your attention shifts, coffee cooling as your brain races to address the interruption. Sound familiar? If so, you’re not alone. In the age of smartphones, the tyranny of notifications has become universal—our lives dictated by the endless pings, vibrations, and banners vying for our attention. But when did this happen, and how did we let it?

The Rise of Notifications: From Convenience to Command

A Brief History of Notifications

In the early days of mobile phones, notifications were tools of practicality. A text message or missed call alert served as a simple nudge to connect with others. They were occasional and unassuming, designed to add convenience to our lives. But everything changed with the advent of smartphones and the app economy.

Push notifications, introduced in 2009, were a game-changer. Suddenly, apps could send updates directly to users in real-time. What began as a helpful way to remind users of calendar events or social media interactions quickly escalated into a relentless battle for attention. Each app wanted to stand out, bombarding users with alerts about sales, achievements, and breaking news—whether they cared or not.

How We Let It Happen

Initially, notifications felt empowering. They promised productivity, connection, and convenience, all in the palm of our hands. But beneath the surface, they tapped into a far more primal mechanism: the dopamine loop. Every ping or buzz triggered a tiny reward in our brains, creating a sense of satisfaction that became increasingly addictive.

At the same time, social norms shifted. Being “always available” became not just a convenience but an expectation. Answering a message late could signal indifference, and missing a work email might be seen as unprofessional. Slowly but surely, we handed over control of our time and attention—voluntarily, but perhaps not knowingly.

The Mechanics of Control: Why Notifications Dominate Us

Notifications and the Attention Economy

At its core, the tyranny of notifications is about power—and profit. Tech companies operate within the attention economy, where user engagement translates directly into revenue. The more time you spend responding to notifications, the more ads you see, content you consume, or purchases you make.

Apps have become experts at manipulating human psychology. Notifications are timed to coincide with periods when you’re most likely to engage. Social media platforms alert you when someone “likes” your post, creating a feedback loop that’s hard to resist. The result? A never-ending stream of alerts, each designed to pull you back into the digital fold.

The Cost of Constant Interruptions

While notifications promise connection, they come at a steep cost. Studies show that frequent interruptions erode focus, making it harder to complete tasks efficiently. Each buzz or ping breaks your train of thought, leaving your brain struggling to refocus.

The emotional toll is equally severe. Notifications fuel anxiety, especially when they pile up faster than you can address them. The fear of missing out (FOMO) keeps us glued to our devices, while the pressure to respond immediately creates stress. Even sleep isn’t spared—late-night alerts disrupt rest, leaving us groggy and irritable the next day.

When Your Phone Became Your Boss

The Workplace Invasion

Nowhere is the tyranny of notifications more evident than in the workplace. Apps like Slack, Microsoft Teams, and email alerts have blurred the boundaries between work and personal life. Once, leaving the office meant leaving work behind. Today, a buzzing phone ensures you’re always on the clock.

This shift accelerated during the pandemic, as remote work became the norm. Without physical offices, notifications became the primary means of communication—and the line between “on” and “off” hours vanished. Unspoken expectations to reply immediately turned smartphones into 24/7 taskmasters, micromanaging our lives down to the minute.

The Social Pressure to Comply

It’s not just work. Social notifications—group chats, family updates, even memes sent by friends—create their own form of obligation. Ignoring or delaying a response can feel like a social faux pas, leaving you riddled with guilt.

Adding to the pressure is the behaviour of others. Seeing friends and colleagues constantly online reinforces the idea that we should be, too. The result is a culture of hyper-connectivity where opting out feels almost impossible.

Fighting Back: Regaining Control Over Notifications

The Minimalist Notification Approach

Fortunately, the first steps toward reclaiming your time are simple. Start by auditing your notifications—disable non-essential alerts, mute group chats, and set “do not disturb” modes during specific hours. Focus apps and tools can help block distractions, letting you work or relax without interruption.

Customising your notification settings isn’t just a tech tweak—it’s an act of defiance. By reducing the noise, you’re taking back control of your attention, one alert at a time.

