#autismpositive

It occurred to me that, with NT allies of autistic people getting together more and more, and with many parents starting to adopt the autism-positive approach to their autistic children, that it would be a good idea if there was a simple way for such people to find each other online. We autistics could also do with a simple way of identifying those who are our allies – and, sometimes, of finding each other, when we are new to the autistic community, especially online.

So I got the idea of the hashtag #autismpositive. It’s a simple thing that people can add to their blog or forum description or subject line, their Facebook group description or a pinned post in the group (probably best not in a regular post, as it will tend to get buried down the page in time). Or you could add it to the descriptive stuff on your own social media page perhaps. It seems to me that there are many ways it could be used, to identify other autism-positive types.

If you’re not sure what being autism-positive means, exactly, I defined it here in a recent blog post. It’s exactly what it says – someone who takes a positive and accepting approach to autism, rather than talking of curing, ‘defeating’ or ‘fighting’ autism, and other such negativity.

Anyway, hope you like the idea.

Time To Step Up

A change has been happening for me lately. And that change is that I’ve realised I want to more actively fight for autistic rights, change the public perception and treatment of autistics, etc. To be more active as an advocate, in other words.

So why now, some might ask, and not years ago? 

I think the answer to that is many-sided. When I first began to realise that I might be autistic, nearly ten years ago, I had only a negative picture of autism. It wasn’t till I found other autistics that I began to see the real people beyond the stereotypes, and to understand just how much being autistic has shaped me. Nonetheless, it’s taken a lot of time and effort to dismantle the negativity piece by piece, to see it for the pure BS it all too often is, and to actually feel pride in being autistic. 

And, like so many autistics, I was damaged, carrying a truck-load of emotional crap from my years of struggling to survive in a world that, to put it mildly, is uncongenial to those on the spectrum. I was scared, angry, drained, cynical, baffled and repelled by the world, and in retreat from it. Most of all, I was hugely ashamed of my ‘difference’. I could not see it, or myself, in any positive light. In fact I’d become so used to concealing my true self, that it took years before I could even talk about it with my family, let alone ‘go public’ as an autistic.

Then there’s my own personal history. I was active in the feminist and anti-racism movements in my mid-to-late 20s, and then basically burnt out, and dropped out. I’d had enough. Once you’ve been to one demonstration or protest march, chanted the slogans and waved the banners and placards, you’ve basically been to them all. I also felt I didn’t have either the skills or the personality that it took to be a leader, and I was bored with being a ‘foot soldier’.

I was physically tired too. I’d been trying to do too much for too long – university study, political activism, struggling to survive on a benefit, being a solo parent, attempting to have some kind of social life and/or relationships, and all the time dealing with my ‘difference’. I was pushing the boat out further and further, trying to please, trying to be what I thought I ‘should’ be, trying to force myself into normality. It didn’t work, and I collapsed. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew I wasn’t well.

I still didn’t take the care of myself I needed to though, and a few years later I collapsed again, fleeing to the country to try to heal. Eventually, after ten years of illness and a third and even more drastic collapse, I was finally diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, but by then I was almost bedridden. My nights were filled with pain, my days with exhaustion. I was unable to do pretty much anything, I couldn’t even read. It took years to come back from that, a long, arduous and often boring recovery. And I still live in fear of stressing myself out to the point of another collapse, which I might not come back from again. I have become ruthless about looking after myself – because I must.

Hence I came into the autistic community with a whole heap of issues, and it’s taken me a lot of time to work through them. Even when I became aware that others were fighting for us, I felt that I was too tired, too old, too cynical and withdrawn from the world to contribute much. Or perhaps even that my writing was sufficient contribution to the ‘cause’.

But this past year or two, despite all of my issues, or maybe even because of them, I’ve come to see that none of these things are important anymore. And that the only way I can truly exist in this world, or co-exist with it, is as a thoroughly authentic autistic – proudly and openly so. Making the world adjust to me, in other words.

