Emily's Neuro Corner

And For Your One Year Wedding Anniversary, I Give You a Brain Tumour

🐞 Emily Bourne 🪲 — Thu, 13 Aug 2026 14:19:20 GMT

Dedicated to the love of my life, my best friend, my husband.

♡

I vow to grow and change and learn with you, to embrace life’s strangeness, and sometimes it’s cruelness, together.

It was the second to last week of May and we were awaiting MRI results for my husband's migraines. He felt pretty confident that everything was OK, since no one had contacted him about the MRI that he’d had two weeks ago. I, however, who has had experience with the UK’s diabolical medical care, made a Jim Halpert skeptical face into the non-existent camera.

When our thirty calls to our local hospital proved completely futile, we began to explore how to get in touch with an actual human person who would be able to give us some helpful information. After scouring the internet for a little while, I found the phone number of the consultant’s personal assistant.

We told the assistant about our concerns on not hearing back yet, we asked if anyone had actually looked at the MRI results yet. They hadn’t, but she said she’d give the consultant a nudge.

Within half an hour, my husband had a few missed calls from the hospital. He hadn’t been on his phone since lunch, but finally his phone caught his eye, and he answered.

The consultant told him that the MRI showed that the high pressure in his head was due to a cerebral fluid leak and a tumour located in the centre of his brain. He was told that he needed to come to the National Hospital for Neurology and Neuroscience as soon as possible for surgery.

And because my husband is a man, he continued to work till the end of the work day. He packed up his equipment, as the next day was his work-from-home day, and drove home.

I promise to consider you in every thought, every decision, to always communicate, to never let us forget the beauty of the love we have designed.

I heard him unlock the front door, slowly waking from my daily after-work nap. When he came into the bedroom, he sat on the bed beside me, which was a little unusual. He told me there was good news and bad news.

The good news was that the hospital finally got back to him with the MRI results. The bad news was that they found a brain tumour and fluid in the brain. We needed to pack an overnight bag and travel into London, now.

I panicked as I tried to put together an overnight bag as quickly as I could. It seems silly now how urgently we packed up and left. I felt so panicked and overwhelmed that I had no idea how to tell my parents what was happening. A call would take too long and probably make me feel even more stressed than I already was, so I settled for a series of rushed texts.

On the train, I searched up hotels in the area to find them extortionately priced or unavailable. Tom let his friend Dylan know, and because Dylan is basically my husband’s second wife, he asked a billion questions and kept calling for updates before we had any. Towards the end of the night, after I’d left the hospital, and noticed I had a few missed calls on my phone. “Shit!”, I thought, “That could be the hospital trying to get ahold of me!” Alas, it was not. It was Dylan.

I texted my friends who live in London to see if someone could put me up for the night. Amelia, my rock, met me at the hospital late into the night, held me while I cried and uber-ed us back to their’s.

The next morning, I texted our workplaces that we wouldn’t be in. We texted our families the latest updates. We spoke with doctors and nurses and consultants. We were told that the tumour was right in the centre of his brain and that they would need to take a biopsy to find out what it was and create a reservoir for the CSF leak. We were promised the next available surgery slot, unless someone more urgent came up.

During this time, I worried and sent a lot of texts. I got pissed off. I frustratedly angry-stimmed at the masses of people in my way at St Pancras train station. I cursed them in my head. I felt like screaming “My 23-year-old husband has a brain tumour! Don’t you know everything is terrible?! Let me sit down!”

On the day of the surgery, we waited with no definite time for them to take him down. He was taken down for his operation at 3.30pm, we wished him luck and waited. And waited.

Around 7pm, I started getting worked-up. Having had no update on his operation, I wandered the hospital, top to bottom, trying to get a glimpse of him somewhere. In the end, I decided to stand outside of the theatre, on the recovery end (not the bit where they’re rushing people in or anything!). I stood there trying to build the courage to ask someone coming in or out if they could give me an update on my husband. Finally, I asked a tall man in scrubs and, luckily, he knew Tom’s surgery had gone well and that he had been moved to the Neuro Critical Care Unit.

So, of course, I waited till a NCCU staff member fobbed themself in and followed them. And finally, I got to see him. Desperate as I was to see him, I had not been prepared.

Eventually, I go home on the 10pm train, noticing my father-in-law’s shoes splitting at the seams. I think that it’s strange that he is wearing his work shoes to the hospital. I avoid looking at the middle aged man staring at me. I curse the bloodline of the person eating a stinking banana. I hope someone gets off and I get the chance to sit down.

It felt like an eternity between the biopsy and the diagnostic appointment, but the dial finally came. The biopsy showed that Tom had a rare, grade 3 brain cancer — which would require a second surgery and 6 weeks of Proton Beam radiotherapy.

His second surgery came one week later. This time around he actually had time to let the fear set in, as it wasn’t as quick of a turn-around. The recovery was much rougher too.

There are so many things that happened that just really sucked, too many to go into. Here are the highlights:

Seeing “malignant tumour” on the NHS notes, almost a week before the diagnostic appointment with the consultant, and having to keep it to myself. (The only secret I’ve ever kept from him successfully.) This was a really unfair (and unethical) way for me to have to find this out — and it was because his GP didn’t think twice about writing down a diagnosis that we hadn’t been informed of yet, in her notes for something else.
Not being able to take the fear away from him. Not getting the comfort of hearing his voice when I needed it. Sitting in the waiting room going over the names of the tumours he could have, categorising them into tumour names I would rather hear and tumour names that would kill my husband.
Euston Fucking Station edging hundreds of people with the platform number for 15 minutes, so that as soon as it came up, I nearly died in a stampede of people, while trying to not trip, running in my Crocs.