Changing the Culture

On a larger scale, pushing back against notification tyranny requires cultural change. Workplaces must establish clear boundaries for after-hours communication, ensuring employees don’t feel obligated to respond outside their shifts. At home, friends and family can respect digital downtime by avoiding unnecessary messages.

Perhaps most importantly, we need to normalise being offline. The next time you leave a message unanswered or switch your phone to silent, remind yourself: you’re setting an example, not breaking a rule.

Ending the call

Notifications were meant to serve us, but somewhere along the line, the roles reversed. Our phones became our bosses, micromanaging every moment of our lives. Yet, the power to break free is still within our grasp.

By silencing unnecessary alerts and setting boundaries, we can push back against the tyranny of notifications. It won’t happen overnight, but every small step counts. So start today—silence just one alert, reclaim one peaceful moment, and remind yourself who’s really in charge.

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James Henshaw

James Henshaw is a brooding Geordie export who swapped the industrial grit of Newcastle for the peculiar calm of Lincolnshire—though he’s yet to fully trust the flatness. With a mind as sharp as a stiletto and a penchant for science-tinged musings, James blends the surreal with the everyday, crafting blogs that feel like the lovechild of a physics textbook and a fever dream.

Equally at home dissecting the absurdities of modern life as he is explaining quantum theory with alarming metaphors, James writes with the wit of someone who knows too much and the irreverence of someone who doesn’t care. His posts are infused with a dark humour that dares you to laugh at the strange, the inexplicable, and the occasionally terrifying truths of the universe—whether it’s the unnerving accuracy of Alexa or the existential menace of wasps.

A figure of mystery with a slightly unsettling edge, James is the sort of bloke who’d explain the meaning of life over a pint, but only after a dramatic pause long enough to make you question your own existence. His wit cuts deep, his insights are sharp, and his ability to make the surreal feel strangely plausible keeps readers coming back for more.

Diary of a Neurodivergent Supermarket Trip

AJ Wright — Sat, 21 Dec 2024 10:00:00 +0000

For most people, a trip to the supermarket is just another mundane chore—grab some milk, pick up bread, maybe splurge on a “two for one” offer you don’t really need. For me, as a neurodivergent thinker, it’s a carefully planned adventure into a swirling vortex of sensory chaos, social tension, and existential dilemmas. Each aisle is a minefield of unexpected challenges and moments of triumph. Here’s how it unfolds.

10:00 AM – Planning the Expedition

The first stage of any supermarket trip is reconnaissance. My list isn’t just a loose collection of items; it’s an intricate map of must-buys, ranked by urgency, with aisle numbers estimated based on previous visits. This isn’t over-preparation—it’s survival.

I mentally rehearse the route: in through the sliding doors (always too fast), start at sandwich meats (because it’s near the entrance), then the aisles in strict order, finishing triumphantly at the self-checkout. Timing is critical. Late morning means fewer crowds but also fewer social interactions with bored employees asking, “Can I help you find anything?”

10:30 AM – Entering the Arena

The automatic doors hiss open, and I’m hit by the supermarket’s unique sensory cocktail: fluorescent lights, distant pop music, and a faint smell of overripe bananas from the reduced-to-clear section. My brain starts calibrating—too bright, too loud, but manageable for now. I adjust my earbuds to block the worst of the din, armed with a playlist of soothing background music.

The first hurdle: the trolley. I grab one, carefully avoiding the sticky-handled renegades. It wobbles slightly to the left. No matter—this is my steed for the journey ahead.

10:35 AM – Sandwich Meats: The Meat of the Problem

I arrive at the sandwich meats section, but instead of efficiency, I’m met with a baffling array of choices. Sainsbury’s has somehow decided that a hundred types of ham is a good idea. Honey roast, smoked, unsmoked, thick cut, wafer thin, organic, budget-friendly, premium, or with a hint of maple syrup.

