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,

Behind The Mask

Devin S. Turk, Behind the Mask on The Autistic Void.

Behind the Mask

I am a slab of gray potter’s clay.  I am thrown onto the wheel and spun into submission.

I am made smaller, softer, hollow.

I am a block of mahogany.  My chipped corners are chiseled; my edges are sanded away.  

I am diminished, polished, perfect.

I am the mask I wear.

I am two, maybe three years old, and I’m waiting for my first fireworks show to start.  I am sitting next to my Dad on a lawn chair in the grass.  Or maybe I was perched atop his shoulders, waiting and oblivious. I had probably seen fireworks on TV or in my picture books.  I’m sure I was excited to see the colors burst and fade into the twilight sky. But the moment the first explosion went off, I was beside myself with pain from the loud booms.  Dad recently told me he had never heard me scream the way I did that evening.

Now, kindergarten.  I’m five. Other children are dancing in bold-colored clothing around the classroom.  There is lively music playing- probably some bouncy, high-pitched nursery rhyme- though my memory today holds no sound.  I am standing in the corner by the beige wooden building blocks, which I love.  I am twirling my arms in wide circles around me, back and forth.  Over and over again, in soothing repetition.

There are so many memories that make sense now.  All the painful noise and itchy fabric.  All the time I spent doing my homework during recess and sitting by myself at lunch.  All the odd, repetitive motions that calm me down, that lasso me back from the edge.  As a kid and younger teenager, I used to wonder if I was the only human being on the planet who was capable of thinking and feeling, and if every other person I saw was really, truly alive…like me. These days, I know what it all means because I’ve learned clinical, technical words for these experiences.  Sensory overload…Self-stimulatory behavior…Social inhibition…Mind-blindness. Autism Spectrum Disorder.

When I tell other people about the diagnosis from when I was younger, they often react with a measure of disbelief.  I’m most commonly met with, “Really?  I never would have guessed!”  That’s when I chuckle and look down at my shoes.  “Yeah, I get that a lot,” is my usual response.   But I want to be bolder.  I want to ask why they never would have guessed, even though I already know.  I can casually small talk about the weather.  I’m not obsessed with numbers or train schedules.  I don’t flap my hands in front of people or rock back and forth when I’m in public.  If I have to, I can make myself look someone else in the eyes.  I’ve learned to adapt. I’ve taught myself how to be in the world by copying the way the people around me do it, down to the very last, tiring detail.  I am always outside of myself, looking in:

How often should I look at my friend’s eyes when she’s talking to me?  Am I sitting in this chair the way a neurotypical person would?  I should probably stop fidgeting so much.  Am I modulating my tone of voice correctly?  I don’t want to sound too monotone.  What kind of coffee do I want to order?  I need to rehearse what I’m going to tell the barista so that I don’t stutter too much.  I really want to flap my hands right now because I’m stressed, but I think that guy over there is looking at me.  How am I being perceived by other people?  Am I being normal enough?  I mean, no wonder other people can’t tell. I don’t fit their mental image of what it “looks like” to be autistic, and it’s because I put every last ounce of my energy into seeming as “normal” as possible…whatever that even means.  I don’t do this to be fake, and I don’t do it because I think it’s bad that I’m autistic.  I wear the mask of normality because it’s safe.  I do it because I want to fit in with my peers.  Because it’s instinctual.  Because it’s tiresome being an “other.”  Pretending, though, is also tiresome.  When the world is a theater stage you can’t step off of, everything is exhausting.

In the autistic community, this practice of “faking it” is referred to as “Masking.”  We understand it to be a coping strategy born out of trying to navigate a world that was not built with us in mind.  It helps us blend in.  It keeps us safe.  But where is the off switch?  I don’t want to mask so much anymore…I’m tired.  I think:  I must act this way, so that other people don’t stare at me in public.  I have to put on a false face so that I can make friends.  I must change myself in order to be accepted.

I am a slab of gray potter’s clay.  I am thrown onto the wheel and spun into submission.
I am made smaller, softer, hollow. 

I am a block of mahogany.  My chipped corners are chiseled; my edges are sanded away.
I am diminished, polished, perfect.

Am I the mask I wear?

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.

Without Apology

Carolina Rutz, Without Apology on An Aspie in Kentukia

Content warnings for Misogyny, depersonalisation, ableism, as well as for religion (Christianity). 

Without Apology

To the Tattooed Bald Feminist on Facebook: Thank you.

I do not know who are you and where you are, but I figured that an open letter might reach you eventually in hopes that you read this with a open heart and with the hope that you are doing well.