Rushing to get to the hospital before 10am so that I could finally speak to his doctor about how my husband was doing. Despite being there most of the day, every day, I still hadn’t had the opportunity to speak to her. Then, 10 minutes before I arrive, my husband calls to tell me that she has already been round that morning.

By this point, I’ve lost the ability to communicate without getting upset. Thankfully, my dad gets a train into London and asks the nurses if we can speak to the doctor before my husband is discharged. When she eventually comes, she is clearly frustrated about having been “summoned”.

Her words were: “I’ve been told that I am to report here.” She then brushed off my questions, giving dismissive answers. All the while, directing these answers at my husband rather than me, then stalking off as if I had wasted her time.

It is incredibly unhelpful for a dysregulated, vulnerable person, whose going through the hardest time they’ve ever faced, to be made to feel silly or unreasonable for having concerns — particularly when their main source of information came from a guy who just had brain surgery and couldn’t remember what the doctor had told him mere hours ago.

I understand that doctors are overworked and stretched incredibly thin. I understand the frustration of having to ‘report’ to a patient’s family when there are so many other demands on their time. But I wish it wasn’t such a big ask to make sure patients and their families feel reassured before they leave the hospital. I wish it wasn’t so common to not feel listened to by medical staff, especially when you need it most.

I believe soulmates aren’t found, they’re made. That’s why it is so magical that we wake up every day and choose each other. I promise to keep doing so, to celebrate you, to nurture you, to build with you.

It’s August now, and I can tell you that they were able to get the leak under control and remove most of the brain tumour with the second brain surgery. My husband is recovering well and has started working half days from home. We have 6 weeks of radiotherapy ahead of us, from towards the end of August to the end of this September.

What I learned about my husband was that nothing stops him from being so earnestly kind and genuine. He always called the hospital staff by their name, something I can’t even do with people I’ve known for a decade.

I saw the way he hides his fear to reassure the people that love him.

Something I learned about myself is that there is nothing I won’t do to support my husband. We are so in tune with each other, that despite his efforts, he couldn’t hide that fear from me, so I made sure to not let him “be brave” when what he actually needed was to be supported.

And for an historically timid girl, I can be very ‘bossy’ when I want to be. Or when I have to be.

Of course, we are both anxious about what waits ahead. I have no wisdom, I don’t think anyone can, in the circumstances. But this quote resonated.

“Birds feel something akin to pain (and fear) just before migration, nothing alleviates this feeling except flight.”

They say that to be loved is to be changed. And my God, how magnificent it is to be changed. Your love has done everything for me, and it’s only really the beginning.

There have been times where I’ve ruminated about people that made me feel frustrated and let down, detailing how I resent that they made things harder, made everything fall on my shoulders. But Tom, wonderful Tom, helped me focus on the good.

When I asked him if he ever feels angry or upset with the people who haven’t reached out, or friends who have mysteriously stopped checking in, he told me that he was too grateful to feel angry. He said he felt overwhelmed with the support he’s received.

So, I want to end with gratitude.

Thank you to my parents anticipating what we needed constantly and helping in so many ways without me having to think about ways you could help — doing our washing, getting in shopping, helping with travel costs, picking me up at all hours to take me to the train station, always being on the other end of the phone. Thank you to Tom’s family for taking us where we need to go and getting the shopping in. Thank you to our siblings. Lauren, Jamie & Demi, Patryk. Thank you to our families who have sent well-wishes. Thank you to my uncle Julian for picking us up from the hospital in London when transport wasn’t an option.

Thank you to our friends. Thank you to the friends that checked in and sent well-wishes. Thank you to Amelia for everything — for being the reassuring calm in a crisis. For listening and giving amazing advice. Thank you to the friends who have come and visited. Minoo, Farah, Charly. Thank you to the friends who gave us a “pick-me-up” gift. Shannon. Isabel. Thank you Vita for travelling to see us, even though travel is incredibly hard, and thank you for your genuine and earnest check ins. My lovely penpals. Ninke. Jodie. Thank you to everyone part of The Neuro Corner. Kiah. Froop. Celeste.

Thank you to Emma for taking care of our rat boys for the six weeks of radiotherapy. We genuinely don’t know what we would have done without your kindness and generosity.

Thank you to all the medical staff who helped during Tom’s stay in the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery. Thank you to the staff that greeted me every day when I walked through those doors. Thank you to all the consultants, surgeons, nurses, doctors — everyone involved in his care.

Thank you to Tom’s workplace and colleagues. Thank you to all work places that treat families going through cancer with empathy and dignity. Thank you to my colleagues for your support. Thank you to our neighbours who noticed things were different with us, and offered their love and support.

Thank you to Macmillan case worker, Jess. Young Lives vs Cancer case workers, Sheila and Emma. The Tom Bowdidge Foundation. Everyone who works with patients experiencing cancer.

Thank you to every person who has supported us and sent their best wishes. You may not be personally listed (because I fear the audience lost interest 17 ‘thank you’s ago), but we have not forogtten your kindess.

*Each statement in bold was a line from my wedding vows.*

What Planning My Wedding Taught Me About Being Autistic

🐞 Emily Bourne 🪲 — Fri, 31 Jul 2026 18:56:38 GMT

A few months before I was due to get married, I found myself thinking:

“Why on earth did I—an anxious, autistic introvert—agree to get married in front of a room full of people? And then spend the rest of the day with them too!”

People often describe their wedding day as the happiest day of their lives. But when weddings are built around constant socialising, changes to your routine, unspoken expectations and being perceived in the most intimate moments of your life, where does that leave autistic brides and grooms?