And yet, beyond the ham? Not much else. A token turkey slice, a sad pack of chicken tikka, and a single lonely pastrami. It’s like someone in the product department decided that the British public can’t survive without five different shades of ham but doesn’t deserve variety. I shake my head and grab the usual. The paradoxical choice overload leaves me questioning the point of it all. Don’t get me wrong, I like ham, but do other people eat it every day?

10:45 AM – Aisle 3: The Cereal Dilemma

The cereal aisle is where the real test begins. Faced with a dazzling wall of brightly coloured boxes, I feel like I’m navigating a social experiment designed to overload my decision-making circuits.

Do I stick with the usual or try something new? The cheerful mascots on the boxes seem to mock me with their oversized smiles. I finally grab my standby granola, but not before silently judging the overabundance of chocolate-flavoured options.

10:55 AM – Mid-Journey Fatigue

By now, the background hum of the supermarket is wearing on me. A child wails in the distance. Someone’s trolley squeaks incessantly. A cheery announcement about loyalty card deals blares from the loudspeakers. My brain, already processing at full capacity, starts to fray at the edges.

A quick glance at my list tells me I’ve deviated from the planned route. Aisle 7 was supposed to follow Aisle 5, but I’ve somehow ended up in Aisle 9. Panic bubbles. Do I retrace my steps or press forward? After a moment’s deliberation, I decide to adapt. Neurodivergence is nothing if not creative under pressure.

11:05 AM – The Social Gauntlet

It happens near the dairy section: the dreaded “someone I know” encounter. My heart sinks as they approach, trolley in tow, with a smile that says we must chat.

Small talk is my nemesis. Do I ask how they are? What if they ask me the same, and I respond too literally? We exchange pleasantries, during which I overthink every word I say. After three excruciating minutes, they wave and move on, oblivious to my internal exhaustion.

11:15 AM – Self-Checkout Showdown

I reach the self-checkout, my final hurdle. The machines beckon with their promise of independence but punish the slightest mistake. As I scan my items, the machine inevitably shouts, “Unexpected item in the bagging area.” I freeze, certain everyone is watching.

A kindly attendant comes to my rescue, but their well-meaning smile is almost worse than the error. They reset the machine. I mumble a thank-you, feeling a mix of relief and embarrassment.

11:20 AM – Escape and Recovery

The sliding doors part for the final time, and I step back into the world. No car waiting for me, just my feet and the cool air. The journey home is almost meditative, a sensory detox after the overload of the supermarket.

I adjust my grip on the shopping bags, enjoying the rhythm of walking and the relative silence. The sounds of nature—a bird chirping, leaves rustling—gradually untangle the knot in my chest. With every step, the sensory chaos of the past hour fades, replaced by a small sense of triumph. I made it through.

And relax…

A supermarket trip may seem mundane, but for a neurodivergent person, it’s anything but. From navigating sensory overload to decoding social interactions, every moment offers a unique challenge. Yet, it’s in these challenges that I find both humour and insight.

As I finally arrive home, unpacking my slightly excessive selection of ham and reliable granola, I reflect: it’s not about the destination—or even the groceries. It’s about finding joy in the journey, no matter how surreal it might seem.

No wonder I prefer home delivery!

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untypicable.co.uk

Living with High-Functioning Autism: A Personal Account Full of Quirks and Laughs

AJ Wright — Thu, 07 Nov 2024 18:41:33 +0000

Living with high-functioning autism can feel a bit like being handed a roadmap of life – only someone’s nicked the instructions and written “good luck” in biro across the top. From awkward eye contact to overthinking every text, navigating the neurotypical world takes a dose of patience, plenty of perseverance, and a surprising amount of humour. If you’re up for a peek into what it’s really like to walk the high-functioning autism tightrope, put the kettle on – here’s my story, oddities and all.

Living with High-Functioning Autism: The Basics

High-functioning autism, in case you haven’t had the pleasure of meeting it, is a form of autism spectrum disorder where people often have average or above-average intelligence. We might be able to hold down a job, have relationships, and pass for “normal” on a good day. But make no mistake – under the surface, things are buzzing. While my mind’s constantly at work, I’ve become a bit of a connoisseur in surviving life’s quirks with autism. And, frankly, if I had a pound for every time I thought, “Was that a normal thing to say?” I’d be lounging on a beach somewhere by now.