So I’ve realised it’s now time. It’s not enough for me anymore, to sit back and let the brave few go out there and fight for my rights. Moreover, I think it’s time not only for me, but for lots of us to get involved. Because being out there, often as isolated voices, is taking a heavy toll on those few. They’re getting abused, slandered, threatened, psychologically battered and bruised, some are even getting burnt out from their efforts. They need our help and support.

I know that many of us have been focused up till now on building community, which is of course hugely important too. But that task is pretty much done, at least online, and if we want our community to ever be more than simply a refuge from an unsympathetic world, then it’s time to use it as a ‘launch pad’.

I also suspect that while most of us are probably supportive of the advocacy others are doing, many perhaps think that joining them is too hard, or that they have too many struggles already. I know just how hard life can be as an autistic, and that we all have multiple issues to deal with. But if our lives are ever going to getting any easier, if we’re ever going to create a world that’s bearable not just for us but for the next generations of autistics, we need to make it so.

As I’ve said above, I also have my struggles, and I’m no spring chicken anymore. I have maybe 20-25 effective years of life left in me, provided my health lasts out, which is not of course a given. I know how long it can take, to effect real change, and I want to make those years count.

Some might say ‘But I don’t know what to do’. The best answer to that is – ask someone who’s already doing it, and who you admire, what you can do. Once you get involved, what needs doing tends to present itself. And we can do it - together.

I say to all of us – it’s time. Time to get involved. The advocates already out there need our assistance, or in some cases even to ‘pass on the torch’. Let’s get out there and change the world.

See you on the front lines…

Some Advice for Younger Autistic Adults

In a post last year, I talked about how the number of younger autistics who are basically ‘sitting around doing nothing’ appalled me (and not only me). More recently, I listened as an aspie friend of mine and a young autistic woman talked. My friend was asking the young woman what she was doing with her life, and she kept saying “Well, I can’t do this, I can’t do that”. After she left the room, my friend commented “I’ve heard a lot about what ____ can’t do, but I’d like to hear her say what she can do”.

Such attitudes are, I believe, the result of young autistics growing up receiving negative messages about autism (communicated openly or not) from those around them. Some have had years of ‘special’ education and ‘treatments’ and being told or having it assumed what they “can’t” do, rather than being encouraged to explore what they can do. Others are newer diagnosed, but still accept the ‘doom and gloom’ image of autism. They’ve all come to believe that being autistic is an affliction that will ‘ruin’ or at least constrict their lives. In consequence, it’s like they give up on life before they’ve even started.

We older autistics have a certain advantage here – going through life without the benefit (or drawback) of a diagnosis, we were simply expected to get on with things, and so we did. We got educations or training, worked in various jobs and careers, travelled and saw the world, had relationships, had kids and raised them, joined churches, community organisations, social and political movements, did volunteer work and a whole heap of other things - in short we just got on with our lives, and participated in the world, to the best of our abilities – and frequently beyond them.

And yes, it did come at a enormous cost – massive confusion, anxiety and stress, frequent meltdowns or shutdowns, depression, self-hatred and low self-esteem, often leading to physical illnesses or even suicide attempts, not to mention suffering the frequent anger, rejection, ridicule, derision, bullying, abuse, exploitation, etc of others, without having the slightest idea why we were being so harshly treated, or what was ‘wrong’ with us.

BUT. (And it’s a big BUT.) But we also achieved much, learnt much, accumulated a great deal of experience - and came to understand ourselves a lot better, and to know exactly what our real capabilities are. We know that we can do much more than autistics are ‘supposed’ to be able to – because we’ve done it! (And when people try to claim that “proves” we “can’t be” autistic after all, we can only roll our eyes.)

Yes, I know it’s easier said than done – and that at least some young autistics don’t do anything much because they simply don’t know how, or where to begin. Ignorance of the world and how it works is a huge problem for young autistics. I remember it was for me. So here’s a possible plan of action for them.

1) Accept your autism. Embrace it. You might as well, because you can’t get rid of it. [Don’t hope for a ‘cure’. Those working on ‘curing’ us are either a) working on methods to suppress all outward signs of our ‘deficiency’ – meaning they want to force us to hide who we are – or b) working on ways to eliminate us before we’re even born.] Find your true peers, ie other autistics, and you will begin to see in them the beauty that is also within you. We have problems, yes, but we also have great strengths. Develop them, use them, grow into the fullness of your true autistic self.