As an autistic woman, I wanted to plan my wedding with my support needs in mind, adapting traditions where I could and throwing away the ones that didn’t make sense for me.

The problem was that I had no guide. I couldn’t find anything from autistic people about what the experience was actually like.

So, I’ve tried to write the article I wish I’d been able to read before I got married: an honest account of planning a wedding as an autistic person, the mistakes I made, the adaptations that helped, and everything I learned along the way.

Although I began writing this for autistic brides and grooms, I hope this reaches any autistic person who has searched for their own experiences and come up empty-handed. The people who are trying to navigate a world that wasn’t designed with them in mind.

I see you. I think you’re doing a great job.

My Pre-Wedding Celebration Disaster

I like preparation, schedules, timelines and a clear vision when I’m making plans. So, of course, I planned my own hen do.

I meticulously worked out a timetable for the day, shared a detailed breakdown of the costs and handmade the invitations to send by post. I also had the good foresight to have it long before the wedding—seven months before, to be precise—which turned out to be a blessing, because everything went to shit for a little while after that.

I planned the day around the things I love. We would spend the day in Brighton, for its creative, queer atmosphere. We’d go pottery painting together before visiting the aquarium (Did you know that Brighton Sea Life is the oldest continually operating aquarium in the world?). On paper, I had planned the day down to a T.

Despite all that preparation, I felt apprehensive about bringing together people from different parts of my life. I love to categorise, I make sure everything is in the right place in my mind, and this group of people did not fit into one neat category. They were all very important to me, but their differences felt loud to me. On top of that, I’m a deeply introverted person, and conversation doesn’t come naturally. I worried about how I would bridge the gaps between people and make everyone feel comfortable.

At this point in my life, I wasn’t formally diagnosed as autistic yet, but I knew, in theory, that I was.

That distinction—in theory—is important, because I had no real understanding of how autism actually affected me day to day. I didn’t recognise my support needs because, for years, my husband had quietly been meeting many of them without either of us realising. He helps me regulate myself in social situations. He helps me identify and vocalise what I’m feeling so he is able to do something to help. Long before I understood my own needs, he was helping me manage them. Without him there, I was trying to navigate an incredibly overwhelming day without one of my biggest sources of support.

The hen do ended with the worst meltdown of my life. It erupted almost the instant I got into the car with my husband at the end of the day. I screamed. I cried. I pulled at my hair. I curled into a ball. I felt more pain than I knew it was possible for one person to feel.

I’d had meltdowns before, although I didn’t know that was what they were at the time. But I’d never had one like this. Meltdowns can be deeply traumatic for autistic people, and this one haunted me for a long time afterwards.

After a week of recovering from the meltdown and processing the hurt I felt, a switch flipped in my brain and I became consumed by the thought of how my meltdown might have affected everyone else. That guilt was even harder to carry. The reasons why the meltdown happened disappeared from my mind, and I thought only of the hurt caused by me having the meltdown. The shame became so overwhelming that it felt like it was eating me from the inside out. At times, I genuinely felt like I could have died from the intensity of it.

For a little while there, I lost trust in the world around me. How could I go through with the wedding, when there was a part of me terrified that it would all go wrong and my life would be ruined? How could I live with the pre-determined ‘happiest day of my life’ going all wrong because there is something fundamentally wrong with me?

My self esteem took a hard blow, and my head was all over the place. I remember being at work, feeling hollow, wondering if everyone would be better off without me, because it seemed I was just getting everything wrong.

“Cold Feet”

Luckily, in those seven months between the hen do and the wedding, I began to recover.

But as one challenge faded, another took its place.

Everyone wanted to talk to me about the wedding.

All. The. Time.

I was batting well-intentioned questions from everyone constantly, “Are you ready?”, “Are you excited?”, “How are you feeling about it?”. People would ask with excited, expectant smiles on their faces. At work, online, at social gatherings—I couldn’t escape the conversation.

And it made me feel like shit.

Not because people were doing anything wrong. Every question came from a place of kindness, of wanting to share in the excitement of my wedding, but I knew I couldn’t perform my emotions in the ways it was expected of me. I felt like I was failing an invisible test that nobody even knew I was taking.

The questions intensified the stress because I had no idea how to answer them. I have a tendency to interpret questions literally and answer them as honestly as I can, before realising I was supposed to just be engaging in social niceties. My alexithymia often makes it difficult to identify how I’m feeling in the first place, and even when I do know I am looking forward to getting married, expressing that enthusiasm on demand isn’t something I’m able to do. And the most frustrating part was that, of course, I was looking forward to marrying the love of my life, but I don’t tend to feel excitement for something that hasn’t or isn’t happening yet. Asking me on a random Tuesday, six weeks before the wedding, whether I’m excited about it, feels like asking me whether I’m enjoying a meal I haven’t eaten yet.

As the wedding crept closer, another worry quietly settled in: would I have the ability to cope with the enormity of my one and only wedding day?

Would I cope without my daily early afternoon nap, eating at unusual times, constant social interaction, silent expectations, being perceived for hours on end?

And the worst part, I had no one to ask. I didn’t know any autistic people who had gotten married. Not in real life. Not in books. Not on television. I couldn’t find anyone whose experience evn remotely resembled mine. Even Google had nothing useful to offer.

I feared I had missed the memo that people like me weren’t supposed to have a wedding.

Which brings me back to why I’m telling you all of this.

Getting to my wedding day wasn’t straightforward. It was chaotic, overwhelming and, at times, painful. But I realise now that those experiences taught me so more about myself than I could have imagined.