The First Clues: Early Signs and Realisations

Looking back, there were early clues that I was a bit of an odd duck. While other kids were running around, I’d be obsessively organising my crayons or staring off into space, content as could be. Teachers, bless them, would try to spark my interest in games or group projects. But as long as I could retreat to my little world of routines and order, I was perfectly chuffed. It wasn’t until I grew older that I noticed I wasn’t quite marching to the same beat.

Social Situations: A Field Guide

Ah, social situations. If there’s one thing that’s both endlessly fascinating and utterly baffling, it’s small talk. I’m the sort who dives headfirst into a conversation about astrophysics when everyone else is politely discussing the weather. This whole business of reading between the lines is a never-ending adventure. Sarcasm? I might pick it up on a good day. Subtle hints? Good luck with that.

Misunderstandings in Everyday Conversations

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to ask myself, “Wait, did they mean that literally?” From misunderstandings in work meetings to casually missing a joke at the pub, I’ve learnt to laugh at the fact that my brain simply isn’t wired for the wink-wink-nudge-nudge way most people communicate. And honestly, it’s been one of the best lessons – laughing at myself instead of endlessly analysing every social gaffe.

The Art of Eye Contact

Eye contact is an art form I haven’t quite mastered. They say it’s the “window to the soul,” but for me, it’s more like a flash of blinding sunlight – one that I tend to look away from. With friends, I can manage a bit of eye contact here and there. But in formal situations? Let’s just say I’ve spent many a work meeting nodding and smiling at someone’s tie.

Sensory Sensitivity: The World at 100 Decibels

My relationship with sound is… complicated. Every time I step out into a bustling café or the Tube at rush hour, my senses hit overload faster than you can say “mind the gap.” It’s like living with a volume dial constantly turned up. These days, my noise-cancelling headphones are practically a part of me – I don’t leave home without them.

Textural Adventures

Texture sensitivity is another thing. There are certain jumpers I wouldn’t wear even if you paid me, and let’s not get started on the wrong kind of crunchy food. I’m convinced that food textures are some kind of cosmic joke. It’s as if the universe decided to make my favourite snack just a bit too gritty, stringy, or slimy.

Routine is my Religion

Routine keeps me grounded – it’s my safety net when the world feels like it’s spinning out of control. I’m not talking about a bit of structure; I mean a rock-solid daily plan. The knowledge that certain things happen at certain times is downright comforting. My calendar isn’t just a tool – it’s practically a lifestyle.

Unexpected Change: The Enemy

Then, of course, there’s the other side of the coin: change. Unexpected changes, even tiny ones, can leave me feeling like someone’s pulled the rug out from under my feet. Tell me dinner plans have changed last-minute, and my brain’s already bracing for impact. Over the years, I’ve had to train myself to roll with the punches, but honestly, I’d rather we just stick to the plan.

Hyperfocus: A Double-Edged Sword

One of the more peculiar upsides of autism is hyperfocus. When I’m interested in something, I’ll dive in headfirst – for hours, sometimes days, forgetting all else. It’s as if I fall down a rabbit hole, researching everything from Norse mythology to obscure astronomy facts. Friends have learnt that when I’m in a hyperfocus zone, I’m as good as gone.

The Downside of Obsession

But the downside? Once I’m in, I can’t seem to turn it off. This single-minded focus can drain my energy to the point where I’m knackered. It’s a bit like starting a DIY project at midnight – exciting at first, but you’ll eventually realise you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.

Employment and Career: An Adventure in Masking

Working life is a fascinating terrain for someone with autism. I’ve learnt to “mask” – to pass as neurotypical when the occasion demands. But masking is exhausting. The mental effort of navigating small talk, office banter, and remembering to make eye contact all day takes a toll. By the end of the day, I’m absolutely shattered.

Strengths at Work

There are upsides, though. I’m often praised for my attention to detail, and I’ve got a knack for spotting patterns and finding solutions others might overlook. If there’s a project that needs a thorough eye, I’m your person.

