Autistics Speaking Day Demonstrates what "Nothing About us Without Us" Actually Means

 Ira Eidle posts "Autistics Speaking Day Demonstrates what "Nothing About us Without Us" Actually Means" on History of the Neurodiversity Movement at Autistic Archive

Autistics Speaking Day is a perfect example of what the term “Nothing About Us Without Us” actually means. An Australia-based organization called the AEIOU Foundation proposed a “communication shutdown” on November 1st, 2010 to represent the supposed frustration autistic people face with communication. This meant spending an entire day off of social media. Autistic people found out about this, and found it to be very patronizing and missing the mark.

As you’ve seen, autistic people tend to find the internet to be a bastion of communication and comradery, a lifeline, even. Two autistics in particular, Corina Becker and Kat Bjørnstad, decided to take action and form a blog. They reclaimed the day to showcase the writings of autistic people. They also wanted to take a jab at Autism Speaks’s name, so it was titled “Autistics Speaking Day”. It’s now observed on November 1st every year.

Let me explain what “Nothing About Us Without Us” actually means. Many people do not seem to understand that. It was a term first used in Hungarian Labor organizing, then again in South African Apartheid protests, and eventually as part of the Disability Rights Movement. It is also ASAN’s slogan. What it does mean is that nothing about a group of people, in this case people with disabilities, should be done without their meaningful leadership. What it does not mean is that people with disabilities literally have to be involved with everything disability-related, including things where they are not in charge and are instead used as tokens.

People use “Nothing About Us Without Us” to justify working with harmful organizations, because they think the statement means they need to be at the table all the time with everything. In an ideal world, yes, this would be the case. But the reality is that many times, when we’re invited to the table, we get nothing but scraps. That is not meaningful inclusion nor leadership, and thus, it is not consistent with “Nothing About Us Without Us”. It also means when something is not done with meaningful inclusion, that the people the cause is about will speak up about it, even if they aren’t at the table. Especially if they aren’t, in fact.

In this case, Corina and Kat didn’t need to join the AEIOU Foundation’s leadership to enact the change they wanted from within. Instead, they formed their own thing where they were in charge and gave a mic to other autistic people. “Nothing About Us Without Us” is inherently a saying of protest, of revolution, and working from within is not protest. It doesn’t mean never try negotiations, just that negotiations are not required for it to be true.

#AutisticsSpeakingDay - Autistics Speaking in 2020

 Jane Strauss posts from Facebook

Content Warning for mentions of politics

#AutisticsSpeakingDay - Autistics Speaking in 2020

For years, one of my “Autistic Superpowers” has been my ability to tell when people are lying, or in some way out to screw others. Often NTs were upset by this, because I'd directly point out my observation, Almost thirty years ago my track record at this got me the “Ignore me at your peril” award from a community organization in which I had been involved for some years.

Submission Form for ASDay 2020

 Hello all!

I'm preparing for ASDay 2020!!! 

I have the submission form up and ready for any early entries: link

See you all November 1st! 

Literally Speaking About Not-Always-Speaking on Autistics Speaking Day

Alyssa posts Literally Speaking About Not-Always-Speaking on Autistics Speaking Day on Yes, That Too

This Autistics Speaking Day, I presented at the American EducationalStudies Association conference on my paper, “Am I the Curriculum?”

Given the origin of Autistics Speaking Day as a response to a Communication Shutdown event, telling neurotypicals to get off social media for the day to simulate and empathise with autistic communication difficulties, I think giving this literal speech on Autistics Speaking Day was fitting.

Autistic people often use tools like social media to support our communication. I believe that our doing so should be considered as the communication support it is, just as augmentative and alternative communication (AAC) researchers do for people they recognize as needing AAC. (I also think speaking autistic people should be recognized as needing AAC. Heck, AAC for everyone. Let's not depend on speech language pathologists specifically, or outsiders in general, to recognize communication difficulties that AAC could help with.)

Read More Here 

How Embracing Neurodiversity Helped Me to Find Myself

Cassandra Crosman posts How Embracing Neurodiversity Helped Me to Find Myself on In the Loop About Neurodiversity


I am now so proud to say that I accept myself for who I am. But I have not always been able to say that.