Looking back now, I can write about them without shame because I know I was doing the best I could with the tools that I had at the time.

I hadn’t yet been diagnosed. Only now that I am 25 years old, I finally have a diagnosis of Autism, but it doesn’t come with any support — they send over your diagnosis report and one leaflet on Autism.

There was, and still is, so much of myself that has been unexplored through the lens of autism.

I was navigating everything through trial and error.

Perhaps the most bittersweet, these new discoveries reminded me that I was different, so it was okay for my wedding to reflect my uniqueness. I didn’t have to have a typical wedding to have a wonderful one. I didn’t have to be a typical bride, because that’s not who my husband wanted to marry. He wanted me: weird, whacky, wonderful me.

In the next section, I’ll share the accommodations and adaptations I made that allowed my wedding day to become something I could genuinely enjoy. My hope is that they’ll help someone else realise they don’t have to shrink themselves down to fit the traditional blueprint either.

Our Perfect Day

I put my hair up for most of the day, despite really wanting to have it down, to help avoid getting hot and overstimulated.
I wore a dress that brought me sensory joy, rather than discomfort. The whole dress was loose fitting (I sized up!) and it had puffy sleeves, which is good for me as I hate wearing anything sleeveless or anything where I can feel the fabric hugging my armpit!
I carried my fidget toy - a trusty Tangle - with me all day. Yes, even during the ceremony. Even if I wasn’t fidgeting with it, it brought me comfort as a grounding object to hold.

Our wedding breakfast was pizza and our evening food was hot dogs (woohoo for bread!)
We decorated with things unique to us that brought joy.

We gave all the tables names from The Office US. One of my special interests.

I handmade all the wedding favours, not caring if that may be tacky or weird to some people. One of my love languages has always been Pebbling, the autistic version of gift giving.

To conclude, I am so happy that I didn’t let the fear take this beautiful day away from me. It was the kind of perfect day that all autistic people - who want it - deserve to have one day. And I hope that you all get it.

Thank you so much for reading! This post took me about 12 hours in total to put together — so it would mean the world to me if you could share it. <3

All images used in this article were taken by Lucy King Photography.

🩷Did you know that I run a Discord server for neurodivergent adults called The Neuro Corner? We are a community of neurodivergent folk from all over the world, coming together to support each other and make new friends. Want to join? We’d love to have you! 🌟 Join by clicking this link 🌟

🩷I also run a WhatsApp group chat for neurodivergent women and non-binary people in the UK. This community space hosts meet ups, which can be arranged by anyone in the community. If you’d like to join, please message me directly and I will send you a private link.

Things That Help Me Eat (As An Autistic Adult)

🐞 Emily Bourne 🪲 — Fri, 17 Jul 2026 17:31:09 GMT

Image of Emily taking a selfie in the mirror, smiling.

As an autistic person, eating can be hard. Whether the struggle comes from not knowing when you’re hungry until you start crying at 3pm from overstimulation (spoiler: you’re hungry!), not knowing what to eat because of gastrointestinal issues (common for autistic individuals), finding it tricky or impossible to consume fruit and vegetables, or whether you are all out of safe food and the thought of having anything else is genuinely too much to bear, food can be a huge obstacle for autistic people.

In this post, I’m going to share some of my own experiences and tips when it comes to getting yourself to eat, cook and consume the trickier food groups. I shared a shorter version on my Instagram and recieved these lovely comments, which inspired me to write a longer, more conscise piece on this topic. Thank you to those who gave positive feedback and I hope this is able to help another person feel seen.

Without further ado, ↓

Fruit and Vegetables

Image diagram of fruit and vegetables I find it easy, difficult or not possible to eat.

Fruit and vegetables can be really hard for autistic people to eat reguarly because they can vary in feel, smell, texture and taste constantly. Sometimes it may taste sweet and juicy, other times they may taste sour and bitter. It’s unpredictable, which is unhelpful for autistic brains.

With that in mind, here are some of my tips to get me to consume some fruit.

Title: Fruit (generally marketed towards children). With images of Pinkies apples, Snack Size bananas and apple slices.

Tip 1: I buy my apples already cut up sometimes, as this may encourage me to eat them. It’s not a foolproof system, and I’ll admit, I’ve thrown a lot of fruit away in my time, because even with these adaptations, I can still find it hard to actually overcome the cognitive rigidity I have with food. Taking the chance of eating something I feel like I should like and should eat because I have liked and eaten it before, despite not liking actually enjoying the experience at all (and finding it very hard to continue eating it when I don’t want to) doesn’t always feel worth it. Worse yet, sometimes you feel like you really do want to eat a certain type of fruit, like strawberries in summer, but they don’t look right, or the texture or taste is not how you expected it, or how you like it, and that can be upsetting.

Something that helps me is to stick to the fruit I find myself liking most often - for me, this is apples. I buy them cut up already, as I can choose how much of it I want to eat, without having to waste a whole apple. (as pictured above for reference)

Tip 2: If I don’t buy cut up apples, I buy kids apples. These are generally smaller, and have a much more consistent taste. I find this true for kids bananas too. (as pictured above for reference)

Image of smoothies.

Tip 3: I buy smoothies on my weekly shop to consume 1 of my 5 a day. The taste is consistent, and they’re tasty. If I look like a weirdo in the staff room with my kids smoothie, I don’t really care. I call it whimsy.

[I would like to mention that I recently found out that Innocent is mostly owned by Coca Cola, which are on the priority list for boycotting due to its business ties to Israel. Additionally, they have a history of Greenwashing. This means that they falsely advertised that their smoothies were “fixing up the planet” despite the company relying on single-use plastics and not having a net-positive environmental impact. Yikes! Soooo… I’m open to new smoothie suggestions.]

