Szilvia Schöffer
Raccoonland / Mosómedvefölde
The Project Manager and The Two Crazy Highway Engineers / A projektmenedzser és a két kettyós autópálya-tervezőmérnök
My brain has never been your average place. I mean, you can't just pop down to the corner shop and pick up something like this off the shelf. It's got a bit of everything: ADHD and autism seasoned with a supposedly pretty high IQ, a dash
My Little Mental Trash Bin / Az én kis mentális hulladéklerakóm
I never thought the sheer amount of crap that comes out of my brain would have an audience, but apparently, I was wrong. It's unbelievable, but some people actually like the stuff I throw up onto the page without any particular structure or much thought.
So... this is
The Rabbit Hole Project / A nyúlüregprojekt
You don’t look autistic! / Nem nézel ki autistának!
“You don’t look autistic!”
“Thanks! But I hope I don’t look neurotypical either.”
You’ve just witnessed another episode of How to Shut Down a Conversation in Two Seconds.
Finding out my AuDHD gave me back my self-confidence and my belief in a better life. I finally
Does the system exist to serve people?/A rendszer van az emberért?
Does the system exist to serve people, or do people exist to serve the system?
Should the system nourish people, or should people nourish the system?
I’m asking because I wonder how okay it really is that suicide is one of the leading causes of death among children and
My Stockholm Syndrome/A Stockholm-szindrómám
I’ve said many times that I have Stockholm syndrome. There’s some kind of bond between me and education that is anything but healthy. I mean, I spent 13 years suffering through public education, then six years at ELTE in an integrated teacher-training programme, then I went and
How my Excellent Degree Became the Symbol of My Failure/Hogyan lett a jeles diplomám a bukásom szimbóluma
I was never proud of my degree. Even though I graduated with excellent results, even though I know I worked my ass off, I always felt that what I had achieved, what I had done, was too little. That I had merely survived. That I had come out of it
Do Not Force The Raccoon to Write Letters / Ne kényszerítsd levélírásra a mosómedvét
Why do I have AI write things like generic application emails for me — things other people can throw together in five or ten minutes without breaking a sweat — while I won’t let it touch my novel?
As nonsensical as it might seem, the answer is actually very simple.
When