Tag: neurodiversity

  • My Brain Is Basically a Live-Action Spreadsheet

    My Brain Is Basically a Live-Action Spreadsheet

    (And That’s Why My Reviews Are Brutally Honest)

    You ever see one of those movies where the main character zones out, and suddenly a thousand glowing charts, maps, and floating images appear mid-air?

    Yeah… that’s my brain.

    Except I’m not solving quantum physics in a high-tech lab — I’m standing in a hotel bathroom calculating:

    • Is the toilet paper too scratchy for neurodivergent skin?
    • Will this fan noise trigger a sensory meltdown… or be the white noise of my dreams?
    • Does the shower have decent water pressure but zero grip — AKA a slippery death trap?
    • Is that smell lemon fresh… or lemon chemical warfare?
    • Will the lighting give me a migraine?
    • Will I cry if this bed is too firm?
    • Can I actually use the access ramp, or is it just there for show?

    Welcome to my world.

    I’m autistic, observant, analytical, and brutally honest — not by choice, just by default. I’ve always seen the details most people miss. The pros and cons. And then the pros of the cons. And the cons of the pros. And the “what ifs” that turn pros into cons if X, Y, or Z happens. And yes — I’ve got a backup plan if that con-of-a-pro becomes another con that leads to an unexpected pro.

    It’s like if a decision tree and a crime investigation wall had a baby. With yarn. In 4D. That updates in real time.

    It’s hard to explain, but somehow it all makes perfect sense in my head.

    This is how I move through the world. Every situation becomes a flowchart. Every outing, hotel, idea, thought, word, event, or product gets analyzed. Not because I want to overthink — I just do.

    But here’s the upside: if you’re neurodivergent, sensitive to sensory input, or just want the honest, real-world breakdown before spending money or stepping out the door — I’ve already done the thinking for you. I’ve charted and graphed it and then reanalyzed it.

    Here’s the thing:

    I don’t just review things because it’s fun (though I do love a good Excel chart).
    I do it because:

    • I know how hard it is to find places that work for people like me.
    • I want to make travel easier for autistic and disabled people.
    • And let’s be honest — I’d be an amazing consultant if someone ever paid me.

    But until then, I’ll be here — testing products, paddling new lakes, checking the soap smell at every hotel I visit, and telling you exactly what works, what doesn’t, and what I wish someone had told me before I booked it.

    Because you deserve honest, detailed reviews.
    And I literally can’t not notice this stuff.

  • Things I Wish Hotels Knew About Neurodivergent Guests

    Things I Wish Hotels Knew About Neurodivergent Guests

    (AKA: How to Not Accidentally Torture Us with Your Lighting Choices)

    I’ve stayed in dozens of hotels. Some felt like cozy little havens. Others? Like a sensory escape room designed by Satan’s interior decorator. Most are somewhere in the middle — well-meaning, but totally unaware of how jarring the experience can be for neurodivergent folks.

    So here’s a letter (with some helpful sass) to every hotel that wants to do better… but doesn’t quite know how.


    The Basics Matter More Than You Think

    Overhead lights are the devil’s spotlight
    Please. We beg. Lamps. Dimmable switches. Warm bulbs. That harsh, flickering overhead light makes us feel like we’re about to be interrogated on a crime drama — and we’re not even guilty (except maybe of hoarding snacks).

    Perfume is not ambiance. It’s attack.
    Your lobby doesn’t need to smell like a tropical fruit funeral. Scented sprays, plug-ins, and overly fragrant cleaners are instant migraine fuel. If a room smells like “trying to cover something up,” I’m already plotting my exit.

    Surprise knocks = meltdown speedrun
    Want me to cry in the bathroom? Knock unexpectedly. Better yet, let me opt out of housekeeping. Or schedule things like maintenance with a little warning so I’m not panicking in a towel.

    Simple info is useful — and even better when it’s digital.
    We love a good online info sheet we can zoom in on. Big font, clear bullet points, and easy-to-read layout makes a huge difference. It’s eco-friendly and accessible — screen readers can handle it, and our brains can too.


    Let us pick our room location (or at least the general area).
    Give us the option to choose a quieter zone — away from elevators, vending machines, bars, and ice machines that sound like Thor having a bad day. Avoiding sensory overload starts with picking the right spot to sleep.

    Let us know what to expect before we get there.
    Surprises are not our love language. Predictability is. Clear info online about lighting, noise levels, scent policies, and what the rooms actually look like helps us plan and feel safe. Bonus points for virtual tours or honest photo galleries.

    Ask first, assume nothing
    Not every neurodivergent person has the same needs — but many of us would love if you just asked what might make our stay more comfortable. It’s not awkward. It’s thoughtful. And it helps avoid me dragging a mattress into the bathtub at 2AM because it’s the only quiet place.


    Imagine This Filter on Your Booking Site:

    ✔️ Quiet room options
    ✔️ Dimmable lighting
    ✔️ Scent-free room request
    ✔️ Blackout curtains
    ✔️ Fridge or microwave for safe foods
    ✔️ Soft bedding options
    ✔️ Lamp lighting instead of ceiling lasers

    Hotels that offer this? I’d book faster than my dog spots a dropped French fry. Which is VERY FAST.


    The Bottom Line:

    We’re not picky. We’re just trying to stay regulated in a world built for people who don’t get overwhelmed by invisible buzzes, blinking lights, or hotel rooms that smell like “aggressively lemon-scented panic.”

    Letting us rest, regulate, and not melt into a stress puddle? That’s hospitality magic.

    When neurodivergent folks feel safe and respected, we become the most loyal guests you’ll ever have. We’ll write reviews. We’ll recommend you. We’ll mentally adopt your front desk clerk as our new aunt.

    So, let’s build a world where we don’t have to pack half our house just to feel okay in a hotel room.