This Cracked Teacup: ‘Cuz Spite Is A Valid Coping Skill

This is the worst time in America since like the ’60s to be neurodivergent and/or disabled — and lucky me, I’m both. So naturally, I started a blog, because spite is a completely valid coping strategy and I am nothing if not committed to my own chaos.

Hi, I’m Lee. Welcome to This Cracked Teacup.

Let me tell you what I’m working with.

My brain: self-diagnosed autistic, ADHD combined type, PMDD (premenstrual dysphoric disorder), MDD (major depressive disorder), GAD (generalized anxiety disorder), and OCPD (obsessive-compulsive personality disorder — not just anxiety-driven rituals, but a whole perfectionism personality). The last of which I think is really just the ’tism in a trench coat.

My body: hEDS (hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos syndrome), MCAS (mast cell activation syndrome), POTS (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome — aka my heart forgets how gravity works), ME/CFS (myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome), PCOS (polycystic ovary syndrome), type 2 diabetes, RA (rheumatoid arthritis), and fibromyalgia. These are just the headliners. There are more — a lot more. Over twenty diagnoses total, including asthma, sleep apnea, a prolapsed uterus, and chronic migraines. But frankly, I prefer the term medical unicorn.

The Triage of Everyday Existence

My husband once said that most people spend their day going to work, coming home, making dinner — you know, being a person. Whereas I spend my day just trying to keep myself alive. It sounds dramatic, but unfortunately, it’s a cold, hard fact.

What does “keeping myself alive” even mean? It means my body is a constant crisis zone. Every single symptom requires a full system diagnostic check. Every single day is triage. I have to stay ahead of the flare, or the flare wins and I’m down for days. That’s the job. 

• Symptom: My back is killing me. Have I been sitting too long? Is a joint subluxing? Which specific medication do I take for this flavor of pain, and will it anger my stomach?
• Symptom: I’m nauseous. Is it this week’s dose of Mounjaro? Did I forget my medication before I ate? Did I even remember to eat? Is it a migraine creeping in? Is it my blood sugar crashing, or did I accidentally eat something that pissed off my mast cells?
• Symptom: My heart is pounding and chest pain hits. Is it my tachycardia acting up because I didn’t consume enough salt yesterday? Do I need to chug electrolytes, or should I check my blood pressure? Ah, it’s 160/90. Time for a Clonidine.
• Symptom: I’m dizzy when I stand. Is it my POTS? Am I dehydrated? Did I forget to eat again? 

It’s exhausting. I spend all day managing my symptoms, which makes it damn near impossible to just relax or get anything else done. 

Layer on top of that a neurospicy brain that rides an emotional roller coaster I didn’t buy a ticket for. My ADHD brain loses focus the second a task gets boring, meaning basic hygiene like cleaning my water bottle or brushing my teeth becomes a multi-tiered negotiation. 

Add in the ME/CFS fatigue, and finding motivation is a joke. I have a very real, very finite amount of energy. Do I want to waste my precious daily currency on something boring? Absolutely not. Calling to schedule a doctor’s appointment is so not on that list — even though it definitely should be. And the PMDD? It means I can go from perfectly fine to absolutely homicidal in seconds. Like a Lamborghini — but way less cool.

Why I Almost Stayed Quiet

Now, here’s why I almost didn’t press publish on this corner of the internet. I was scared. I still am. We are living in a moment in America where being openly neurodivergent or disabled feels like painting a massive target on your own back. It sounds paranoid and dramatic to say out loud, but it has somehow become the terrifying reality of our world. 

We are looking at a political landscape where the government openly threatens to remove protections for disabled people, talk of reviving institutions, and label autism a “health crisis” like there is something inherently broken about my existence. 

So I thought about what it means to put myself out there. To say out loud to the public: Not only am I neurodivergent and disabled, but I had the absolute audacity to be a mother. I’ve spent hours worrying. What if the wrong people see my account? What if they look at my unreliable body or my unfiltered brain and decide I can’t possibly be a fit mother? What if they try to take my children? Am I willingly putting myself on a list? 

And you know what? Fuck that.

I have never been very good at staying quiet or keeping my thoughts to myself anyway. Why start now? Spite is a powerful fuel, and I refuse to let fear dictate my right to exist out loud. So, here I am. I’m neurodivergent, I’m disabled, I’m a mother, and I will not be quiet about a single bit of it.

What This Place Is

If you came here looking for inspiration porn, a highly curated aesthetic, or a mom telling you to just “choose joy” and drink a green smoothie — you are in the wrong sandbox. This is a space for the raw truth. No filter. No pretending everything is fine. There will be dark humor, because what is the alternative? There will be cussing, because I’m an adult and that ship sailed a long time ago. 

I am an often emotionally unstable mom with an unreliable body and a tendency to say most things that pop into my head. If that sounds like your kind of people, you are exactly where you belong. Welcome, my friends.

Did you ever have to overcome the fear of putting your true, unfiltered self out there? Let’s talk about it in the comments.

Keep going, folks, and remember, whatever you can do today is enough.