The Basics
In No Particular Order:
EATING - DRINKING - WASHING - DRESSING - RESTING - SPECIAL INTEREST
It’s 3:45 in the afternoon and I’ll I’ve eaten so far today is one cold meatball. I may have to outsource this one folks…..
It Turned Out I Just Needed A Sandwich
Hydration: The Side Quest I Keep Failing
I Thought I Was Tired- Turns Out I Just Needed a Sandwich
Scene One: The Mystery of the Midday Meltdown
It always starts innocently. I’ll be working, hyperfocused, thriving. Then suddenly I’m foggy. My brain feels like a browser with 47 tabs open—one of them playing music, none of them loading. I start to get irritable. Every noise is a personal attack. My limbs feel heavy.
Naturally, I assume I’m either:
getting sick,
emotionally broken, or
becoming one with the furniture.
Then, about three hours later, I’ll stumble into the kitchen and think, “When did I last eat?”
The answer, inevitably, is yesterday.
Interoception: The Broken Notification System
If you’re autistic, you might know this one well—interoception, the ability to sense what’s happening inside your body. You know, the thing that’s supposed to tell you you’re hungry, thirsty, tired, or about to turn into a Victorian child fainting from hunger.
Except my body’s notification system is apparently set to “silent mode.” I don’t get the ping for hunger. I just… slowly unravel until I’m lying on the couch, muttering about the futility of existence—when really, I just need a sandwich.
When Hunger Feels Like Everything Else
The confusing part? Hunger doesn’t feel like hunger for me. It feels like:
fatigue
existential dread
emotional overwhelm
anxiety
or that specific brand of irritability usually reserved for broken Wi-Fi.
So instead of eating, I’ll try to “rest,” doomscroll, or rearrange my to-do list. None of which help because—spoiler alert—I’m still hungry.
The Sandwich Solution (AKA, My New Religion)
The good news is I’ve found a workaround: scheduled snacks.
Not fancy meal plans. Not “mindful eating.” Just alarms that go off telling me to go eat something STAT. It does NOT mean “you should probably figure out something to eat”. Nope, it means go get a spoonful of peanut butter, have a sandwich, banana, anything - right now.
It’s like when Gordon Ramsay yells “DROP YOUR KNIVES” - except it means stop what you are doing and eat something - RIGHT NOW.
Sometimes it isn’t about listening to your body — it’s about admitting your body forgot how to send the memo.
So I eat by the clock, not by intuition. And you know what? It helps. My mood stabilizes. My energy returns. My existential dread retreats (a little). And all because I remembered to feed the human.
Moral of the Story
Next time you’re exhausted, anxious, or convinced the world is ending—check if you’ve eaten.
It might not solve everything, but it’s a solid start.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to make another sandwich before I forget I exist again.
That’s what I got - now go eat something.
- Pearl Jenkins 2025.
Hydration: The Side Quest I Keep Failing
— by Feral Minds
Some people carry emotional support water bottles.
Every day I tell myself “today is the day I am going to drink all the water”. Today is never the day.
The Problem:
Apparently, humans need water to live.
Who knew.
Unfortunately, my brain’s internal notification system for thirst is broken, delayed, labeled “optional”, or spliced to the “drink coffee” setting. Sometimes I go an entire afternoon wondering why I feel like a wilted plant and then realize I’ve scarcely had a sip of water since my breakfast (aka coffee) and is 3pm!
The Sensory Struggle:
Let’s talk about mouthfeel.
Sometimes water is too cold, too warm, too bland, too wet, or somehow too heavy.
If I had the sensory consistency of a hydration goblin, I’d drink like a normal person — but alas, I am me.
Solutions attempted:
Regular water: tastes like regret
Sparkling water: static in a can with a slight metal + magnet taste
Ice water: hurts my teeth and feelings
Lukewarm tea I forgot existed: somehow perfect
The Executive Dysfunction Twist:
Remembering to hydrate sounds easy until you have ADHD and autism and your brain’s priority list looks like:
“hyperfixate on niche topic”
“avoid phone calls”
“sort and label the orphan screws, throw out all flat head screws - but wait, art project?”