Growing up as an autistic child at school was difficult, but not always necessarily because of my autism, but mostly because of how others reacted to my autistic behaviors. When I recognized that I was different from other neurotypical children, I wanted to change myself to make friends and fit in. I saw other children interacting with each other and forming groups at lunch and recess, avoiding me when I tried to talk to them. I smiled at other children who I thought were laughing with me, but were in fact laughing at me. I noticed other children, and teachers as well, giving me strange looks when I covered my ears when the school bell would ring, or when other kids were shouting and laughing too loud. I learned to suppress my stimming and slip my fidgeting hands in my pockets. I was taught to look my teachers straight in the eyes, even if it made me feel uncomfortable to do so. I tried not to talk to others so extensively about my special interests, and I pretended to like the things that other children would like.


Read More Here

Dry Eyes Album

Fiona, Dry Eyes

Content Warning: Punk/grunge music; not all songs have been reviewed for specific content warnings

Fiona writes:

This is my band from when I was in high school. I'm autistic and my bandmates had disorders as well. It was extremely fun and a great way to be a part of my local community and meet new people without feeling out of control or out of place.

Brain fog autistic speaking spray 2018

Autismdoggirl, Brain fog autistic speaking spray 2018 on AAC Apps, Service Dogs, and Autistic life things

Brain fog autistic speaking spray 2018

Ok yes this is a scattered mess thinking is had right now I’m sorry

t’s autistic speaking day but it’s also the day after Samhain (Halloween ) so my brain is tired and I feel brained, I don’t know much what to say, I tell myself I need to remember to conserve my spoons and write this a week or a month ahead, it’s not like I don’t have plenty of blog ideas that come and go unwritten because I don’t get the spoons to sit down to write them down so they go un written. However once again that didn’t happen this year so this year I’m doing a short half processing spontaneous post, but perhaps that is most appropriate, to honor the day of rest and accept my own need for saving spoons, to not strain to make a perfect logical thought out articulate piece about my right to be as a human, or how being Autistic is , or about the rights to communication access or how autistic people are constantly devalued and talked over and how we are taking this day back to have our voices heard  because at the end of the day no owns value should be based on our ability to explain these things to you in a week though out way or to word and all communication is valid this is autistic speaking day and for today I’m communicating more with gestures than AAC and that’s ok my thoughts aren’t clearly typed and skcattered and still I’m autistic and human and my life aphasia value this way as doe every autistic no mater how we communicate or how much we appear to be aware or understand, our voice in all forms should speak of autistic experience and our live still have value. We shouldn’t need to prove these for you to accept theses

Amplifying Autistics

Nightengale, Amplifying Autistics on Dreamwidth

Amplifying Autistics

I’ve stopped reading books about autism written by non-autistic people.

Neurotribes? I’ve read two dozen reviews. I haven’t read the book. Yes, I know it’s well researched and well written. I’m not convinced it has a lot of information that would be new to me. And I’m tired of reading books about autism written by non-autistic people. Also, I’m tired of the calls for quotes on autism now going to Steve Silberman. Yes, he’s done some good ally work. Yes, it’s better than the quotes going to Autism Speaks. No, it’s still not OK.

Uniquely Human? I skipped that one too. I’ve read other Prizant. He talks a good talk, but he still clearly sees non-autistic ways of communicating and playing as superior. He’s not as much of an ally as he tries to say he is.

I still read research articles written by non-autistic people. I have to stay up to date for my work. I don’t always know the neurotype of researchers, anyway. Maybe someday, I can extend my policy to research.

Read More Here 

The Joys of Autistic Life

Devin S. Turk, The Joys of Autistic Life on The Autistic Void

The Joys of Autistic Life

Let’s say there’s a dial control that determines how intensely each person experiences the world at any given time. Think of a pain scale at a doctor’s office, or maybe a knob on a car radio.  If most neurotypical or allistic (non-autistic) people’s dials can turn from one to ten, then mine goes beyond ten- mine can turn to eleven or thirteen or maybe even fifteen.  My dial and the ability for it to point past ten is a very integral part of what it’s like for me to live my life on the autism spectrum.  It means that I have the tendency to feel things very intensely: both the good and not-so-good.  This dial affects each facet of my life.  It affects my physical senses, like hearing and taste.  My ability to empathize with others.  All of my emotional states.  Everything about my perceptions and my responses to everyday life can turn past the number ten.

