Midwest Mimi

  • I Have Lived, and I Still Love My Life

    Some evenings, peace feels like a summer breeze on the porch. My life has not been easy, and I would not choose every hard thing again. But my life is not only the record of what hurt me. It is family, survival, softness, love, and the ordinary wealth of a home I still want to…

  • When Boredom Starts Looking Like Trouble

    Some minds do not do well with empty space. When there is no risk, no complexity, and no fire to put out, boredom can start looking like trouble. I am learning now that I do not need to kill the part of me that needs complexity. I need to stop feeding it poison. I need…

  • I Am Not Less Autistic Because I Learned How to Live

    I am not less autistic because I have learned how to manage myself. I am not less autistic because I can stay calm in a crisis, build recovery days into my life, or recognize my limits before I break down. I have just been paying attention.

  • I Am the Calendar, the Case Manager, and the Backup Plan

    Caregiving is not just loving people. It is logistics, memory, paperwork, appointments, refills, therapies, bills, and backup plans. I am grateful I can carry the map for my family, but I am also tired from doing it inside a body that needs care too.

  • Simple Living Hits Different When You Did Not Choose Less

    Simple living is beautiful when it is chosen with enough security underneath it. But there is a difference between stepping away from excess and never having enough to begin with. I want a simple life, but I want it chosen, safe, and supported.

  • Not Cosmetic

    A personal essay about illness, poverty, motherhood, Medicaid, medical dismissal, and what happens when visible survival gets mistaken for failure.

  • The Hidden Cost of Simple Things

    A fall in the shower took only a few seconds, but the recovery may take days. This is the hidden cost of chronic illness: simple things are not always simple, and a slower pace does not mean a smaller dream.

  • The Bandwidth of Peace

    A rainy spring morning, a numb hand, an unfinished book-tree drawing, and a list of “analog hobbies” got me thinking about disability, creativity, and accommodations. There is no prize for making the process harder. The prize is the peace we feel while making something.

  • When There’s No Cushion Left

    When you live with no cushion left, one small problem never stays small. A power outage, a broken washer, a missed deposit, and an empty tank can turn an ordinary day into something much heavier.

  • 11 Things That Help When My Body Is Done

    Some days my body is just done. Not one thing. Not just pain. All of it. These are the small, real things that actually help me get through.

  • I Haven’t Had a Good Day in a While

    I haven’t had a good day in a while. Not because I stopped trying, but because my body hasn’t caught up. This is what it looks like to keep showing up when even small things hurt.

  • The Day I Stopped Explaining Myself

    After nearly dying from respiratory failure, I stopped explaining myself. Living with chronic illness taught me that understanding is not something you can force, and survival does not require justification. This is the story of choosing boundaries, rest, and presence over being understood.

  • The Difference Between Canceling and Choosing Rest

    When you live with chronic illness, disability, or even just the daily realities of parenting, plans don’t always unfold the way you imagine. Sometimes, life forces you to cancel. Other times, you make the choice to rest. On the surface they can look the same: you’re not showing up. But the meaning and the weight…

  • When the Plan Changes: Flexibility in a Neurodivergent Family

    Change is hard for most people, but if you live in a neurodivergent household like ours, you know it can hit differently. When the plan shifts, whether it’s a sudden rainstorm canceling a hike or a store being unexpectedly closed, it’s not just a small inconvenience. It can throw off the entire day’s rhythm and…

  • My Toddler Wears a Backpack Leash—and Why That’s Okay âť¤ď¸Ź

    A few days ago, we took a quick trip to the mall. It was my wife, Thy, our daughter Raeleigh, Royce, and me. We all walked into the mall, each of us on our own two feet. Doesn’t sound like a big deal, but for us, it was practically a parade. Royce doesn’t normally walk…