I am an openly Autistic woman who have been deeply religious for over 30 years. I am a widow of a Lutheran pastor and I hold a consistent pro-life ethic that seeks solutions to the deeper problems of the human lifespan. We are different as day and night.

Yet… we have several things in common. First, we both have shaved heads and tattoos on our bodies. Second, we speak our minds. But most of all, we value self-expression. The right to express and present our personae as we see fit.

Florencia Ardon, Why do we teach our kids to "behave"? on Neuroamazing

Why do we teach our kids to “behave”?

Are you teaching your child to “behave” for their benefit? Or yours?

Some behaviors or characteristics of autistic people can be dangerous. Like not sensing danger, and just darting toward a busy street. Or leaning “too” forward on a banister, not recognizing one can actually fall. Some others can get them in danger or can endanger, say, priceless museum pieces. In that category I would put bumping hard into people, which could make the other person respond in anger and actually hit you. Or leaning against a showcase full of antique, glass works of art, in a way that could make them break.

But in many other cases, the behavior is not dangerous, probably makes the person happy, or helps them deal with anxiety. We don’t try to change that behavior for the wellbeing or safety of the autistic child. We do it for us. I participated yesterday in a survey that made this fairly clear. It contained some statements one had to agree or disagree with. Some of the statements read something like this: “We don’t go out in public because my child’s behavior embarrasses me.” “I have to constantly explain my child has autism because of his or her behaviors.”

[six second clip of young child in a snowsuit, sitting in the snow stomping feet and hands in a small tantrum]

This reminds me of the typical scene of a child throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the supermarket. What many times happens is that the parent (normally the mother) is close to the child trying to control the situation, and looking around to see the reactions of the people around. If there is nobody around, or people just smile and go away, then that’s fine. But if people start lecturing the parent, looking at her disapprovingly, and so on, what can and does happen too often is that the child gets punished: spanked in some cases, yelled at, or carried out of the store while the child is trying to free themselves (which can be dangerous, by the way, depending on the agility and strength of the child). And this is the “approved parenting style” in our society.

One of the problems with this is that that societal approved parenting styleMR does not work (and by the by, “time outs” don’t work either). One response that works in the long run is to ignore the child, though how you do it matters… and note that here I’m considering we’re speaking about a temper tantrum, not a meltdown. For a meltdown, you need to know what caused it and what helps the child the most.

Now, if you do a quick search on YouTube, you will see videos shaming parents who are actively ignoring their kids… and also shaming parents who are physically punishing their children. Meaning, you are never free of criticism. Unless you never ever take your kid out into a public space.

The biggest problem is that you pay more attention to the feelings or to the approval of people you don’t know at all. You put their feelings well above your child’s. And you will never see these people again! They will gladly post a video of you and your child to happily shame you. And you’re supposed to love your child more than anything in the world, yet are more invested in gaining the stranger’s approval than in not harming your relationship with your child.

Is it worth it?

NO.

Just stop paying attention to the other people.

If your child is on the spectrum (or has ADHD or any of the other conditions that could lead to similar behaviors) the “embarrassing” behavior can happen when they are 2-3 years old like it happens with “neurotypical” kids, but it can also happen when they’re 6, or 9, or 12. So what?

Sure, that person is looking down on you. Sure, they’ll get home and you’ll be the dinner conversation. Sure, they’ll feel superior to you because that would never happen to them, because their child behaves. They are raising their child to obey, and respect their parents, not like these new age/hippie/millennials/whatever parents who don’t know how to properly raise a child. They don’t know you, don’t know your story, don’t know what you’ve tried or not, what has worked and what has backfired. How much you slept last night or if you slept at all.

And they don’t care.

You. Should. Not. Care. Either.

Let them think whatever they want. Let them speak about you. You don’t know them and you would not want to be their friend anyway.

Care for your child. Your child is the one waiting for you at home. Is the one having dinner with you. And the one you hug in the mornings, and kiss good night when they go to sleep.

The rest of the world is out there, outside your home, and does not matter.

To My Preteen Self on Autistics Speaking Day

C.L. Bridge, To My Preteen Self on Autistics Speaking Day on the Autistic Women and Nonbinary Network


To My Preteen Self

Hello from the future! There are so many things I want to tell you. But first, I suppose I should explain what Autistics Speaking Day is, and why I chose to write to you on this day. For you, it’s 2003. Autistics Speaking Day won’t exist until 2010, but it is a day when autistic people share their thoughts and stories, and make their voices heard.