It’s certainly not always easy being autistic. Whether it’s coping with sensory overload, emotional burnout, or feeling like an outsider in a world that’s not built for people like me in mind, I have plenty of not-so-great days.  But being a human isn’t always easy either, and to me, being autistic is as simple and as complex as this: it’s a way of being human. I decided to write this essay about the joys of being autistic after I recently came across the twitter hashtag #AutisticJoy, in which autistic people tweet about things they love about their lives on the spectrum.  We all have good days, bad days, and days in between.  We also all have activities or objects or people that bring us comfort and joy.  In today’s post, I’m going to tell you about a few of my favorite things that make the bad days better and the good days the best as an autistic person.  These are my joys of being autistic, which for me, are also the joys of simply being.

1. Stimming

Stimming (or self-stimulatory behavior) is something many autistic people do to regulate and express ourselves.  It can be a way to try and turn the dial back down to a more manageable number if we want, or a way to communicate an internal state.  Classic examples of stimming include repetitive motions like flapping one’s hands or rocking back and forth, but each autistic person stims differently.  When I get suddenly excited or happy about something, I often jump up and down and flap my hands in a wild frenzy, which is an action I and other autistic people call “happy flapping.”  This is as natural and as instinctive to me as the urge to laugh at something that’s funny, and I love doing it.  Some say that laughter is the best medicine, but I say it’s happy flapping.

2. Special interests

Sure, everyone has hobbies and passions.  But an autistic person’s special interest is next-level.  The common stereotype is an extreme love of trains, and I will admit that even I went through a train phase for a while as a young teenager.  But special interests can be anything.  They can be specific animals, plants, or places.  They can be activities, like different sports or types of games:  Baseball. Ultimate frisbee.  Scrabble.  They can be TV shows.  Movies. Academic subjects.  Video games.  Special interests can be can even be objects!  Computers.  Lampposts. Skateboards.  Icebergs…I think you get the idea.  You name it, it’s probably somebody’s special interest.  Special interests provide a kind of security, a safe haven in this loud, unfriendly, allistic world.  At the end of a long day around people who I feel like don’t understand me, I’ll always have my special interests to come home to.

3. The online autistic community

Autistic people are everywhere.  We attend your schools.  Work in your favorite coffee shops.  We might be in front of you in line Post Office. We are your neighbors, your friends, your family.  You might recognize that we’re autistic, or you might not…but we’re here regardless.  Due to my tendency to engage in social masking, most people I interact with likely have little to no idea that I’m on the spectrum unless I choose to disclose to them. It’s tiring, to say the least. But there’s one communal space that doesn’t pressure me to conform to neurotypical standards of behavior: online. For myself, it started with YouTube when I was about thirteen.  Typing the words “Asperger’s Syndrome” into the search bar was like opening a door to an entirely different universe.  I was met with page after page of search results, a never-ending list of videos by people vlogging about their lives on the spectrum.  Thirteen-year-old me had discovered the autistic community, and it was all at my fingertips.

Today, I’m a part of about two dozen or so Facebook groups, Twitter chats, and special hashtags created to unite autistic people on the web.  The online autistic community, (the autistic self-advocacy and disability rights community in particular) has truly transformed my thinking around what it means to be a part of a marginalized group.  We post jokes and memes about autistic life, strategies for managing tough situations, realizations about living in our society as neurodiverse individuals, etc.  And most importantly, there is support.  Just a click away, there are people I know I can connect with because they experience struggles and triumphs through the lens of the autism spectrum, just like I do.

Whether I’m happy-flapping, doing research about my latest special interest, or participating in an online discussion with like-minded folks, there are some pretty great things about being autistic.  (And I’ve only listed three!)  Being reminded of the positive things helps the bad days ache a little less.  Sure, there are plenty of not-so-great things about living as a person on the spectrum. Most of the items on that list, however, are not necessarily because of autism itself.  Autistic people are navigating our way through a society that has a long way to go, especially when it comes to accessibility for and acceptance of those whose bodies and /or brains operate in ways that deviate from the current norm…But that’s a post for another day.

