This is autism

In honor of autism acceptance month

Apparently April is autism awareness month. It feels weird to write a post about this. There was nothing about exploring my neurotype that felt like, “Awesome - now I can participate in another awareness raising activity.” It felt more like peeling back a million assumptions, patterns, and stereotypes while fighting for my deepest self. More like an epic internal quest than a social media campaign.

Either way, I wish I’d known two decades earlier. So if more people showing their beautiful faces on social media and writing about their badass autistic selves helps a few more people realize their neurotype may be the source of life’s confusion, then we all win.

This is autism

“If you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met ONE autistic person.” Sure, there are general traits. But they manifest differently in each person. Sometimes they show up differently by the day, or even by the hour. I crumble under the weight of sensory overload some days. Other days it’s barely noticeable. I can mask my social confusion in many situations and follow well-honed scripts. But some people and situations throw me into a tailspin.

You’ve likely heard people say, “Well, isn’t everyone on the spectrum a little bit?” Yes, autistic traits show up in the general population to some degree. But an attempt to connect with an autistic person and find common ground this way deeply undermines their lived reality. A neurotypical brain automatically processes social cues, emotions, body language, changes in schedule, social dynamics, lights, transitions, sound, etc. in the background of their brain while they continue with daily life. An autistic brain is manually processing many of those elements every single day.

It’s exhausting.

And humans who have the capacity to mask their autistic traits are putting forth an incredible amount of effort to keep up in neurotypical world. And I guarantee you — it’s costing them behind the scenes.

These photos illustrate a glimpse of my life. My autistic life.

And yes, each bullet point below corresponds to a photo above. Starting at the top and going left to right.

Autism is:

• Speaking in front of a crowded room with effectiveness, while feeling strong waves of sensory overload and anxiety.

• Weeping intensely over life transitions and change. It takes my brain a long time to process and feel all the dynamics involved with significant change. And let’s be honest - small changes too.

• Writing a book of poems about grief as a structured way to move through unexpected loss. I would have been even more lost without this project to give me identity and role during a time of massive change.

• Parenting a young human who gives me great purpose and many opportunities to learn my limits and ask for support due to mental and physical overload.

• Loving time alone to create and wander around inside my head, even as a young kid.

• Finding comfort in writing as a way to express myself when the rest of life is so confusing.

• Connecting deeply to nature, especially trees and water. My brain often connects more with nature than it does with humans. Nature makes sense to me. No scripts or unspoken expectations to navigate. Just wisdom and presence.

• Speaking at a national conference about anxiety and faith because I adore storytelling and never got the neurotypical memo there are things we don’t talk about. Vulnerability is pretty easy for me because my literal brain doesn’t understand why we’re not all talking about what’s most real. I’ll go first.

• Regulating myself at a Taylor Swift concert with 71,000 humans. Bean bags, a dark room, a fan and fidget toys for the win. My nervous system reset and I could begin again.

• Taking family pictures with my favorite people. Exhausted by the executive function it took to schedule, choose clothes, convince cooperative moods, battle an OCD fear, and manage sensory overload for entire family, I grinned when I got beautiful pictures in return. “Aww, we look normal!” Whatever that means.

• Crying on airplanes. In bathroom stalls. In the shower. In the hallway. Behind sunglasses. I cry when I’m overwhelmed, stressed, anxious, excited, curious, and afraid. It’s how my nervous system processes life. I’m okay with it now that I understand my neurotype. I feel life intensely.

• Thriving in known roles. On the first day in a new job, I remember the joy of understanding expectations and scripts again as I started a role I understood. I can navigate the unspoken expectations better in spaces I comprehend. I know how to act. Put me in a brand new space without a role and I absolutely flounder.

• Becoming a mother and thriving in a role I could wrap my mind around. Parenting became a special interest and I dove deep into the values and practices I wanted to embody with this little human. It was overwhelming as hell, but I came alive with curiosity about the role of mother.

• Loving my partner while simultaneously feeling confused at the interpersonal dynamics in a close relationship. I adore my husband. And it’s not easy being in a neurodiverse marriage. Maybe we’ll share more of our story one day.

• Navigating utter social confusion with a pained smile on my face. When I was younger, I assumed everyone felt like I did. Now I see that many people don’t mimic or copy the facial cues, voice tone, clothing, mannerisms, and social scripts of those around them.

• Realizing all this inner chaos puts a toll on my body. Diagnosed with fibromyalgia at the age of 17 kicked off a litany of health challenges. Since my autism diagnosis and increased awareness, my health has improved ten-fold. Knowing makes all the difference.

From awareness to acceptance

Awareness is nice. We can all work to learn more about challenges in our world so we can be loving human beings during our time here. Awareness is noble.

But the actual game changer is acceptance.

Acceptance de-centers our preferences and is willing to take on some discomfort if it means another gets to fully belong.

Acceptance means we invest in actual practical strategies that support humans in our lives.

Acceptance doesn’t just see the barriers to participation, but actively removes them.

Acceptance asks questions, listens to the response, and believes them.

Acceptance remembers the human going through the invisible challenges and loves them with compassion.

Acceptance speaks up and advocates for another whose voice is getting lost in the noise.

Acceptance dismantles systems of injustice.

Acceptance invites us to root out stigma and prejudice and bias in our hearts and minds so we see the actual human holding the stories from our past.

Acceptance looks and feels like love.

What a gift.

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