My Book Is Now Available
- The Autistic Lens
- Nov 1
- 2 min read
Updated: Nov 1
A book for those who still believe kindness can survive the noise.
We’re all tired.
But tired isn’t the end of caring.
After years of tracing what happens after outrage fades, the work finally became a book.
It’s called Ethicism: The Practice of Care — and it’s out now.
If this language feels like home to you, it’s waiting in print.
There’s no mailing list, no campaign — just the book itself, waiting for whoever still believes care matters.
Click below to get your copy:
This isn’t a sermon.
It’s a record of how to stay human when humanity becomes inconvenient.
How to repair instead of perform.
How to keep tending the light even when no one’s watching.
Across its pages you’ll walk through:
The Descent — when truth becomes theater.
A reckoning with the collapse of conscience, where outrage replaces empathy and noise drowns out meaning. It asks what happens when cruelty becomes entertainment and how we unlearn that reflex.
The Ascent — when mercy learns boundaries.
The long work of rebuilding: rediscovering tenderness without surrendering truth, and learning that forgiveness is not submission but strength practiced through exhaustion.
The Praxis — when hope turns back to work.
The return from philosophy to practice, where care becomes habit, repair becomes ritual, and conscience begins to reshape the world in small, stubborn ways.
It’s not about winning the news cycle.
It’s about keeping the world savable.
If you’ve ever been called too sensitive, too serious, or too tired — same.
If you’ve ever wondered how to keep caring without burning out — this is for you.
Read it slowly.
Breathe between chapters.
Take what helps, leave what doesn’t.
And if it speaks to you — pass it on.
Someone else out there is still trying, too.
In the end, this book isn’t a product; it’s a correspondence. A long letter to everyone who kept choosing care even when it felt naïve, even when no one noticed. It’s a reminder that mercy still matters, that repair is still possible, that we are not finished becoming kind.
So if you hold this book, hold it like a small act of defiance. Let it live beside your coffee mug, your grief, your daily list of things undone. Read it the way you breathe—when you need to remember that the world can still be tended, and that tending it is enough.
This is not the end of the work. It’s the moment we begin again.
And, as always, I love you all.
🕊 Morgan