There is a common narrative in our society which tells us, in subtle and explicit ways, that disability is inherently tragic, that difference is wrong, and that autism is some kind of ailment that is to be prevented and cured.  In my opinion and lived experience, that couldn’t be further from the truth.  I think that in discussing and amplifying the wonderful parts of autistic life, we can all chip away at that toxic narrative, and hopefully build a better one that finally has the best interests of autistic people everywhere at heart.

The Country of Autistic People

Ben Edwards, The Country of Autistic People on The Autist Dharma

The Country of Autistic People

Imagine for a moment

A country for just autistic people,

NT and allistics citizens through marriage or birthright,

But still a place all to ourselves.

 

Imagine people being allowed to walk around freely at gatherings, meetings, and events,

No stimming repression or forced eye contact.

Imagine no alarms or bells that hurt our ears,

Bookstores, television shows, and movies all with accurate and positive representation of autistic characters.

 

Imagine less than ten percent autistic unemployment,

No one forcing you to wear the tags on clothing,

Your food sensitivities are respected everywhere you go,

No forcing you to socialize when you are so low on energy.

 

Imagine that “special interests” were not suppressed,

Where autistics do not have six times the national average suicide rate,

Domestic violence is not a disproportional issue,

No person wearing a puzzle piece, lighting blue lights, comparing having an autistic child to being a combat veteran.

 

Universities are packed with students using fidget spinners, chewy necklaces, etc.

No college professors spreading lies and disinformation about autistics,

Maybe the rate of autistics with epilepsy, social anxiety, depression, and PTSD is less than it is in the world we know,

Health care is what socially hegemonic neurotypicals have come to know.

 

Picture a world where it was not unusual for a child to go to an autistic in a divorce proceeding,

Therapy is not eight hours a day inside being taught to hate and repress yourself for external reward.

Picture a place like the on-line groups we know and love,

But offline, with houses, cafes, schools, hospitals, banks, post offices, and government buildings.

 

Maybe an observatory like the Space Needle, Fernsehturn Berlin, Oriental Pearl Tower,

Sovereign building like the White House or Buckingham Palace,

Business and communication centers like Sears and Willis Tower, the Empire State Building, the Hancock Center,

Bridges, theaters, architectural monuments.

 

Ok, not really a possibility.

Not a place where nothing ever goes wrong.

No injustice ever happening the way it does when society is mostly NTs.

But I would like to see all races, faiths, sexual orientations with business and government done in dozens and dozens of languages.

 

Maybe it is not a really possibility,

But sometimes, when times are tough, it is nice to have a place to escape to,

If only in your mind.

Happy Autistics Speaking Day!

endever*, Happy Autistics Speaking Day! on homo qui vixit

Happy Autistics Speaking Day!

I don’t actually speak in the literal sense all that often; I use a speech generating device and sign language to help me communicate more easily. And I love typing, writing, texting, tweeting. I’ve been thinking about starting a blog for awhile, so this seemed like the perfect day to begin.

As a multiply marginalized person, I know that choosing to continue to exist in this world is an act of rebellion. What I’d like to add to that ongoing rebellion, now, is a more dedicated space for sharing my truths. I’m on Twitter all the time, but any of my more relevant thoughts there are mixed in with nonsensical livetweeting of my favorite shows and yelling about out-of-context wizard rock. And I write #ownvoices novels full of queer neurodivergent characters, but thus far no one reads those. So I want to consolidate my rebellion words here, in a format I can direct others to if they might be interested in what I have to say.

So what do I have to say? I exist.

Read More Here 

No, I’m Not “Overcoming” Autism

Courtney Johnson, No, I’m Not “Overcoming” Autism on Just Keep Stimming


No, I’m Not “Overcoming” Autism

The other day, someone said to me “it’s so inspiring that you’re overcoming your autism!”

Not surprisingly, I hear this one a lot.

“Overcoming” autism.

“Despite” the autism.

“Fighting” autism.

“Don’t forget; you’re a person with autism.”

It’s something that always throws me off, really. It’s as if autism is supposed to be a roommate – you know, the one who eats all your Goldfish crackers and leaves the fridge door open. Or the cat in your home that won’t stop stealing your toaster strudel (thanks, Leia).

When someone says this, they usually think they’re complimenting me or giving praise – which I understand and appreciate. I can’t deny that it’s hard sometimes to do things.