Romantic Relationships: Navigating Love with Autism

Relationships bring a whole new set of challenges. Dating is a bit like stumbling into an improv show without a script. There’s no manual for “flirting when you’re terrible at flirting,” but somehow I muddled through. Today, I’ve got a partner who gets me, quirks and all, and that’s worth more than words can say.

The Beauty of Brutal Honesty

One thing my partner appreciates is my honesty – apparently, it’s refreshing! I’ll tell you exactly what I think, for better or worse. Over the years, I’ve learnt to soften my honesty with a bit of tact (when I remember, that is), but mostly, I’ve found that it’s best to just be myself.

The Autistic Meltdown: When Things Become Too Much

When things build up – when I’m overstimulated or overwhelmed – I reach a point where it all just… boils over. Recognising the signs of a meltdown has been essential. Now, when I feel one coming on, I take a bit of time for myself, pop on some soothing music, or retreat to a quiet corner. It’s a way of hitting the “reset” button.

Finding the Humour in High-Functioning Autism

Living with autism can be tough, but finding humour in my quirks has made all the difference. There’s nothing quite like accidentally misunderstanding someone’s compliment or overthinking a text response to the point of hilarity. Laughing at these moments helps me embrace who I am.

Awkwardly Funny Moments

From my obsession with correcting typos to my extreme aversion to spontaneous plans, my life is a series of awkward, humorous moments. And you know what? I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Benefits of Being Neurodiverse

One of the joys of autism is seeing the world a bit differently. High-functioning autism gives me a unique perspective that fuels my creativity and sense of wonder. My life is full of discoveries, quirks, and insights that most people never think twice about.

Embracing Neurodiversity and Self-Acceptance

In the end, living with high-functioning autism has been a journey towards self-acceptance. Learning about my autism has given me a sense of peace and understanding. Today, I advocate for myself, and for others who might feel like they don’t quite “fit” – because fitting in is overrated.

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untypicable.co.uk

The Struggles of Being an Introvert in an Extrovert World

AJ Wright — Sat, 02 Nov 2024 14:30:57 +0000

For introverts like myself, life in an extrovert-dominated world is an adventure in quiet endurance. When everyone around you seems to be recharged by the same social events that drain you, everyday life can feel like a funny, yet exhausting, contradiction. From sidestepping awkward small talk to the art of stealthy exits, being an introvert comes with its own set of unique (and sometimes downright hilarious) challenges.

The Unending Battle of Small Talk

Picture this: you’re at a social gathering, and a friendly acquaintance heads your way, already radiating energy. The weather? Work updates? What’s new? Cue your internal dialogue scrambling to keep up. “Do I comment on the weather? Or… ask about their cat? Wait, do they even have a cat?”

Small talk for introverts can feel like an Olympic event—it’s draining, requires strategy, and usually leaves you feeling like you need a good nap afterward. And while extroverts seem to glide through the chit-chat, you’re left wondering, “Can I just…nod? Would they notice if I just nodded?”

The Art of the Stealthy Exit

If there’s one skill introverts develop early, it’s the silent exit. Big, boisterous farewells that involve all kinds of hugging and fanfare? Not quite the introvert style. In fact, “ghosting” can feel like a necessary skill.

There’s a certain thrill in successfully making it to the door unnoticed. No long goodbyes, no explaining why you’re leaving early—it’s a covert victory. The irony, of course, is that you’re the only one who sees it that way. Extroverts, on the other hand, might need multiple farewells and goodbyes at the door. As for me? I’ll be home in pyjamas by the time they’re done.

The “Social Hangover” After Every Outing

The social hangover is very real. Extroverts leave a party with energy to spare; introverts leave needing 48 hours of pure, undisturbed solitude. It’s not that introverts don’t enjoy socializing—it’s just that it comes with a price. For every hour spent out and about, at least two hours of downtime are required to recharge.

Your ideal post-party recovery? A cozy blanket, a good book, or a Netflix binge that requires no interaction whatsoever. Bonus points if you don’t have to check your phone.

