There’s a kind of liturgy in the McDonald’s breakfast queue. The same greeting. The same menu. The same McMuffin, wrapped like a small gift of consistency. For someone who lives with autism—and the rhythms of dialysis—that sameness is not dull. It’s dignifying.
Before treatment, when the body braces and the spirit steadies, a McMuffin becomes more than food. It’s a ritual of welcome. A soft place to land. The hash brown crunch, the warm egg, the predictable packaging—it all says, “You’ve done this before. You can do it again.”
In a world that often demands flexibility, McDonald’s offers reliability. And in that reliability, I find grace.
What’s your McMuffin moment?
NeuroDivine 
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