2) Know yourself. Know your personality, how your autism manifests, what you are as well as being autistic. Many young autistics (including me when I was young) don’t really have a great deal of self-awareness, and hence can’t decide what to do with their lives. Whether online or in books, do personality tests, IQ tests, aptitude tests, ‘the right job for you’ tests, etc, etc. Scour the library and the internet, read anything that might enhance your self-knowledge. Yes, most of what you read will be NT-orientated, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing helpful in it. Take what is relevant to you, and discard the rest. The point is to increase your self-awareness, not to dump on yourself for not being ‘normal’.

3) Work on your obstacles. Don’t let ‘autistic things’, eg a tendency to meltdowns, stop you. This is where other autistics can really help – we have a pool of knowledge that can help you figure out your triggers, recognise your warning signals, cope better, ask for accommodations or changes, etc, etc. And if one thing doesn’t work, do try another, and another, and another. Don’t just give up, and let these problems stand in the way of a fuller life. There’s a way round everything.

4) Formulate goals. Once you know yourself a bit better (and this is usually an ongoing thing), you can begin to figure out what you want to do. List what you know you can do well, or like to do – even if it’s only looking after your pet, making cakes, and playing computer games. Fancy being a baker? A vet? A computer games designer? Don’t let your imagination be limited by what you think you ‘can’t’ do, or have been told you’ll ‘never’ be able to do. Figure out ways to do it anyway – eg, if the idea of studying long years to become a vet is too daunting, what about being a vet nurse instead? A cattery or kennel assistant? Or working in a pet shop, or even as a volunteer at an animal shelter or SPCA? It could be the first step to a rewarding, fulfilling career. Go for it.

5) Find mentors. If there’s one thing I wish I’d had more of when younger, and that I wish for younger autistics, it’s people willing to guide and inform us. We are so woefully ignorant of so much, we need to be told, explicitly, of a whole bunch of stuff, and guided through it till we learn how to do it for ourselves. You will probably need more than one mentor, and to keep periodically finding new ones, as your life changes – someone for educational or career stuff, someone else you can ask ‘how do I do this’ type questions of, maybe someone else still for dating or relationship advice. Look for these mentors amongst your family and friends, your teachers, support people and school careers advisors, but also at disability resource centers, campus disability support services, social services, NGOs, religious institutions… whatever is available in your community.

6) Stretch yourself. Now and again, give your boundaries a little push. Take risks. Maybe the ‘pushing’ has to be well-prepared for, and the risks small, brief and ‘managed’ ones. But you will learn from them, and expand your capabilities. Keep doing this throughout your life – and you will surprise yourself with what you find you’re able to achieve. It will do wonders for your self-esteem, believe me.

7) Above all – be proactive. Take charge of your life – because ultimately no-one else will do it for you. (Even if they’ve done it up till now, they won’t when you’re an adult. Or they shouldn’t, not if you can learn to do it for yourself.) Yes, you will make mistakes, but don’t be too hard on yourself for them, or try to avoid them altogether. Making mistakes is human.

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Don’t get me wrong – I’m not saying that it will be easy, or that changes are going to happen overnight. But it’s still worth the effort. And in case you’re still not convinced, let me list what is likely to happen to you if you continue to just sit around and complain about what you ‘can’t’ do.

a) Poverty. If you think being poor sucks at twenty, imagine still being poor at forty. Or fifty, or sixty, when your health, hearing or eyesight is deteriorating and you still can’t afford decent housing or furniture or food, and the prospect of any job has become a mirage.

b) Homelessness. This is a real risk for the poor at any age – and it’s a prospect even less attractive when you’ve got arthritis, a dodgy heart and tired, aching bones. Fancy being a bag lady, or living under a bridge?

c) Institutionalisation. Who do you think will look after you once your parents/caregivers are gone? Siblings and other relatives are often not keen on taking on that burden, financially or otherwise. If you haven’t acquired at least some measure of independence, as an alternative to being homeless, you could end up somewhere really, really horrible. Think the worst kind of old folks’ homes. Think the Judge Rotenberg Centre. Look it up – and be afraid. Be very afraid.