But – let me make one thing clear.

I’m not “overcoming” autism.

I’m not anything “despite” the autism.

I’m not “fighting” autism.

I am autistic.

I don’t need to overcome autism, because autism itself isn’t something to overcome. Allow me to explain.

This June, I attended the Autism Campus Inclusion program that was led by the Autistic Self-Advocacy Network.
I spent an entire week immersed in autistic space, and it was life-changing. I was in a room surrounded by only autistic people across the spectrum. I saw no tragedies – only wonderful friends who embraced and loved being autistic.

In turn, I remembered that I love being autistic too.

You see, autism isn’t a roommate.

Sure, autism is also meltdowns. It’s sensory overload, migraines, occasionally insomnia. Autism is the sometimes reaching milestones later than you’d like to admit.
But no matter your neurology, life presents itself with challenges. Autism is the same.

Autism, like life, also presents with joys and gifts – and not necessarily in a savant way.

Autism is the intertwined web that connects me with a beautiful and loving community – people who are like me. It’s special interests, passions, and getting lost in your own senses. It’s non-compliance, non-conformity, celebrating different!
Autism isn’t some otherworldly entity; it’s how I’m wired. I’m neurodivergent – my brain is a bit different from the status quo. I’m not broken, not less. I’m just me!

Before I learned I was autistic, my mental health and depression was at its absolute lowest point. I knew I was “weird” and couldn’t do things everyone else could do, but I (and others) attributed it to laziness – contributing to a vicious depressive cycle.

Learning I was autistic was not a tragic moment; it was liberating. It was also a process, slowly emerging with more determination and acceptance for myself. I’m still in that process, but I treasure this part of me – the reason I am myself.

When I embraced the fact that I’m autistic, things started looking up.

I stopped thinking of myself as a burden.
I became less suicidal, a little less depressive.
I accepted that I am just me, and that’s okay.

I had a name for my difference, a community to belong in.

I tried “fighting” autism all the time as a child. I tried to do things “despite” the autism. I tried “overcoming” the autism. I didn’t have the word for it, but I hated this odd part of my personality and brain who couldn’t seem to grasp things that everyone else could. I thought I was just bad at life – because everyone around me said so.

When I’m learning to stop fighting myself, that’s where the healing begins.

You can’t compare yourself to other people’s progress, especially when you’re autistic. And if your kid is autistic, you can’t compare their progress to others.

We develop in our own pace, in our own way. Remember, I’m not able to live alone, drive, or do a lot of other things that most college kids do. I can barely even cook unless I have someone who is walking me through it and there with me. Maybe one day, I’ll get there.

I stopped thinking, “I wish I was able to be as self-sufficient as them.”
When I accepted the fact that autism is just how my brain is wired, I asked myself a different question.

“What can I already do? And what things am I able to learn right now?”

And that’s the key: autism isn’t a tragedy – it’s a difference. It’s okay if I don’t have a life that is identical to my peers. That’s not my path; I make my own, just as everyone else does.

My existence isn’t a tragedy. I’m learning that I’m not a burden, as I felt for so many years. I love this part of me. While the world is not quite accessible for me yet, I am learning that loving myself (including autism) is a radical and rebellious act.

Autism is just one of the many components of me, and why should I fight a part of myself? Why put myself under pressure just to conform to neurotypical standards?

I’d much rather just be me – my authentic, autistic self.

Where Are My Adult Autism Supports, Dammit?!

Becca Lory Hector, CAS, BCCS, Where Are My Adult Autism Supports, Dammit?! on Geek Club Books.

Where Are My Adult Autism Supports, Damnit?!

As a woman diagnosed on the spectrum in adulthood, I struggle to find autism supports, period. But I am not alone, we, the adult autistic community, struggle as a group to find survival and quality of life co-existing anywhere. It’s a little shocking isn’t it? Especially with all the media attention autism gets these days, right? The reason why this giant gap continues to exist is still unclear, though much energy is expended passing blame and pointing fingers and dollar signs. Yet, as I sit here staring my 42nd birthday in the face, the reason why is not what I care about. I’m not looking for a long debate about who is responsible for what or what the newest absurd reason is for this giant void. What I am looking for is action. I need a plan. I need some funded resources. I need housing and employment solutions. And I need them now, in my lifetime, not when everyone is done “discussing” it. I am fed up and I am tired of asking, ‘where are my adult autism supports, dammit’?!

