Cheers to 33 years.

33 years on this planet.

Roughly 289,000 hours.

More than 17 MILLION minutes.

Over a BILLION seconds.

…and somehow, I have still let people who have repeatedly proven they don’t give a rat’s ass about me get under my skin.

Over the last few years, I’ve also gained around 33 pounds. It was 36, but that number has seesawed up and down.

I am stressed.

I am depressed.

And I’m not going to sit here and pretend otherwise.

I’m not okay.

And it’s okay to admit that.

The number of times I’ve argued with people about their lack of effort—only for them to get mad at me for bringing it up—is WILD.

You can do the bare minimum, but I’m the problem for noticing?

Then there are the indirect digs. The backhanded comments. The sudden change in the narrative when someone catches on.

I don’t know why people act like nobody talks.

People LOVE that shit.

I’ve learned to stay quiet and observe. But swallowing every response and replaying every conversation in my head is exhausting. The old version of me would have had something to say immediately.

This version has been trying to choose her battles.

Apparently, some people have mistaken that for permission.

Call me crazy if you want. Just make sure you tell the whole story—including what happened before I reacted.

Yes, I am responsible for my reactions. But you are responsible for your behavior, too.

If you know something hurts me and deliberately keep doing it, you don’t get to act confused when I finally speak up.

And if your “joke” only becomes a joke after someone calls it out, I have questions.

I can own the moments when I snap. I can work on how I respond when my anxiety is high and I’m overstimulated.

But I am not taking responsibility for the entire situation while someone else conveniently leaves their part out.

Are we serious?

I don’t need everyone to like me.I don’t need everyone to understand me.And I’m tired of worrying about how I look to people who have already decided who they think I am.

I know what it’s like to be at the very bottom. I also know people have it much worse than I do.

That doesn’t make what I’m experiencing irrelevant.

If you block me, make indirect posts, come for my job, call me out in public, or take credit for work you never touched—then still find your way back to watch my platforms—please understand something:

I notice.

I document.

And being quiet does not mean I have nothing to say.

Living with neurological conditions has introduced me to some truly bizarre comments about my intelligence and abilities.

Apparently, my brain is fair game until I ask someone to explain what was so fucking funny.

Then suddenly, it’s “just a joke.”

Coming back to the workplace with a disability has been quite the experience. There is a lot I want to talk about, and I intend to give those experiences the time and words they deserve.

That’s part of why Shunt Happens matters to me.

The name is a pun shared within the shunted community. Behind that humor are people living with conditions, surgeries, uncertainty, and experiences that others may never see.

I want to bring those experiences into the conversation.

And Shunt Happens is growing.

SIXTY subscribers on this blog.

Holy Sh!t.

Sixty people who chose to hear more. To learn more. To follow along.

That’s awareness.

My approach might seem weird to some people. I might swear too much, share too much, or introduce the subject in a way they weren’t expecting.

But if you spend enough time around me, you’re going to learn what a shunt is—and why mine matters.

That’s the point.

That’s the goal.

That’s my mission.

And at 33, I want to see how far I can take it.

It has been a slow learning curve. A slow climb. A whole lot of figuring shit out as I go, getting overwhelmed, stepping back, and trying again.

But look at how much has already happened while I was still figuring it out.

Sixty people subscribed to something I built because I had something to say.

That means something to me.

Through my profession, my hobbies, and the conversations that happen when someone asks about my name, I have found ways to get people talking about something they might otherwise never hear about.

Sometimes it starts with a pun.

Sometimes it starts in a game.

Sometimes it starts with someone asking, “What the hell is a shunt?”

And I get to explain why I have one.

That is a conversation worth having.

I also want to share the life I get to live with it. The adventures. The accomplishments. The things I have to approach differently now. The days I feel capable of anything and the days getting myself out the door takes everything I have.

Travels with CT is part of that, too.

I have years of experiences to share, and with the cooler weather coming in, I want to cozy up, go through them, and talk honestly about accessibility. What worked for me.

What wore me out. What I would do again and what my brain has very clearly told me we will NOT be doing again. 😂

Because I still want to go places.

I still want to experience things.

I just have to put more thought into how I do them these days.

And maybe sharing that helps someone else feel a little more prepared to take their own adventure.

So yes, I am stressed.

Yes, I am depressed.

Yes, some things have gotten under my skin more than I wish they had.

I can admit all of that and still have ambitions.

I don't need to pretend everything is great to be proud of what I have done.

But I do need to start putting more of my energy toward the things I actually want to grow. I have spent enough time replaying conversations with people who probably haven't given them a second thought.

I have ideas sitting in my notes.

Stories I haven't told.

Content I keep putting off because I am exhausted before I even get started.

I want to give those things a chance.

I'm not going to wake up tomorrow with a completely different brain, unlimited motivation, and zero fucks to give. Let's be realistic.

But I can start making more room for myself in my own life.

More walks.

More adventures.

More creating.

More saying what I mean without spending three days wondering how everyone took it.

And more giving myself credit for how far I have already come.

I have survived things I am still learning how to talk about. I have rebuilt parts of my life that people only see the finished version of.

I know what that took.

At 33, I want to remember that when I start doubting myself.

I want to lock the fuck in and see what happens when I give my own message the time and effort I so easily give everyone else's.

If you are one of those 60 subscribers, thank you. If you have shared a post, asked a question, or stuck around to learn, thank you.

I see those numbers, but I also know there are people behind them.

And I have a lot more to share with you.

Happy fucking birthday to me.

33; Still figuring it out. Still here.

And Shunt Happens has more growing to do. 💙

Thank you, again!

With love, CT.