d) Compassion Fatigue. Put bluntly, when you are no longer young, and your life hasn’t changed any despite the best efforts of others, people get tired of trying to help. You could find yourself without any kind of support system at all. You could even end up one of those old people who die alone and friendless, in their tiny flats or apartments, and aren’t found till they’ve been dead for weeks.

e) Boredom and frustration. Doing nothing actually sucks. It’s really, really boring, especially if you do it for years on end. Even if you have a whole heap of special interests, your life may still feel constricted. You might even get so frustrated with it, you do something completely crazy that turns your life upside down, just to break the monotony. The trouble is with these sudden changes is that we’re usually totally unprepared for them, and hence they tend to rebound on us, making our lives much worse.

f) A sense of unrealised potential/life passing you by. It will also suck when you’re old and look back at your life and realise how many things you could have done and didn’t. You’ll feel like life and the years have vanished, while you did nothing, achieved nothing, were nothing. It’s a horrible, horrible feeling. Avoid it. Get off your butt and get out there, in one way or another.

I want to emphasise here than I’m not saying these things to lecture you, but because all of you are precious to me. Yes, there will still be difficulties and trials – they are part of everyone’s life – and of course some of us older auties have experienced the above too. You may endure some of them anyway, even when you’ve put in your best efforts. But it’s pretty much guaranteed that you will (especially e and f), if you don’t take charge of and do the utmost you can with your life. Even if you’re ‘lower-functioning’, and full independence may always be beyond you, nevertheless, you still need to take control of as many areas of your life as possible. Because the alternatives suck, big time. And you deserve better.

THE AUTISTIC BILL OF RIGHTS

THE AUTISTIC BILL OF RIGHTS

by Penni Winter

It being self-evident that all autistics are human beings, we are entitled to enjoy, in full, the same rights as other human beings, including but not limited to the following –

1) The right to exist. We have the right to enter and stay in the world on the same terms as anyone else, and to not, at any stage of our existence, be subjected to any form of genetic testing, sperm or embryonic selection, abortion, murder, euthanasia or other types of genocide, solely on the grounds of our presumed or actual autism, or the alleged ‘burden’ we place on our families and caregivers.

2) The right to be our true selves. At all ages and stages of our existence, we have the right to be openly and thoroughly autistic, including the right to stim or exhibit other obviously autistic behaviour, without punitive suppression, harsh ‘treatments’ designed to ‘therapise’ our autism out of existence, or pressure to adopt a futile and taxing façade of ‘normality’.

3) The right to respect. We have the right to be treated with dignity and respect at all times and in all places, regardless of our age, perceived intelligence, level of functioning, ability to communicate, or any co-existing conditions we may have; and to not be the recipient of any form of violence or abuse whatsoever.

4) The right to a positive self-identity. We have the right to reject the concept of autism as a ‘tragedy’ or ‘disease’ in need of ‘cure’, to celebrate being autistic, to define our own autistic identity, and to assert being autistic as a healthy, valid alternative way of being human, no matter our age, functioning level, etc, as above.

5) The right to independence. We have the right to enjoy as much independence as we are individually capable of, to whatever extent and in whatever manner we choose, to have all necessary supports to enable this, and to not be incarcerated against our will, except where and until when a non-autistic would be incarcerated under the same circumstances.

6) The right to gather. We have the right to associate with other autistics on our own terms, to exclude non-autistics from those gatherings if we so choose, and to develop our autistic culture, without scorn, censure, interference or ‘management’, however well-intentioned, from and by non-autistics.

7) The right to political expression. We have the right, if we so choose, to advocate for these and further rights for all autistics, and to challenge the prevailing attitudes and practises around autism, without being patronised, ignored, excluded, scorned, attacked or told we are ‘not autistic enough’, on any grounds whatsoever.

8) The right to be included. We have the right to demand inclusion, in more than token numbers, on and in all and any decision- or policy-making bodies or proceedings about the status, rights, treatment or care of autistics, both in general, and in relation to any autistic individual or individuals.