I am not much of a fan of complaining and I am definitely less of a talker and more of a doer.

Since my frustration level was at its peak with the issue of adult supports, or lack thereof, I decided to do something about it. Why should I sit around waiting and suffering while somebody else decides what supports I can I have, right? That idea is not only ludicrous but also a giant waste of my one non-renewable resource, time. It’s been said that the average lifespan of an autistic is 36 years. As I set two feet squarely in my forties, I am more aware than ever that I am I on borrowed time, and it is not a luxury I can afford to waste.

My earlier foray into the world of supports found me drowning in tools for mini-spectrumites, trying desperately to adapt them to adulthood. Not a total failure, as it eventually led me into the heart of mindfulness practice, where I found that the supports I needed, were the ones that appealed to me naturally. A strength-based approach to supports if you will; banking on my love for new information and an unknown enthusiasm. So when I next decided to tackle adult supports, I started by looking at my passions and strengths.

For me that meant, autism, animals, and the written word.

Read More Here

Stimming

Castiel Hannon, Stimming on Google Doc

Stimming

Stimming

Eyes wander across the classroom, unfocused

Legs bouncing, fingers tapping, eyes refocus,

“Stop, that’s annoying!” comes from either a classmate or a teacher

The body stills, and again, eyes unfocus.

Now, they intend no harm. They think movement means someone is --

Unfocused, and yet for some stillness is a prison their focus can’t escape.

And when you’re autistic even with these movements, stimming, to help us --

focus, the classroom is not made for us.

Lights, noise, movement, it builds and builds until it all fades,

Fades to bouncing legs, tapping fingers, and the energy leaving,

Autism, Transmasculine Identity, and Invisibility

Devin S. Turk, Autism, Transmasculine Identity, and Invisibility on The Autistic Void

Autism, Transmasculine Identity, and Invisibility

The following post was originally published on Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism on February 26, 2018:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File%3ATransgender_Pride_flag.svg

Everyone in my life knows that I’m transgender. Comparatively, very few people know about another major part of me: that I’m autistic.

At age twenty-one, I’ve come to understand that many of my young adult years have centered around trying to bridge the gap between my two ways of being: The way that I present myself to the world, and the way that I perceive who I am. I imagine that someday, hopefully soon, those two components of my life won’t feel far apart. And hey, sharing this essay might even help.

I realized I was trans when I was fifteen, but just a year before had come a revelation of similar scale and importance to me; my diagnosis of Asperger’s syndrome (which is now referred to as Autism Spectrum Disorder.) I experience many symptoms or “traits” of ASD, and I won’t mention all of them here, but it’s worth saying that my traits are not obvious to the untrained eye. Underneath the mask, though, lies a deep unsureness of how to regulate social interaction. To cope, I copy, or “mirror” other people in order to appear more socially fluent and less awkward. And it works. Many people close to me might say that I “blend in” very well, in more ways than one.

Now that I’ve been on testosterone hormone replacement therapy for close to three years now, my voice is deeper, my jaw is squarer, and I even have a bit of facial hair. When I tell people that I was assigned the sex “female” at birth, they often say something to the effect of “I would have never guessed!” This is typically meant as a compliment, but to me, it feels patronizing.

In an eerily parallel way, people react very similarly when I disclose to them that I’m autistic. In both scenarios, the disbelief is caused by the preconceived notions of what it “looks like” to be transgender or autistic. I credit the testosterone as the reason I am not read as female, and to some degree, I credit my socialization as a reason I am not perceived as autistic.

Professionals who diagnose Autism Spectrum Disorder are, in general, proficient at recognizing autistic traits in males. After all, the original model for autism was based on studies of mostly young boys. Some doctors are still catching up to being able to recognize such traits in girls and women, but people are becoming increasingly aware that autism presents itself differently in girls than in boys. For example, autistic girls are more likely than boys to be masters of “social camouflage,” which masks their traits of ASD.