…and somewhere on page 87, “drink water.”
So hydration becomes a side quest in the open-world game of surviving.
You could complete it now, but you’re already doing five other tasks and can’t pause.
My Realistic Fixes:
Because “drink 8 glasses a day” is laughably optimistic.
Designated water bottles: designate zones and keep a water bottle in each of them, like a squirrel with trust issues.
Flavor drops, fruit, or electrolytes: whatever tricks your brain into believing it’s a treat (I like NUUN lemon flavored tablets)
Hydrate by stealth: coffee, tea. (Yes, that counts. Fight me.)
Reward system: water first, coffee second. Or at least… coffee with water nearby.
Final Thoughts:
If you drank water today, congratulations — your organs thank you.
If you didn’t, that’s okay too. You’re still alive, and that’s impressive work.
Try again later. The hydration gods are merciful.
What’s Up With Autism, ARFID, Ceremonial Eating, and Other Food Things
by Pearl Jenkins (who will NEVER eat at a potluck)
Some of us don’t eat meals so much as we curate experiences. The same plate, the same brand, the same fork, the same corner of the couch—repeated daily, with the kind of precision usually reserved for scientific experiments or sacred rituals. Outsiders might call it “picky.” We call it “controlled conditions.”
Let’s Start With the Obvious: Autistic Eating Isn’t Just “Being Fussy”
If you’ve ever tried to explain why the texture of mashed potatoes feels like betrayal, or why the smell of cooked broccoli feels like a personal attack, you already know: eating, for autistic people, can be a sensory minefield.
It’s not just preference—it’s physiology. Our nervous systems don’t filter sensory data the same way. Some foods hurt. Some feel loud. Some are soothing in their exact predictability. So we learn to stick with what’s safe.
Over time, “safe foods” become almost ceremonial. You might rotate between five of them, or twenty. You might even get attached to a brand—because when the shape or seasoning changes, your brain clocks it immediately.
ARFID: When “Picky” Crosses Into Panic
ARFID (Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder) sounds clinical, but for many autistic people, it’s just the technical name for what’s been happening all along. It’s when sensory sensitivities, anxiety, or past bad experiences with food make eating feel overwhelming or unsafe.
Unlike eating disorders centered around body image, ARFID isn’t about appearance—it’s about control, safety, and predictability.
Some people avoid foods with certain textures (mushy, mixed, stringy).
Some fear choking, vomiting, or cross-contamination.
Some just… forget to eat, because interoception (body-signal awareness) is unreliable.
Some people experience all of the above.
For an autistic person, eating isn’t just about “fuel.” It’s about surviving an onslaught of smells, lights, noises, textures, and unspoken social rules—often at the same time.
Ceremonial Eating
We call it “ceremonial eating” when routines around food take on ritualistic importance.
It might look like:
Using one specific plate for breakfast.
Always cutting toast diagonally.
Eating in silence.
Pairing a certain food with a specific show or time of day.
Having strict order-of-operations (sauce first, then food, never mixed).
To an observer, it might seem obsessive. To us, it’s stabilizing. When the world is unpredictable and chaotic, rituals like these create small pockets of safety. They turn eating from a sensory gamble into a controlled act of regulation.
And sometimes, it’s not even distressing—it’s comforting. The routine is part of the pleasure. It’s the brain’s way of saying: “We know how to do this. We’ve done it before. We’re safe.”
Other Autistic Food Themes You Might Recognize
1. Sensory Landmines
Temperature, texture, color, smell—everything matters. Crunchy and plain often feel safer than soft and mixed. *Mixed is always suspect.
2. Limited Menus, Unlimited Shame
Society loves to moralize food. Adults are supposed to be “adventurous eaters.” But some of us are just trying to stay regulated and nourished without gagging.