Safe Foods In Times of Uncertainty / Stress

Image of tinned foods, such as ravioli, spaghetti stransa, spaghetti hoops and spaghetti with sausages.

Autistic safe foods are specific foods that offer comfort with their predictable taste and help with managing the cognitive load that may come with meal times. Safe foods are specific to each person, but generally come under the term of ‘beige’ or non-offensive foods.

One of my safe foods is tinned ravioli or spaghetti, usually with white toast. It’s important to always have these at home, because sometimes having them or not having them in is the decider of whether I choose to eat.

Tip 4: Sometimes it can just be too much on top of everything else going on to force yourself to eat meals or cook meals that you have no stomach for - in those times, reach for your safe food.

(I’d love to know what everyone’s safe foods are - please comment below if you’re happy to share!)

Ode to Andy, and all of our rat friends

🐞 Emily Bourne 🪲 — Fri, 10 Apr 2026 20:34:15 GMT

Image of Emily sat down, smiling at the camera, posing with a thumb up, while her pet rat Andy is perched on her shoulder nibbling a snack.

When Andy died, the world felt too quiet. What a cliche, I know, but it’s true. Beyond logic or reason, the house felt quieter without him there.

To everyone else, he was just a rat. A dead rat now. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that a rat hadn’t died at all, but a little boy. A little boy so observant, anxious, shy, adventurous, playful and silly. A little boy whom I loved, and thought I still had so much time left with to play with and learn from. He was a little boy who knew his name. Andy.

Image of Andy, cautiously coming out from his hiding spot.

When he was little, he hid away shyly. We once had to cancel our plans and cut through the lining of our sofa to retrieve him from his too efficient hiding spot.

You would rarely see him with his eyes closed, fully napping like his brothers. Instead, like his mama, he felt the heavy weight of being a prey animal. With twitching whiskers and bright eyes, he kept watch over himself and his brothers - always alert, always seeing.

Image of Andy, curled up resting, with his eyes open.

He was so adventurous. He climbed up onto the highest shelves in our living room. Ones displaying delicate figurines, which once or twice, he knocked down, with a comical look of guilt and mischief on his face. Despite his timid disposition, he loved a challenge. Our mouths dropped open with shock, and filled quickly with laughter, wondering how he managed to climb so expertly into such difficult places.

One of my fondest memories and proudest mama moments was when I once came into the living room to see the cage door open. In a state of confusion, I asked my husband if he had let the boys out for free roam time, to which he answered the negative. And that’s when I saw cheeky little Andy sitting atop the cage, looking back at me. It still brings a smile and instinctual shake of my head recalling it now.

Following this discovery, I picked him up and placed him back into his cage. This time, I discreetly watched him from the kitchen. That’s when I saw him: holding onto the above bars with his little arms, both of his little legs propel forward in a swing kick, leveraging the weight and force of his lower half, busting the cage door latch open. This boy had brains beyond belief. From then on, we had to attach a clip onto the cage door to make sure Andy wouldn’t perform his new trick to go off on adventures when we weren’t looking. Our clever little boy.

Meme image of a rat looking at the camera with the text: “You were sleeping, so I let myself out.”

Whenever Andy was in trouble, he’d turn to look at me, his “I’ve been caught” expression so recognisable. He loved his quests of disobedience, like chewing on our internet cables. He knew he had to be sneaky about it, as he’d told him off for it before. He’d stop dead in his tracks when we caught him, pausing, knowing it was time to be put in the naughty corner (5 minutes back in the cage). Andy knew the difference between the affectionate use of his name by his mama and papa, and the kind of call of his name that meant he was in trouble.

Meme image of a rat looking at the camera with a burning building behind them.

It always brought me joy when Andy would jump onto the bars of his cage to greet me when I’d get home from work. I swear I could hear his little voice in my head, greeting me. Welcoming me back home. Saying he’d missed me. The way my heart would swoon in response, saying “I missed you too.”

Other times I could hear him were when we played peek-a-boo. I swear I could hear his boyish giggles as we played, him peeking his head out of the windows of the cardboard house I built him, and seeing me laughing with him. He was always so quick at learning new tricks: to come, to spin, to climb, to play peek-a-boo. He loved to show off.

He was always there to keep me company. Sleeping in the bed closest to me, sitting on my shoulder while I did chores in the kitchen, watching us from the cage. I heard him say “I’m here. I’m having fun with you. I’m watching.”

Image of our mischief: Dwight, Jim and Andy. They all peer up at mum taking the photo.

When Andy passed, I said to my husband that I “couldn’t hear” our other two boys the way I could Andy. I guess that’s why I thought it felt so quiet. We were like twin flames, and I was suddenly alone.

On the evening of his death, after his life and his light flickered out, I couldn’t hold him. He felt too heavy in my warm hands, too still. Deadweight, I suppose. I remember saying his name, HIS name, over and over and over again. The name he knew belonged to him. Andy.

Andy. You had such a great life, too fleeting, yes, but great. You were never subjected to the cruelty of human fear and disgust. Not in our house, our home, your home. Weak, scared, selfish humans with their oil, glue and poison. People who never learned to love like us.

You cuddled your brothers in your soft beds, you always had a belly with enough food in it, kisses and cuddles from your mama and papa, despite your protests, and lots of toys and space to play.

You were never hurt, or killed, or scared away for the convenience of others. You died naturally, having lived a fun and safe life, surrounded by people that loved you, and whom you loved back. And we were lucky to have known you. Isn’t that what we all wish for, in the end?