So, where do I fit into this framework as a transmasculine person? Yes, I identify as more male than female. However, I lived the first eighteen years of my life as a girl, and so I believe many of my ways of interacting with the world are byproducts of being socialized as female. But when I walk into my doctor’s office, they will likely overlook the significance of my history because they see that I now present as male, despite having a lot of learning experience in the world as a girl.

I’m the same degree of socially clumsy and unsure as when I was presenting as female, yet doctors who are new to my case and doctors who don’t know me well are less likely to agree with my diagnosis. Doctors will commonly overlook my noticeable lack of eye contact and my significant difficulties with Sensory Processing Disorder (which is a common co-occurring condition in autistic people) or severely under-appreciate just how utterly exhausting it is for me to engage with others. Maybe they don’t understand how much my executive dysfunction holds me back. Maybe they don’t believe me when I tell them that when I’m alone, I often flap my hands when I get excited as a means of expression, or that I rock back and forth when I’m focused on something. All of these experiences are very real to me, and yet they seem invisible to so many medical professionals, simply because I don’t outwardly appear to check all the boxes while I’m sitting across from them.

In addition to feeling unheard and unseen, my autistic traits are sometimes swept under the clinical rug and regarded as symptoms of conditions such as depression or severe social anxiety. I suppose it’s an easy enough mistake to make, but such a misunderstanding of my neurotype can lead to misdiagnosis, which could potentially then cause doctors to prescribe medicine and recommend treatments that may do more harm than good.

After receiving handfuls of labels from the DSM as well as literally dozens of unsuccessful psychiatric medications over the years, I’ve learned that much of the way I am is not something to be treated with various therapies and pills. This is not to say that autistic individuals cannot experience things like depression or anxiety which may be very much relieved via therapy and/or medication. I have simply realized that in my specific situation, the best route from here forward is perhaps to make peace with and embrace the qualities that set me apart from neurotypicals, or those who don’t experience neurological differences.

The intersection of being both autistic and transgender is more common than one might think. While the dialogue around autism and gender identity is expanding, I have a bit of trouble figuring out where I fit into the whole picture. So, I decided to do my own research, and while this subject is a fairly new field of study, I found some pretty astounding statistics:

In 2014, a U.S. study of 147 children (ages 6 to 18) diagnosed with ASD found that autistic participants were 7.59 times more likely to express gender variance than the comparison groups. Another study, conducted in the UK in 2015, involved 166 parents of teenagers with Gender Dysphoria (63% were assigned female-at-birth.) Based on parents’ report of their children on the Social Responsiveness Scale, the study found that 54% of the teenagers scored in the mild/moderate or severe clinical range for Autism.

The relationship has only begun to be explored in research in recent years, but I’ve come to realize that there are a lot of autistic trans people out there in the world. As someone who very much values human connection and simultaneously struggles with it, I have to say that looking at those figures provided me an amount of comfort. I discovered that there are a lot of people just like me.

Being autistic and being transgender certainly each has their own respective challenges, though one that they share is a lack of societal acceptance due to stigma. Many people still believe that who I am as a transmasculine person is inherently invalid, just like many other people still believe autism is some kind of tragedy that is to be cured. In contrast, I feel very strongly that who I am as a person is heavily dependent on both my trans and autistic identities, and that they are beautiful things. 

I would not be the person I am today if I did not have the incredible perspective that being transgender as well as being autistic has given me. My worldview has been altered by these two factors in particular in ways that I consider enlightening. Sure, I have tough days. But would I exchange all that I am in return for the promise of a simpler, more typical life? Most definitely not. Because after all, I’ve found that one of the best things about being dealt a different hand of cards is the unambiguous and fulfilling joy that is learning to accept oneself wholeheartedly.

"Actually, It's Crooked": Autism and Precocious Speech

C.L. Bridge, "Actually, It's Crooked": Autism and Precocious Speech on the Autistic Women and Nonbinary Network

"Actually, It's Crooked": Autism and Precocious Speech

When it was time for cake at my second birthday party, I sat at a table surrounded by smiling grown-ups. One of the grown-ups asked me a question. I don’t remember the question itself, but I remember my answer: “Actually, it’s crooked.” Actually and crooked were two of my favorite words as a toddler. Whether or not it really answered the question, my reply made every adult in the room laugh. I felt a little embarrassed.

