When I was a kid, all the way through the end of my school career, I was frequently absent. I was accused regularly of playing sick to achieve this level of absence. The amount of guilt I have carried with me over the years for faking sick is… a lot. It’s a lot to carry.

The other morning I saw a short of a young woman in her early twenties talking about how she had to play sick to stay home from school. But it was only because she didn’t feel well and she knew she had to make up symptoms like fever, sore throat, headache, etc in order for anyone to let her stay home.

And my mind began that strange spiral back into time…

I did play sick a lot as a kid. I don’t recall the day I realized that if I wanted to stay home I had to have a believable excuse, not just that I was exhausted and overwhelmed and the thought of being around other humans and their sights, scents, and sounds was enough to make me break into tears. So I gingerly tried it and it worked out. At least for the first 50 times or so.

But it never occurred to me that though I was faking symptoms, I wasn’t lying about being ill. I was exhausted. Pretty much all the time. When I played sick it wasn’t because I wanted to stay home and watch soaps and The Price is Right. I mean I did enjoy those perks of being home. But mostly it was because the thought of dealing with another person let alone an entire school, or later in life, office of people, was too much.

I thought all the kids felt like I did. I thought all the kids struggled like I did. I thought all of the kids just wanted to be alone like I did.

By the time I was in high school, my parents worked in San Francisco, 60 miles away from our suburban home. The commute could take anywhere from 90 minutes to 3 hours. It was awful. By the time I was awake to get ready for school, if my alarm even woke me, my parents had been gone for 3 or more hours and were in the “city” at work.

Quite simply, there was no one around to make me go to school once the latchkey kid program was both a before and afterschool happening.

So I was absent a lot. Friends would notice. Teachers would notice. Eventually, counseling staff would notice. Questions would be raised. I would try again to be good and not “play sick” but every time I would just get worn out and I would be too sick to get out of bed. It was remarkably similar when I was a young adult working office jobs. When I was present I was great. But being present was a challenge. Both physically and mentally.

But I thought all the office staff felt like I did. I thought all the office staff struggled like I did. I thought all of them just wanted to be alone like I did.

I thought that my feeling everything in the world on full brightness at volume 11 was something that I did. It was my fault or my choice. And I vowed very early on to support and uplift others who weren’t just being a baby like me, but had actual differences. I marveled at how folks with ADHD, Autism, chronic fatigue, and chronic illness managed to keep pushing themselves to make space for themselves. I wanted to fix it so that they didn’t have to work as hard. At least I could help someone if I couldn’t help my lazy, stubborn, chaotic, over the top self.

No wonder I was absent. My nervous system has been holding itself together with tape and ribbons while I soldiered on with no idea I was fighting for myself the whole time.