Image of Andy looking into the camera, with Jim laying next to him.

You were loved and you are missed.

From your mama x

Subscribe now

Share A Pleasure To Have In Class

Autism, Fulfilment & Ambition

🐞 Emily Bourne 🪲 — Fri, 03 Apr 2026 17:51:02 GMT

I think that every Autistic person that has been able to build a life for themselves in which they are mostly happy, whatever that looks like, is doing brilliantly.

As a child, I dreamed of so many things, like I’m sure many of you did too. I wanted to be a Disney Channel pop-star, despite my obvious lack of talent in the singing department. I wanted to be a professional dancer, despite my extremely shy nature and dislike of being perceived by others. In short, I just wanted to be a total diva and for everyone to think I was awesome. What else was expected of me with iconic role models like Hannah Montana, Sharpay Evans, London Tipton, Lizzie McGuire, The Cheetah Girls and Alex Russo, to name a few?

In my late teens, I had absolutely no clue what I wanted to do in my future. By this point, all of my whimsical fancies for the future had been dashed in front of my very eyes by the reality of adult life, now stuffed uncomfortably in the crevice between sofa cushions, long forgotten and covered in crumbs.

Becoming unwell around the time I was doing my A-Levels took the opportunity for university away from me, not that I had much of an idea of what I’d want to study, or if I’d even want to go. But at that time, I was trying to get through the day more than thinking of the future.

When I started to feel well enough - I stress the word ‘enough’ - I began volunteering at my local charity shop for a few hours 2 days a week. This eventually progressed into me getting a job there, and working up to full-time eventually. This is where my passion for supporting people within the disability community started, as most of our volunteers were made up of people with support needs, disabilities, Autism, neurodiversity, health conditions, and other things that may be a barrier to accessing paid work elsewhere. I learned about the importance of creating opportunities for people to feel a sense of purpose and pride from the things they enjoy and are capable of doing.

After two years, I moved on, taking a job as a support worker for an Autistic elderly lady with *high support needs and Severe Learning Disabilities. At this job, I supported her with managing money, personal care, getting out into the community, for appointments, medication, making food and de-escalation in stressful situations, usually coming from a change in routine. Here, I learned the reality of how deeply upsetting and disruptive a change in routine can be for a Autistic person - deeply upsetting for them and upsetting to see as a person who cares for them also. I saw first-hand how upsetting it was for individuals to have their routine disrupted so casually, with no ill-intent, but rather without considering how deeply it would affect others.

On the flip side, I learned about something else groundbreaking: the absolute radical beauty of Autistic Joy. The deep belly-laughs of a woman enjoying singing her favourite songs impossibly loud from the bathtub, the satisfaction of repeating certain phrases (known as *echolalia), the scream laughing on a children’s rollercoaster whilst shouting all sorts of profanities and giggling at ‘the funny cat’ Garfield every Tuesday evening.

Then we move on to working in Primary Education, which is where I am now. I work within a specialist department supporting children with special educational needs and disabilities, and I enjoy the work very much. One thing that gives me such a great sense of fulfilment is being able to be someone the neurodivergent children can see themselves in, as there really aren't many real life role models for them in this space - even as an adult, I struggle to find other adults like me in the workplace. And let me just add, kids are awesome! Being able to see them grow is an absolute privilege. Even the hard days are a privilege, whether it feels like it at the time or not.

From this job I’ve learned a lot about myself. This is the place I finally understood and accepted myself to be Autistic, after so many years of feeling like I didn’t meet the criteria because I was nothing like Autistic boys and men, or anything like Temple Grandin (the one Autistic woman I knew at the time. Luckily, I know many more now. Myself included.) I have seen parts of myself in the Autistic children I support, and know how to support them, and better yet, how to celebrate them. Last year really healed something within me, and I’ve noticed exponential growth from myself since, which I couldn’t be more grateful for.

So, I’ve talked about my journey of finding what I enjoy and finding fulfillment in what I’m doing, but what about ambition? I find myself often worrying that I should be striving for ‘more’. And don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’ll want to stay in the same place forever (I’d actually rather be chased by a bear than have to call in sick at the moment, ableism and capitalism is scary, y’all!), and I would love better pay (have you seen the economy?!).

But I think it’s pretty amazing to be where I am now, it’s pretty amazing that I’m living in my own home with my loving husband and doing a job that feels worthwhile. And I think that every Autistic person that has been able to build a life for themselves in which they are mostly happy, whatever that looks like, is doing brilliantly. Apart from you, Elon Musk, you suck.

I have some pretty scary goals to be working on in the meantime - slowly… very slowly… learning to drive, because it would “give me independence” (at least that’s what the tele-prompter says). Anyways, thanks for reading and stay safe on the roads, there’s a lot of terrible drivers there, not including me - yet!

Oh, and just one last thing, I wouldn’t have been able to get where I am today without my lovely neurodivergent friends, who definitely sniffed out my Autism before I did and supported me on my journey to figuring it out for myself. You really were my first ever Autistic role models, and I am forever grateful to you.

Speak at you soon,

Emily

@emilysneurocorner

———-

Glossary of terms used in this post:

*neurodivergent: Defined as people whose brains function, learn, and process information differently from what is considered typical. It is a non-medical umbrella term for people with (but not limited to) Autism, ADHD, Dyslexia, Dyspraxia, Tourette’s Syndrome, OCD and mental health conditions.