My mom remembers people in the supermarket staring in surprise when they heard clear, complex sentences coming from a tiny child in a shopping cart seat. I remember wondering why other toddlers didn’t talk the way I did. I spoke fluently at twelve months old.

Around age three, I spontaneously started to read. This made most school work easy and opened my world to many wonderful stories, but my teachers weren’t sure what to do with a child who entered school already knowing how to read well. I was bored with phonics lessons. (Letting me work on new vocabulary instead of phonics may have been a good solution, but no one thought of that.) When I read aloud in class, the teacher often told me to slow down so the other children could keep up.

Fortunately, the psychologist who diagnosed me with autism realized that not all autistic children start speaking late; some start speaking early. Not all professionals seem to realize this. I have almost never seen precocious speech on “signs of autism” lists, which often focus only on delayed or absent speech. Is this because many people see autism as a collection of deficits, while talking early is considered a strength? Does it have anything to do with the huge influence of Autism Speaks, whose advertisements often show a narrow stereotype of a silent, somber child? A Google search for “autism and precocious speech” brought up almost nothing relevant. Even among the autistic community, I seldom notice any discussion of early speech.

I recently had a conversation about precocious speech with Lauren Smith-Donohoe. Both she and her daughter are autistic. However, because they both spoke earlier than typical children, it took them a long time to get a diagnosis. Lauren Smith-Donohoe expressed concern that most parents don’t realize precocious speech and reading come with their own set of challenges. Adults may unfairly expect precocious children to act older than they are, and advanced readers may be exposed to topics that are not appropriate for children.

I’ve noticed that parents and teachers sometimes think everything a precocious child enjoys has to challenge their brain, or it isn’t worthwhile. Even if a second grader can read on an eighth grade level, that doesn’t mean books written for eighth graders will be interesting or relevant to them. When I was seven, my mom threw a fit because my dad bought me a computer game I wanted, intended for age seven and under. I continued to enjoy the game for many years. Challenging your brain is important, but doing things just for fun is also important.

A child who sounds like a little adult is still a child. A big vocabulary does not equal emotional maturity—especially for someone with a developmental disability. My difficulties with social communication and emotional regulation were no less real than those of an autistic person who talked later than average. And knowing a lot of words definitely didn’t mean I knew how to put my feelings into words.

Perhaps “signs of autism” lists should say something like “May start speaking earlier than typical, later than typical, or not at all”. Such a statement would help people understand that there are many ways for autistic language to develop, and that early-talking autistic children do exist.

Autistic community, let’s talk about early speech. Were any of you precocious speakers or self-taught readers? Did talking or reading early make certain things easier or harder? Did adults expect you to act more grown-up than you really were? Has anyone ever said you “couldn’t be autistic” because you didn’t have a speech delay? I would love to hear from you.

Here’s the Thing About Language

Autisticeducator, Here’s the Thing About Language on Tumblr

Here's the Thing About Language

You can change labels of what you call people all you want “to be more people friendly” or whatever reason you claim to have.

But…

If you don’t change the social constructs behind the language, the factors limiting the group that is actually directly affected by the language, then changing the language becomes rather pointless because it doesn’t actually change any of the social issues behind it.

Take people first language (yes, I’m going to continuously be picking on people first language because it does such a good job at getting my point across). The abled bodied population was like “This sounds good, let’s use it for the entire disabled community.”

Yeah, except the autistics have been shouting “Um excuse me, but people first language dehumanizes us because it separates us from our identity. We want identity first language.”

And if those advocating for people first language (especially abled bodied parents and those in education) had ever stopped to deal with the social constructs that affect the autistic community instead of pushing on their language crusade, I wouldn’t be writing this post right now. But they didn’t.

And people first language is not harmless like they want to believe. I’ve personally had people first language used against me numerous times by people who did not want to acknowledge that I am autistic. People first makes it easier for people to deny us either our needs or our agency (or both) by allowing them to think “Oh they’re a person and I can just push this autism bit off to the side and ignore its exsistance.”

That’s why I am insistent on identity first language. I want to make it difficult to separate autism from myself because they are not separate entities. They are the same entity because I see and experience everything through an autistic lens. People who aren’t going to see me as a person won’t see me as one regardless of language used. It’s those who only want to see me as a person if autism isn’t coming along for the ride that I find really problematic.