Phone Calls: The Ultimate Source of Anxiety

For introverts, the words “I’ll call you” might as well mean “I’ll give you a full-blown anxiety attack.” The unpredictability of a phone call—someone’s voice suddenly in your ear, expecting a response, and there’s no way to read body language—can be stressful.

And then there’s the age-old introvert tradition of letting the phone ring out, hoping it goes to voicemail, so you can just…text back. Nothing beats the beauty of a written message, where you can think before you “speak.” Extroverts may never understand the sigh of relief when a call goes unanswered.

Group Activities: The “Why Can’t We Just Hang Out Alone?” Dilemma

Sometimes, you’ll make a new friend who loves group outings, parties, or game nights, and you’ll find yourself smiling awkwardly as they invite you to a “group hang.” You’d probably prefer a quiet coffee date with just the two of you, but no, now you’re at a full-blown gathering with ten strangers talking over each other.

This scenario tends to lead to internal monologues that go something like, “Why didn’t I suggest a one-on-one hangout? Will they notice if I just quietly slip away?” And while extroverts might jump into the chaos, you’ll likely hover at the edges, hoping for a quieter way out.

The Relentless Need for “Alone Time”

One of the hardest things for introverts in an extrovert’s world is explaining the need for alone time. It’s a core part of who you are, but to the untrained eye, it can look like antisocial behaviour. Extroverted friends will say, “Come on, we’ll have a blast!” while you’re thinking, “Yes, but also… no.”

Your friends might not understand it, but alone time is sacred. It’s the quiet retreat after an exhausting day, where the only voices you hear are your own (and possibly the ones in a good book or podcast).

Networking Events: A Special Kind of Torture

Nothing brings out the introvert sweat quite like networking events. Picture it: a crowded room filled with unfamiliar faces, all intent on making “connections.” For an introvert, this scene is the stuff of nightmares. The idea of walking up to strangers and starting conversations that “build rapport”? Yikes.

Extroverts often see networking as an adventure, a place to collect new contacts like trading cards. Introverts, on the other hand, are secretly praying for a fire alarm or some equally valid excuse to cut the event short.

The Creeping Death

Whether it is in the office, or as part of some social or community group, that bit when you all meet up and it goes round the table with everyone telling you about what they have been doing, what they are going to be doing, and generally updating everyone, the slow creep of death approaches. Trying to make yourself sound like you have been as busy as everyone else has been, scrambling to find something new to say when you have been happy doing the same-old same-old.

The creeping death creeps ever closer, and the panic rises…

The Difficulty of Saying “No”

Introverts aren’t exactly known for their love of confrontation, so declining invitations can be challenging. Extroverted friends, ever eager, will assume you want to join every plan, every time. But introverts are quite skilled in the subtle art of dodging without explicitly declining.

You might find yourself saying, “I’ll see if I can make it,” knowing full well you’ll spend that evening curled up at home. And even though there’s often a pang of guilt, you know that taking time for yourself is what you need. Plus, your real friends will understand.

The Struggle to Avoid Eye Contact

You know that feeling when you’re walking down the street, see someone you know from a distance, and instantly start calculating how to avoid interaction? Introverts have mastered the art of “not noticing” people. It’s not out of a lack of affection; it’s a survival mechanism.

Eye contact with someone you know (or someone who might start a conversation) often triggers the instinct to look busy. Maybe you’ll fake a text, pretend you’re in a hurry, or take a sudden interest in nearby architecture. Anything to avoid the dreaded small talk.

The Dilemma of “Extrovert Friends”

Being friends with an extrovert is like having a personal event planner who refuses to take “no” for an answer. They’re wonderful and loyal but also relentless in their quest to “bring you out of your shell.” They’ll schedule outings, parties, and adventures without hesitation, and for them, the best part is dragging you along.

You’ll appreciate their enthusiasm, but also wonder if there’s a way to support them without joining every event. Maybe send a fruit basket to the party in your place?

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untypicable.co.uk