I know it’s hard for you to make your voice heard. Sometimes you can’t find the words to say what you need or how you feel. Sometimes you know the words but can’t get them out. Sometimes you end up saying things you don’t mean. And even when the words do come out right, people don’t always listen.

Sometimes you hide your joy, sadness and fear behind anger, without even realizing that is what you are doing. You’ve been called a crybaby. You’ve been told that your expressions of joy make you look weird. That’s why sometimes, when you want to say something sweet, it comes out as sarcasm. It’s why sometimes, when you want to hug someone, you pull away instead. I wish I could show you the movie Inside Out, because you would enjoy it, and it would help you understand yourself better. But it won’t come out until you’re in college.

Yes, you will go to college. No, college isn’t all about sleepless nights and ten page papers, despite what you may believe now. In community college you won’t fit in with most of your classmates, but you will like most of your professors and most of your classes. When you move on to university, you will finally find your people. You will have fun, learn a lot, create things, overcome many challenges… and you will do it all surrounded by friends who love you.

But let’s get back to feelings and autism. I want you to know that your feelings and preferences are okay, even when others don’t think so. You don’t have to stay at a sleepover party you aren’t enjoying, even if your friend is the birthday girl. Liking Pokémon is not babyish, even though some of your peers will take many years to realize that. And it’s okay that you have feelings and questions about your diagnosis.

“I am not autistic,” I hear you say. “Tony Attwood’s book says autistic people are great at math, but I’m no good at math! It says autistic people prefer nonfiction and are bored by fiction, but I’d much rather read a fairy tale than an encyclopedia. Worst of all, it says autistic people lack empathy. I care about others!”

That book will be outdated when you’re my age, and it isn’t completely accurate. Many autistic people enjoy fiction and struggle with math. We are totally capable of caring for others. Sometimes doctors and psychologists don’t understand us as well as they think they do. You are autistic, and that’s not a bad thing, even if some books and TV commercials make it sound like a bad thing.

Speaking of psychologists, hold on to yours. He’s on your side. I know you don’t think so right now, and it was unwise of your parents to avoid telling you why you were taken to see him. But he knows a thing or two about accepting differences. Your older self has discovered the hard way that many psychologists want to turn autistic people into someone we’re not. The psychologist who diagnosed you with autism will never try to turn you into someone you’re not. I wish you could find the words to ask him some of your autism questions.

I’d also advise you to leave your school before seventh grade. If you stay, you’ll be stuck in a classroom with much older kids who constantly get away with inappropriate behavior. They will not be a good example for you. You won’t learn much English, math, science, or history in that classroom either. You’ll learn more of that by teaching yourself at home.

You’ll learn those subjects in college too—and you’ll also learn how to play chess. The student who teaches you to play chess will become a wonderful friend. You’ll even learn to take care of marine mammals. Yes, marine mammals. I don’t want to spoil too much, but close encounters with large aquatic creatures are in your future.

One day, you will write a letter to an autism specialist because you believe the way this specialist describes girls like you is unfair. This letter, your first advocacy letter, will never be answered. However, you will keep writing letters about autism. Some people won’t answer, but some will. Some won’t understand, but some will. Some of these letters will make real changes, because the people who received them heard your voice and listened.

It’s Autistics Speaking Day. Your voice—our voice—is more powerful than you think.

Wishing you courage and hope,

Your twenty-five-year-old self

The Desexualization of Women with Disabilities Should Not Be an Unspoken Issue

Nicolette Cetrulo, The Desexualization of Women with Disabilities Should Not Be an Unspoken Issue from The Odyssey Online

The Desexualization of Women with Disabilities Should Not Be an Unspoken Issue

It may not sound like an issue, but it's more of an issue than you think.

When people think about feminism, one of the issues that tend to be brought up the most is how women tend to be oversexualized by the media and by others in their lives. Many minority women are often the targets of this over-sexualization, especially women of color and LGBTQ+ women. This issue is talked about so often that people tend to forget that there is an opposite end of the spectrum, and it is more of an issue than most people think. I'm of course talking about women with disabilities and how they tend to be desexualized rather than over-sexualized.

People would tend to think, "well, how is this an issue? Doesn't this technically mean that women with disabilities are seen as people first?" Well, that right there is the problem; they're not. In general, people with disabilities are not seen as people, they are seen as animals or weird mythical creatures that need to be changed in order to fit in with society, or at least, that was how I was seen for most of my life. This is why the desexualization of women with disabilities is just as much of an issue as over-sexualization of women is.