“Nothing About Us, Without Us!”

Five Reasons Not To Hate Being Autistic

I wrote recently on how I’d become aware of other auties hating their autism. It’s understandable (though not good) that they should do so, when you consider the lives of many on the spectrum. We struggle with sensory overloads, social difficulties, relationship problems, executive functioning problems, difficulties with employment and poverty, not to mention the lack of supports, accommodations and – crucially – understanding from others. We have often struggled through a lifetime of being condemned, abused, bullied, belittled, ridiculed, jeered at, sneered at, yelled at, rejected and isolated, and sometimes even subjected to torturous ‘therapy’. We may have been told, or heard our parents being told, that we are ‘flawed’ or ‘damaged’, and doomed to never have a decent life.

So yes, it is understandable, that some should hate what they see as the ‘cause’ of all that. But if we’re miserable, it’s not because of our autism per se, but our life-situations, and all that they lack - or don’t lack (that criticism, rejection, etc). To blame it on the autism rather than the attitudes and practises of those around us, is like blaming gays for homophobia, or indeed any group for their oppression. I know it can be hard to separate it out sometimes, especially when we’re, say, in sensory overload, or being dumped on by our ‘nearest and dearest’, or struggling to keep our home tidy, etc, etc, but there is a difference between these things and the autism itself. Autism is at its heart a profoundly different way of thinking and being. It’s neurologically-based, and though it often goes hand in hand with things like sensory issues, alexithymia (difficulty recognising and managing emotions), executive dysfunction, depression and anxiety, it is not itself those things.

And yet, even if we can see this, it can still be hard to find anything good about it. So I’ve made a list of reasons why we should celebrate being autistic.

1) Our different and original way of thinking. The world needs our innovative thinking – as Temple Grandin said, if things had been left to NTs, we’d all be still sitting around in caves chit-chatting. And even if you think you’re not especially innovative, you can still bring a fresh perspective to things. I remember once, in a feminist meeting many years ago, I got sick of how people were ‘talking around the point’. So I spoke up and said what I thought the real issues were – and several women came up afterwards and thanked me for this!

And if you’re thinking “well, that may be so for the ‘high-functioning’, but what about those who aren’t?” They still have something to contribute – even if it’s only teaching the NTs around them the value of compassion and taking the time to observe and understand those who are ‘different’.

2) Our honesty. This can be misinterpreted as ‘rudeness’, I know. But in a world full of BS of different kinds, some will find it refreshing and straightforward. We may have to learn how to ‘soften the edges’ of our honesty, or choose our words wisely, but it’s still a quality worth having.

3) Our integrity. This is sort of an offshoot of our honesty, and one which employers, partners, friends and associates can come to value, even – or especially – in a world where so many are conspicuously lacking in it. Don’t be shy about revealing it. It’s actually something to be proud of.

4) Our special interests. These are a source of so much enjoyment - certainly I wouldn’t be without mine. I pity NTs who never know the pleasure of hours and hours spent completely wrapped up in a favourite interest or activity. There’s nothing like it. I wouldn’t swap my special interests for all the socialising ability in the world.

5) We’re stuck with it. Autism is fixed at the genetic and neurological level. There’s no pill to get rid of it, and isn’t ever likely to be. The most that is likely to happen is that they’ll work out how to stop us being born in the first place, not a pleasant prospect. So we might as well accept it, and if we can, to even embrace it. Because why should we creep and cringe through the world, constantly apologetic for our very existence? We’re here, we have a right to exist and to be our true selves, just as much as any other human being does. The fact that we are human often gets lost by those dumping on us, but we don’t have to join in with them.

So there you go. This is just a ‘starter’ list really, I’m sure others will think of more reasons to celebrate, or at least not to hate, being autistic. Go for it.

Autism Positivity Flash Blog post

Tuesday, April 30^th, 2013, has been designated ‘Autism Positivity Flash Blog’ Day. I’ve been deliberating on what to write about for this. The good points about being autistic? Our strengths? Sure, there are plenty, but which to choose? But finally I realised the best thing about ‘Autism Positivity’ is that it can occur at all.