3. Interoception Confusion
Sometimes you don’t realize you’re starving until you’re shaking. Sometimes you forget water exists. It’s not neglect—it’s a brain-body disconnect.
4. Food as Stimming or Self-Regulation
Chewing on ice. Eating spicy foods for the rush. Savoring texture as a form of grounding. Not everything we do with food is about hunger.
5. Social Eating Stress
Dinner parties are obstacle courses. So many rules, noises, smells, people watching. For some of us, eating alone isn’t avoidance—it’s freedom.
Reframing the Narrative
What if we stopped calling it “disordered” and started calling it informed?
Autistic food patterns aren’t moral failures. They’re adaptations. Sometimes they’re protective. Sometimes they’re creative. And sometimes, yes, they cause real limitations or distress—but understanding why they exist helps us meet those needs without shame.
It’s not about forcing more “normal” meals. It’s about supporting regulation, autonomy, and sensory respect.
What Helps
Safe food agreements: Always have options that feel secure. No pressure, no surprises.
Occupational therapy (sensory-focused): Gentle exposure and sensory regulation—not coercive feeding.
Interoception check-ins: Noticing body cues through mindfulness or structured prompts.
Respecting food rituals: Unless they’re harmful, they can stay. Ceremonies are part of what keeps some of us steady.
feralminds.org — Reproduce at your discretion. I trust you. ~ Pearl J.
Download the Feral Minds Food Guide for Family & Friends
“I’ll Do It Later (The PDA Chronicles)”
— by someone who’s definitely going to do it. Eventually.
So here’s the thing about being a late-diagnosed autistic adult with PDA (Persistent Demand for Autonomy): I am allergic to instructions — even my own.
I can spend three hours researching productivity systems, color-coding to-do lists, and romanticizing the new chapter of my life called “Getting My Act Together,” and then… not do a single thing on that list. Why? Because the second I say, “I have to,” my brain short-circuits and whispers, “Actually, no we don’t.”
The Problem With Being Told What To Do (Even By Yourself)
PDA is basically when your nervous system interprets demands as threats. That includes “go to work,” “call your mom,” “eat lunch,” or even “relax.”
Yes, you read that right. Sometimes my brain refuses to let me relax because I told myself I needed to. It’s like having a tiny rebel radical living in my skull, constantly staging protests against any form of structure.
Want me to clean the kitchen? I’ll suddenly develop 400 new interests and a desperate need to research Viking ship construction.
Need to send an email? Guess who’s alphabetizing their spice rack at 11:30 p.m.?
Try to meditate? Nope. Feels like homework.
“It’s Not You, It’s My Autonomy Issues”
When you get diagnosed late, the PDA piece is like finding a hidden Easter egg in your life story. Suddenly all those times you “self-sabotaged” or “ghosted your own plans” make sense.
You weren’t flaky. You were panicking. You just didn’t know it yet.
Turns out, my inability to answer texts, start projects, or follow through on things isn’t moral failure — it’s a nervous system screaming, “No one tells me what to do, not even me!” while simultaneously crying because I do want to do it, I just can’t right now.
What Actually Helps (Kind Of)
Honestly, tricking myself is the only method that halfway works.
Instead of “I need to clean the house,” I say, “Let’s see what happens if I wipe this counter.”
Instead of “I have to work,” I pretend I’m playing office like a Victorian orphan with a ledger.
Deadlines? “Ha! I do what I want - and anyways that’s a lifeline - finishing that project is my cue to start painting.”
Basically, I live in a constant negotiation between me and… also me.
The Bright Side
Once you stop hating yourself for being “difficult,” PDA can actually be kind of funny. It’s like realizing your brain is a cat — it’ll only do things if it feels like it was its idea. You can’t force it. You can only tempt it with curiosity, snacks, and the illusion of free will.
So if you ever see me dramatically avoiding a task I love, don’t worry. I’m not lazy. I’m just busy tricking my brain into thinking it’s not being told what to do.
Eventually, it’ll work.
Probably tomorrow.
Or, you know… later.
Sincerely,
Pearl