*High support needs may also be referred to as Profound Autism, Severe Autism or Level 3 Autism. All of these terms are generally defined as describing individuals with Autism who require 24-hour, round-the-clock, 7 days a week care due to significant, lifelong, severe support needs, however may differ slightly in explanations. For example, ‘profound’ may be used more specifically in medical spaces or as an administrative term to refer to individuals who have an IQ under 50., whereas ‘high support needs’ focuses more on the level of support, such as needing 24/7 care.

*echolalia: Defined as the repetition of words or phrases. For Autistic individuals, this repetition can be a way to process language, communicate or to self-regulate.

Did you know I started a community space for neurodivergent women and non-binary folk? Feel free to message me on Instagram for a link to join The Neuro Corner Discord.

GIRL, AGE 9, CRYING AT LEGOLAND SERVICES

🐞 Emily Bourne 🪲 — Sat, 28 Mar 2026 10:00:27 GMT

Cover image: Pink background with a drawing of a little girl cuddling her teddy bear, wearing all pink. “Girl, age 9, crying at legoland services” and “The girl is interested for too long, too intensely.” are written on the graphic, with lots of toys and

Hi, friends!

Here’s a poem on knowing you’re different, before you know why. Spoiler alert: it’s upsetting. You never quite get over the feeling of being the ugly duckling of your family, of being left behind, being and feeling too much and feeling like you’re always getting it terribly wrong. But things do get better when you find the people who are just as interested, just as intensely, as you are.

Without further ado,

“GIRL, AGE 9, CRYING AT LEGOLAND SERVICES”

One day, she is just a little girl in a pink dress –

A little girl with a favourite toy monkey.

She goes to Legoland with her family.

She sees a restaurant that looks just like the movies.

The girl is interested for too long, too intensely.

The girl turns around to see that everyone has gone.

“GIRL, AGE 24, CRYING AT THE AQUARIUM”

On her 24th birthday, she goes to the aquarium -

her pink dress reflecting in the glass of the fish tank.

Everybody walks ahead, not fascinated by anything at all.

She pauses by the poison dart frogs: amazed, curious.

The girl is interested for too long, too intensely.

The girl turns around to see that everyone has gone.

Did you know I started a community space for neurodivergent women and non-binary folk? Feel free to message me on Instagram for a link to join The Neuro Corner Discord.

Thanks for reading A Pleasure To Have In Class! This post is public so feel free to share it.

To Be Met With Your Mother’s Gaze

🐞 Emily Bourne 🪲 — Sat, 14 Mar 2026 21:45:51 GMT

Hello, again.

Today I’m straying from my ‘usual content’ to share with you a short poem I wrote for Mother’s Day. I hope you like it.

‘To Be Met With Your Mother’s Gaze’

He woke to the odd feeling that his limbs were on wrong,

as if something had come in the night to rearrange them.

Snow had fallen whilst he slept and settled around his home,

obscuring the world he thought he knew just yesterday.

Keeping his hands busy, the adjusted his tie in the living room mirror,

his own children running around, pooling at his feet.

All grown up, he wears a black suit, black tie, pressed white shirt,

and his mother’s eyes.

My next post is scheduled for the first Saturday in April and will be on managing Ambition as an Autistic person.

Emily x

Did you know I started a community space for neurodivergent women and non-binary folk? Feel free to message me on Instagram for a link to join The Neuro Corner Discord!

Always Feeding, Always Hungry: Consuming What They Give Us

🐞 Emily Bourne 🪲 — Sat, 07 Mar 2026 14:03:07 GMT

Andddddd we’re back — just a week later! I didn’t see that one coming. However, the urge to write about current events took to swallowing me whole this week.

So, here’s a poem on everything: truth so shocking that it feels like it can’t be true, but sickeningly, it is; the misinformation spread by Facebook boomers and sometimes, scarily, your friends; the disinformation bombarding us, a very deliberate act to make us feel so confused and disillusioned about the world, so that maybe we’ll forget about the abominable acts of the elite, who love an email and a million redactions; and lastly, all the celebrity gossip - stuff to keep us entertained, while children keep dying in Gaza, despite a ‘ceasefire’.

In the last week, it’s become glaringly obvious to me that it’s intentional that they are flooding us with all of this information, true and not true, to dysregulate us. To quote a great video online by @shktinoelle: “Regulating your nervous system is resistance. (…) Fear is the tool they use. Division is the goal they want. But regulation is the way we stay grounded and in our power. We are not powerless, they just want us to believe we are.”