And the reason it’s able to occur, is the autistic community. We, who the ‘experts’ said were ‘anti-social’, could never form communities, create our own organisations, build bonds and ties with each other – or, indeed, with anyone - have done just that. Prior to the formation of this community,  we were – and in many cases still are - isolated, muted, marooned in a sea of hostility and rejection, imprisoned by the rampant negativity and ‘hate autism’ messages that even now still dominate the public ‘discussion’ about autism. Raised to hate this core part of our very identity and selves, to collude with the concept of autism as a ‘tragedy’ and ourselves as a ‘burden’, to believe that we are worthless, unable to contribute anything to the world, many believed they would be better off dead – something many NTs were only too inclined to agree with. At best, we were objects of pity and ‘charity’, beneficiaries of the ‘poor thing, they can’t help it’ attitude. Even if we had no diagnosis, especially if we were around before diagnosis was possible, we were nonetheless conditioned to hate our ‘weirdness’. To devalue ourselves, and our ways. To deny our strengths, and at least attempt to conceal our ‘weaknesses’ or our ‘strange’ behaviours. To put up the pretense of ‘normality’, and to hope, vainly, that some day we would truly attain it, if we only tried hard enough. Certainly nearly all of us have been given that message - that if we’d ‘only try harder’ we could fit in, could be ‘just like anyone else’. We believed it. We didn’t believe in ourselves. What, after all, was there to believe in? A deficient, sub-standard creature, the only one (or so we often believed) like it in the world? A ‘lemon’ on the human production line? The rest of the world, we reasoned, could not be wrong and we right.

And then we started to meet. We started to build connections, friendships, even sometimes relationships, with each other. We began to look at each other, and think, hey, this person’s autistic, yet I really like them, they aren’t awful, aren’t worthless, aren’t a pathetic weakling… maybe I’m not so bad either… And so the first precious stirrings of self-esteem emerged. We began to see just how badly we had been, and still were (and are, and are!), being treated. We began to reject such treatment, to form a new and more positive way of looking at ourselves and each other. We began to openly reject the negative images of autism, and to campaign for ‘autism rights’. We began to see that they are, in fact, simply human rights – voting ourselves back into the human race, back up from the subhuman state the ‘experts’ and society had condemned (and in many cases are still condemning) us to.

It happened like this for me, and for so many others. I floundered and stumbled my way through the world, hating myself, concealing my ‘weirdness’ as best as I could, trying vainly to be normal, to be accepted. Then I finally began to realise that I had AS, and on the heels of that, found the AS community online, and then face to face, ‘in real life’. And it was …amazing. For the first time, I made real friends, with people who really seemed to like me, to value me, to value my opinions and want to spend time with me. Only then did I realize just how badly my earlier attempts at forming friendships had gone, how the usual fare there was coolness, being ‘shut out’, being told I was ‘just too strange’, asked ‘what planet did I come from’, laughed at, or even outright rejected. It had been painfully obvious that very few wanted to know me – and I’d grown used to that, resigned myself to the ‘fact’ that I was ‘just lousy at making friends’, and eventually given up trying to do so. But in the autistic community, I found understanding, support, and simple acceptance of who and what I am. The transition from ‘weird nobody’ to ‘esteemed friend’ was a treasure beyond dreams. The first time I realised this, I cried.

Several years on, it is still the case that if I want positive reinforcement of my place in the world, if I want to feel like I have something worthwhile to contribute, if I simply want to feel that I’m a likeable, okay sort of person, then the autism community is the place I go. Nowhere else do I get such reinforcement, such validation, such emotional support. The rest of the world may not value me, but my autistic friends do.