I have mentioned in a previous article that I am on the autism spectrum, so a lot of things that come naturally to other people don't come naturally to me (i.e. social skills and making friends). What I never mentioned was how others would often find me sexy, and once I tell them that I'm on the autism spectrum, they automatically don't think I'm sexy anymore. This was a kind of mindset that not only confused me but also made me feel worse about my autism than I already did. How could a disability be an automatic turn-off to a lot of people?

This has been part of the reason why I've been struggling with self-image issues since I was in middle school, and even more when I got my diagnosis a little bit later. While most of my self-image issues have always been more interior than exterior, it still has affected me terribly and I just wanted to feel beautiful in my own skin. When I was sixteen years old, I was given the opportunity to model at the Access Ridgewood Fashion Show and this was the first time to my memory where I felt hot.

I understand that on the surface, the desexualization of women with disabilities doesn't seem like a problem, but knowing how people with disabilities are treated in society, it is more of an issue than you think. This issue has been the reason why I've been struggling with my body and self-image for so long and why so many other women with disabilities have been struggling with body and self-image. If we stop belittling people down to their disabilities and treating them like human beings, the stigma against people with disabilities wanting to be sexy can end.

Life on the Spectrum

Sean Callaghan has submitted his blog Life on the Spectrum.

Sean has requested trigger warnings.

All materials on following the link has not been reviewed, so reader discretion is advised. At the very least, content warnings are in place for life story events.

From Life on the Spectrum, Chapter 4:  

At some point that summer I found out about the fact that I had been diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome, suddenly all the pills and all the bizarre classroom and school switches began to make sense. This would become a liability in the coming year. I started Middle School around the first week of September 2001. We were the only class in session since the School District that the Intermediate Unit was leasing a school room from was on strike. But the IU staff was not on strike and so we had class, giving us a rather bizarre beginning to Middle School because most of the district kids were not there.  That was good on some level, since I did not initially have the problems I expected, having for some time been scared of Middle School and teenagers (I was a strong believer in the line “oh the hideous stench of teenagers,” as was heard in the first Power Rangers film).  You might think this odd since I was very close to being a teenager myself. Plus I had other issues; the teachers were brand new and had no more clue to what they were getting into than I did.

Read More Here 

Autistics Speaking Day 2018 Prep

Hello all!

Corina here!

I have the submission form up for ASDay 2018 in case anyone wants to submit something early for this year. A reminder that even if you submit early, ASDay starts on November 1 and that's when submissions will be posted.

Link to the submission form is found in the side bar and here.

Can't wait to see everyone's submissions this year!!

Participants List 2017

Autistics

Courtney Johnson - The Case for Identity-first
Anonymous Guest on Samantha Hack's Tumblr - Sparrows and Penguins
C.L. Bridge - I’m Not “Other”, I’m Your Classmate
Cyndi/butterflyinthewell - The Heart Asks For Pleasure First
Leonard Corey Philip - Neurodiversity Theory: An Introduction
Paula Jones - Understanding the female aspire in your life. (see content warnings)
Carolina Rutz - Of Acceptance and Kisses from Silver Charm (see trigger warnings)
K. Bron Johnson - We're Not As Divided As You Believe
Dani Alexis - Sad Little Autistics Can't Get Girlfriends and That's Not a Bad Thing
Rachel Waters - The Woman Who Mistook Herself for a Sociopath
Nicolette - An Open Letter to Autism Speaks
Christy Walk - We Are Still Here and Not Going Anywhere
Leeanne Marshall - Autistics Speaking Day: On Understandings
chavisory - Autistics Speaking Day 2017: What I would say to autistic people who want a cure
echolaliachamber - My body is not your empathy gimmick
Nika Rivilis - "I Wish You Knew."  (Removed by author's request)
Dallas Brogden - Stop attacking us and start listening to us: Autistic adults (see trigger warnings)
Jane Au Strauss - #Autistics Speaking Day (see trigger warnings)
Tamsin Parker - Force of Habit
Janey Colbourne - Nonverbal Day Today
Janey Colbourne - #ADHD and #ASD do they make a good couple?
Catsidhe - Words Cut (see trigger warnings) 
Paula Jones - Adventures of an autistic business owner (see content warnings)
Vanissar Tarakali - Somatics on the Spectrum (see content warnings)
Spekkio - How the Victorian Public Service discriminates against autistic graduates (see trigger warnings) 
Alyssa - "Speaking" to academia #ASDay
TimeTravellingGirl - Autistics Speaking Day: Special Interests and Autism
AutismDogGirl - We need to stop treating AAC as a last ditch option and more
Corina Becker - For ASDay 2017 and Ever After
Adelaide Dupont - Does the happy autist have a history? (see trigger warnings)
Brigid Rankowski - La La La, I'm so Happy
tahrab - The assessment and The supermarket (see trigger warnings)

The supermarket

tahrab writes The supermarket at lucalunablog.

