It’s Happening.

I’ve started and stopped this before—the blog, the writing, all of it. Constantly trying to prove that I’m doing something that matters, yet failing to execute whatever chaotic plan that develops in my mind. But this time, it’s different.

Most of us would agree that the past few months have been stressful for humankind in general. I can say with certainty they’ve been the most challenging of my life. And if you know anything about me—or even a bit of the Loftin Lore—you know that’s really saying something.

I’ve lived the full trauma sampler: a cult-adjacent childhood, brutal and tragic loss (think manslaughter and murder), abuse, cancer, natural disasters, and even a brush with death thanks to a protein bar and my inability to just shut up.
Lately, nothing quite that dramatic—but I’ve walked through some deeply unexpected personal, professional, and existential collapses that shook me in ways I never imagined.

That’s just a poetic way of saying: my life has recently felt like a metaphorical dirty diaper in a Walmart parking lot—run over by multiple tires and marked by… other substances.

And yet, here I am.

Unexpected challenges bring unexpected change, which is terrifying. Most people feel anxious when the winds of change blow in. I become feral.
My brain is wired differently (long list of diagnosed conditions here!) and I’ve spent the better part of a decade in therapy just learning how to be a person. A psychiatrist once told me I hit the genetic jackpot when it comes to mental health disorders—so yeah, I’ve been playing this game on hard mode since birth.

Because of that, I’ve always been someone who needs to understand. I ask questions, I analyze, I plan. It’s exhausting. But I’ve realized that my obsession with understanding came from a place of fear—because uncertainty feels unsafe when you grow up in chaos.

I’ve spent my whole life trying to latch onto people and places that felt safe. And recently, I lost some of the ones I thought would always be there. When safety is rare, losing it feels like a gut punch. But for the first time in my nearly 44 years, I didn’t run from it. I didn’t try to fill the gap. I just… sat in it.
With my feelings. With my fear. With myself.

And slowly, something shifted.

I’ve started becoming the safe person I’ve always searched for.

So… here we are.

There are a few older blog posts hanging out in the archives—some are from different seasons of life, some are messy, some are tender, and most of them were written when I was just trying to survive.
They’re part of the story, so I let them stay.

But this right here? This is the beginning of whatever this next thing is.

This site is part writing project, part memoir-in-progress, part collection of love letters (some serious, some stupid, all honest), and part “what happens when a neurodivergent teacher with too many notebooks and a lot of feelings finally makes a corner of the internet feel like home.”

The book isn’t done.
The story isn’t wrapped up.
But it’s happening—and you’re here at the start of it.

So poke around. Click through. Read old stuff. Stay tuned for new stuff.
There’ll be reflections, heartbreak, humor, scanned notebook pages, and probably a playlist or two.
More is coming. Buckle up.

xoarl