And I value them. This validation and reinforcement, this acceptance and even embracing of each other as autistics, is the single biggest gift we can give to ourselves and to every other autistic person in the world. Yes, we have our problems, our splits and feuds and divisions, our trolls and our undesirables. We’re not going to magically love every other autistic person we meet. And yes, we have ‘issues’ that need sorting out amongst us. But don’t walk away if you encounter problems – because this is it folks – this is our community, there is nowhere else for us to go, nowhere that will accept us, embrace us and understand us. It’s the foundation of our self-esteem, the place where we can be ourselves amongst our peers, the place where we learn to accept ourselves and our autism, to recast our entire self-image, and potentially our entire lives. It’s also the base from which we can go out into the world and change it, change the whole ‘discussion’ on autism, and secure better treatment for all of us, whatever our ‘functioning’ level, whatever our formal diagnosis or lack of it. In other words, it’s the pathway to freedom.

Alone, we flounder and fall. Alone, we will go on suffering, each in our own private hells, with no hope of remission, unless and until the world finds some way to exterminate us. If we don’t have community, we die, literally or in our spirits. If we don’t have community, we will sink without a trace, becoming lost, wandering souls without a ‘home’. Too many of us are still lost, still ‘out there in the wilderness’, still immersed in hating their autism, and themselves. A lot, I suspect, don’t even know the community exists, and I truly feel for them. (Who says we don’t have empathy?!)

So embrace the autism community, and the Autism Positivity it engenders. It saves lives.

Autistic People Are

Autistic People Are Beautiful.

There’s a kind of purity of soul about all autistic people, even the ‘grumpy’ or ‘difficult’ or ‘further-out-there-than-most’ sorts. There’s a kind of integrity about us, by which I mean a wholeness, a directness of purpose, a solidness of the spirit; that exists even when it’s covered over with layers of ‘adaptation’ and ‘social skills’ and the often deep scars from the damage that the world has done to us. We simply don’t have it in us, it seems, to compromise that. And I’m darned if I see why we should. It’s just beautiful.

Autistic People Are Honest.

This is part of that beauty – an unswerving and totally inborn honesty, that often sees us get into trouble for being ‘too’ honest, but which is as natural to us as breathing. Yes, it can sometimes mean we come across as rude or insulting – usually (though not always) without realising it, but it is still a beautiful thing anyway. NTs should take some lessons from us. Honesty often is the best policy. And of course it means we usually have a high degree of integrity and reliability as well, both in our personal lives and in our workplaces.

Autistic People Are Funny.

Despite what some people seem to believe, we have a great sense of humour. I have has more genuine laughs in the company (online or IRL) of other autistic people, in the last few years since starting to associate with them, than I had in the previous twenty or thirty years. It’s true we tend not to find some things funny, eg sexist, racist jokes, or jokes that put people down (having been the victim of them ourselves, too often), and we often don’t react to NT jokes, sarcasm, etc, because we’re not sure if they are joking or not, but we can and do crack plenty of our own jokes. Reading humorous threads online has often had me literally falling off my chair in laughter!

Autistic People Are Compassionate.

Yep, folks, despite all rumours to the contrary, we do have empathy. And sympathy, and compassion, and whatever else you’d like to call that ‘fellow feeling’, when you realise something’s up with someone, or something bad has happened, and you respond to that with feeling of your own. We do it. We may not know how to do it in the manner an NT would recognise, or in ‘socially acceptable’ ways, but nonetheless, we do do it. In fact sometimes we are so overwhelmed by our empathic reactions, we have to shut down or leave. Not what people expect, and we can be condemned for this too, but the feeling is there. And amongst ourselves, the compassion, empathy, sympathy, is displayed frequently and freely, even if only by a sad face icon or ‘I’m sorry to hear that’ post.

Autistic People Are My Friends.

I’d given up trying to have friends before I discovered my autism. It was simply too hard, too fraught with misunderstandings and rejections and convoluted interactions that left me feeling bewildered and stressed out. But when I found other auties… suddenly, all that went away. If one of my autie friends doesn’t like something I did or said, they say so. I know exactly where I stand, there are no undercurrents, no ‘hidden agendas’, no unspoken demands or expectations to trip me up. I can breathe easily, speak my mind, let down my guard and trust again. I can speak the truth about my life and my experiences, and find understanding and support. Sure, I like some better than others (and a very few not at all), but on the whole, autistic people are my friends, and I hope they will be so for the rest of my life.

I love autistic people.