Trigger warnings at the post:  swearing (arsehole, crap, damn, fuck, goddamn, motherfucker, shit),  sensory integration issues

Trigger warnings here:  swearing (damn, fuck)


The supermarket

I’m heading to the supermarket. Either one. I only use the third player for its salmon and those damn rice cracker packs my kids inhale. And even then I exit with a random middle aisle purchase or seven…you know the ones. The beach towel. The craft pack. The soap dispenser (seriously?). The bamboo chopping board and bag of tennis balls. So…focus.

 I’ve pulled in to park. My silver SUV blends with the other silver SUVs except for its side scrapes on both sides. Starting to rust. The maneuvering just to get the car in or out of our garage does my head in. I can spend the next 15 minutes of the drive ruminating over the “stupidity and greed of developers”. I cannot understand at a deep cellular – seriously at a visceral level – why anyone would choose to squash us all in. Why not allow a little wriggle room for those days when my hands ache and my sense of spatial awareness isn’t the best? For fuck’s sake. But I digress.

Read the full post here.

The assessment

tahrab sends us The assessment

It’s Spring and the city light is squinty bright. We’re driving up winding streets with seascape views so stunning I almost forgive the traffic crush. My stomach is aching with nerves and my hands are shaky.

We find Building 2 after being buzzed in at the boom gate. It’s an industrial complex with a café and a bushblock next door. I can smell the heat on the gums, banskias, natives flowering. Double-storeyed monoliths loom. We take the lift to the second floor.

Inside we say goodbye and I sit in the corner on a black vinyl couch. The magazines are old and domestic. Cakes and clothing and gossip and body size.

I unwrap my half eaten sandwich and crouch over a paper napkin. The very first resuming bite slops tomato on my light pink top. I pad at it with the napkin and manage to both squash and spread it further.

The receptionist at the front desk is chatting to another staff member. They’re comparing shoes. They have worn “the same” as each other, though to me they look quite different. There’s detailed talk (so much of it!) of footwear and driving to their work meeting later that day as neither “want to walk in high heels”. I look at my broad sandalled feet.

My name is called and I’m ushered down the corridor and into a windowless room. I was going to write airless, for that’s how it instantly felt, like a sudden squeeze to my chest. The walls and carpet are a yellowish beige and there are two noisy canvasses hung. Four itchy blue chairs circle a coffee table. “Please take a seat”.

The day begins and on it goes in various forms till the mid afternoon. There’s talking and answering all sorts of questions and discussing such a range of topics that I’m genuinely surprised. My mother is phoned for an interview part way through and I retreat to the café to guzzle peach iced tea and answer more questionnaires. My head is now spinning.

When I return to the room there’s still more discussion. Then, finally, as we limp to the finish line, the assessor delivers her diagnosis, my diagnosis: you have autism spectrum disorder. You have had it since birth, you will always have it and it is not ambiguous. You are not borderline, it is not a maybe, it’s very clear. Here are my findings and here’s my reasoning and here are some recommendations.

Though I know she’s a clinical psychologist specialising in autism, I hear myself nevertheless asking how long she’s been doing these assessments, you know just in case she has no idea. She smiles and says “six years”.

She hands me some paperwork and leads me to the lift. Down I go to the afternoon sun and sit out by the boom gate waiting for my husband to collect me. He arrives with our daughter and a block of chocolate.

We drive back to the seaside suburb we’re staying in and he drives on to collect the boys from their robotics day. I’m alone in the apartment, an art deco place with terrible acoustics. I make a rattling cup of tea and wait.

Soon there’s a knock on the door and I open it to the four of them. First my oldest son who too has autism. He is beaming. His mouth seems gorgeously huge – his face is all smile and shining eyes. He doesn’t say hello but simply bursts with “so I hear you have autism – that’s awesome!” and wraps his arms around me so tight and for so long that I’m quite sure it’s the longest he’s ever hugged me. Then our second son, who is also autistic. “Hi mum, you’ve got autism. Cool.” And he slides past nodding to himself. My daughter’s next, tugging at my arm “we bought you flowers mummy!” and then my husband stumbles in carrying bags and hats and water bottles…“Hey bella” and I fall into another embrace that seems to last forever.