A memoir for those lost in the quiet ache of miscommunication, misalignment, and emotional overload. I didn’t have a guide. This is the one I needed. For anyone navigating neurodiverse love, this is for you.

Here’s the lifesaver I needed—but never had

memoir coming soon

You’re not alone in this and you never were

We’ve been taught to explain, fix, or endure—but sometimes, all we need is to be seen. This book began as my attempt to make sense of the unspoken: the pauses, the patterns, the emotional weight no one else seemed to name. I wrote to understand what love looked like when it didn’t follow the usual rules.

What I found, somewhere in the writing, was a kind of quiet truth — not just about my relationship, but about how many of us are carrying things without language. This book became an offering to others who are still in the thick of it. If that’s you, you’re not alone. You never were.

01⸺when love feels like survival

There were days I couldn’t tell if we were holding on to love, or being pulled under by it. Love can feel like rescue—or like the very thing that breaks you.

02⸺the language of silence

I learned to listen for the things that were never spoken. Silence became its own kind of language—one I didn’t want to learn, but eventually became fluent in.

03⸺belonging over blame

This was never about blame. It was about the ache of not fitting inside our own story—of searching for belonging in a love that didn’t come with a map or translation.

04⸺staying louder

Love doesn’t always look like staying still. Sometimes it’s stepping away. Sometimes it’s staying louder. Either way, it’s choosing presence—even when presence feels impossibly hard to hold onto.

05⸺rewriting the rules

We didn’t grow up with a guidebook for this kind of love. What we knew was loyalty, or silence, or sacrifice. But what if love could mean something softer? Something chosen—not just endured?

06⸺the weight of being the translator

Some of us become experts in reading the room. In softening the truth, in bridging the gap, in making it work. But carrying the whole conversation—for two nervous systems—is a heavy kind of love. It deserves to be seen.

IT’S OKAY TO NEED SOMETHING SOLID TO HOLD ONTO

When your nervous system is on overdrive, your thoughts loop, and everything feels like too much—you don’t need advice. You need language. You need truth. You need rest. You need a way to name what’s happening without collapsing under it. And maybe, you need to know that someone else has been here too.

If you’ve ever wondered, “is it just me?” Here’s a starting point

This memoir and companion resource explore terms that might already live in your body—even if you’ve never heard them before

  • An intense emotional sensitivity to real or perceived criticism, rejection, or failure. Even small moments can trigger overwhelming pain or shame.

  • A state of being so emotionally overwhelmed that thinking, speaking, or engaging calmly becomes nearly impossible. The nervous system is in survival mode.

  • A pause between receiving information and being able to understand or respond to it. This isn’t about intelligence—it’s about how the brain integrates input.

  • Uneven cognitive strengths and challenges. Someone might be brilliant in one area (like problem-solving) but struggle with everyday tasks like time management or emotional regulation.

  • Masking means suppressing true feelings or behaviors to fit in. Over time, this can lead to shutdowns—when the system can’t cope and goes silent, still, or disconnected.

  • When lights, sounds, textures, or other sensory inputs feel too intense, leading to discomfort, irritability, or withdrawal. It’s not a preference—it’s a physiological response

  • When two caregivers operate independently—often by necessity—due to differing communication styles, emotional bandwidth, or parenting philosophies.

  • The mental weight of constantly having to process, translate, or adapt—especially in relationships where one person carries the role of interpreter, organizer, or emotional anchor.

This isn’t the end of the road. It’s a turning point.

Whether you’re holding on, letting go, or simply learning to breathe again—you’re not doing it alone anymore. This story won’t give you all the answers. But it might help you ask better questions.

You don’t need to have it all figured out.

This story may be mine, but maybe something in it sounds like yours.
Not all relationships are meant to stay. Not all love stories are meant to end. But all of them deserve to be understood.If you’re somewhere in between — still deciding, still holding on, still trying — I wrote this for you, too.
Take what fits. Leave the rest. And know that even here, there is forward.

“I didn’t set out to write a book. I set out to survive in my relationship—and somehow found a story that healed me.”

from the author: calla hart

About the Author

Calla Hart writes under a pen name to protect the privacy of those she loves, and to speak freely about the unseen moments that shape a life. She is a writer, creative strategist, and artist whose work lives at the intersection of tenderness and truth. My Dyslexic Husband is her debut memoir, born from a deep desire to make sense of the unspoken and offer a compass to others navigating neurodiverse relationships. She splits her time between Canada and Mexico, often with sand on her feet and a notebook in hand.

Be the first to read it. The memoir is coming.

Sign up below to get early access to the memoir, audio excerpts, and behind-the-scenes notes as I release them.