Without further ado,

Always Feeding, Always Hungry: Consuming What They Give Us

Epstein Files. Release. Redacted. Redacted. Redaction. Corruption. Jim Carrey Clone! Replacement. Sensationalism. Algorithms. Rapid spread. Distrust. Established institutions. Skepticism. Disbelief. They want you confused. Redaction. Deposition. Flight logs. Testimony. Manipulated digital imagery. Proliferation of Artificial Intelligence. Network of global elites. Hollywood. 2008 Plea deal. Wealth. Proximity. Influence. Pakistan. Afghanistan. Venezuela. Gaza. Ethiopia. ‘Unusually lenient’. Negotiation. Election. Exploitation. Emails. Sent from my iPad. Withheld. Influx. Conspiracy Culture. Information vacuum. Redaction. Distraction. Real. Fake. Palestine. Lebanon. The Gulf. Mexico. Yemen. Nigeria. Unrest. Border violence. Immigration. Donald Trump. Department of Justice. Redaction. Redaction. Redaction. Nicki Minaj. Selena Gomez! Consciousness transfer. Shapeshifter. Illuminati. Minab school bombing. Escalation. Desecration. US Consulate. Holiday. Bill Gates. Clintons. Smiling. They want you exhausted. Investigative journalism. Pizza party. Jeans Ad. Redaction. False sense of control. Collective narcissism. Public scrutiny. Submarine. Warship. Stock market. Oil prices. War. Red lines. Trade embargo. South Sudan. Middle East. USA. Syria. Somalia. Mali. Elite immunity. Redaction. Missiles. Drones. Military assets. Conflict. Cannibalism. Israel. Iran. Russia. Ukraine. Haiti. Dubai. Attention hopping. Redaction. Unregulated claims. Mislead. Misdirect. Ghislaine Maxwell Clone! Suicide. Hiding. Epstein Alive! Autopsy. Prostate. System. Control. Power. Fear. Virginia Giuffre. (Keep saying her name.) Survivors. Settlements. Admission. None. Liability. None. Apology. None. Trial. None. Blame. Finger. Point. Distract. Cover-up. Redaction. Failure. Malfunctioning camera. Records falsification. Arrested on his birthday. EDKH. NATO. UN. WHO. UFO. BBC. RAF. CHATGPT. 4CHAN. AI. MAGA. Alliance. Diplomacy. Redaction. All the worst looks from the red carpet. They want you to feel crazy. Bonnie Blue. Reform. Women. Girls. Children. Vulnerable. Body image. First, too fat. Now, too skinny. Ozempic. Food shortages. Famine. Intention. They want you weak. Resistance. Chaos. Redaction. Lindsay Lohan Facelift! Super Bowl Half Time Show. Engagement boost. Brooklyn Beckham. Sean Combs. Elen Degeneres. Nigel Farage. Jim Carrey Clone! Like, share, reaction. Redaction.

*Misinformation is defined as false, inaccurate or misleading infromation that is spread regardless of whether there is an intent to deceive. Misinformation is thought to often be spread by people who believe it is true.

*Disinformation is defined as false information which is deliberately intended to mislead. Disinformation is thought to be convertly spread, such as by planting rumours, to influence public opinion or obscure the truth.

If you enjoyed reading, please subscribe to my newsletter ↓

Sharing also helps my writing find more people, so if you would be so kind, you can share my article from here ↓

Did you know I started a community space for neurodivergent women and non-binary folk? Feel free to message me on Instagram for a link to join The Neuro Corner Discord.

May My Cringe Set Me Free

🐞 Emily Bourne 🪲 — Sun, 01 Mar 2026 10:58:40 GMT

As an Autistic person, I’ve always struggled initiating conversation. I’m telling you this because I have no idea how to start my first ever blog post, which you are reading right now. So, please give me a little bit of grace if this reads as me just speaking at you - though I’m not sure what else I’d do in a blog post, since I can’t see your face or hear your voice. (And even if I could, I might still not know if I’m doing it right.) Anyway, I’m going to start, wish me luck! (Did you wish me luck? I’ll never know.)

Have you ever wanted to do something but felt scared or embarrassed about what others might think of it? Of course you have, we all do. Now, have you ever tried to write after a long time of not writing, even when it’s about something you really want to write about, but felt like you’re rubbing your two last brain cells together so aggressively that you might actually start a fire? No? Nah, me neither…

Writing was such an important part of my life from childhood through till my twenties, but it slowly dwindled away as my need for it lessened. As a very shy, introverted, minimally speaking, undiagnosed Autistic little girl, writing was my primary form of expressing myself and communicating with others. I carried a notebook around with me everywhere to take notes, inspired by Harriet The Spy (1996) and I kept a journal for the thoughts I was never able to say out loud. I also wrote handwritten letters to just about anyone (whether they wanted me to or not, until I would either stop because they never replied or it was suggested to me to give it a rest.)

My writing started to die when I met my now-husband, because I didn’t need it the way I did before him. I could talk to him the way I hadn’t been able to with others. As I got further and further away from writing regularly, I lost the knack of it due to not ‘working out my writing muscles’, as well as brain fog and fatigue I was experiencing due to Fibromyalgia. And it’s only gotten harder every day since.

In the current day, I have only been doing the odd workout on my writing muscles whenever there’s been a misunderstanding or an argument over text, or I’m sending another elaborately written work email about something that could have been a 2 minute conversation face-to-face, if I didn’t avoid those at all costs. So basically, I can’t write anything particularly well unless my nervous system feels like it’s under attack - isn’t that neat?!

However, despite the push back from my own traitorous brain, I do hope to start repairing my relationship with writing by sharing my knowledge about Autism, Neurodiversity, Disability, maybe a review or two and some poetry also.

Now onto the specifics: Where will I post these ramblings? Only right here on the very page we’re already on! And how often will I post? I will *aim* to do it once a fortnight, but I am employed at the Capitalism Station, so we’ll have to see if they give me any recreational time for good behaviour. In other words, I have a full time-job, a disability, day-to-day life stuff (the toilet ain’t gonna clean itself!), 2 big ol’ rats to take care of (literal rats, though they are also my children, but to clarify they really are rats) and then after all that, that’s where the free time to write comes in *as long as I’m not burnt out from all of the other stuff*.

Anyway, Thank you so much for reading this far. Hopefully, in due course, you learn something along the way from me, as I’m sure I will too (even if it’s how to put out brain fires). I really hope you’ll stick around and support me. (Fingers and toes crossed.) I hope to speak at you again soon x

Emily

@emilysneurocorner

Sharing also helps my writing find more people, so if you would be so kind, you can share my article from here ↓

Thanks for reading Emily's Substack! This post is public so feel free to share it.

Did you know I started a community space for neurodivergent women and non-binary folk? Feel free to message me on Instagram for a link to join The Neuro Corner Discord.

Subscribe now