Showing posts with label Support. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Support. Show all posts

Parenting Kids With Disabilities: How to Get Through Tough Times

Shannon Des Roches Rosa
www.squidalicious.com

Content note: This article discusses abuse and murder.

Photo © Steve Silberman
[image: a white woman, standing behind a white teen boy
with brown curly short hair. He is looking at the camera.
Her arms are over his shoulder, his arms are up
and tickling under her chin.]
When parents like me talk about our kids with disabilities and intense support needs, we have to be thoughtful. We need to make it quite clear that our kids are much-loved and very awesome human beings. We should never, ever state or imply that any challenges we face as a parent are our children's fault. We need to handle their privacy with delicacy. And we shouldn't accidentally enable disrespect towards children who are already too-frequent magnets for morbid fascination, and pity.

But we do need to talk, because our parenting gig is not like other parenting gigs. It just isn't. We, our kids, and our families need different supports than families whose kids don't have disabilities, and we often need a lot of them. Sometimes we're not always sure where to find those supports, or even aware of available supports; sometimes we're ashamed to pursue the supports we and our kids need. And not having the supports we need for the best quality of life possible can lead to unnecessary hardship for everyone involved.

So, let's talk about what parents like us need, and especially how to get what we need. But first, I need to be forthright on one matter: In no way does lack of services excuse harming our children. Ever.

People with intensive support needs deserve sufficient resources, and so do their families. When these services are minimal or unavailable, that is a large-scale failure on our society's part. However, insufficient resources don't explain or justify murder of disabled children, because such crimes—which are also, frighteningly, not rare—do not actually have lack of services in common. So please don't buy into or spread the dangerous message that if parents don't get enough services, they might kill their autistic or disabled child.

Instead, parents—like me, like you—need to hear that it's not a failure or shameful to ask for help, and we need to feel safe about doing so. For our own sake, of course, and because reaching out also protects our kids.

Being in crisis is not the same as being a failure. Nor is it a personal failure to admit you and your child need help. So we need to work past fear and misinformation, and get educated about what our support options are, both during emergencies, and in general. Misinformation can lead to tragedies, as when parents absorb media-propelled myths that it more understandable for a mother to try to kill her child than to call Child Protective Services (CPS) on herself if she's thinking about harming that child. These dangerous myths sometimes persist because parents don't actually understand the role of CPS in protecting both children and families, nor are they aware of emergency services or rights-based services that were always available to them, if they'd known or been told where to look.

I spoke to Dori Tanaka, Family Resource Specialist Coordinator at Support for Families in San Francisco, who says:
"While contacting CPS is perceived by many families as a negative, it can help families access emergency services. Once CPS is involved, they may be able to assist families with support to get through a crisis. If possible, CPS's goal is the reunification of the family. 
"Unfortunately, it would be better if families did not have to resort to using CPS services; it would be better if services that would help them in caring for their children were easier to access. [But] many parents are often unaware of resources like Support for Families (and its local sister agencies) that help San Francisco families of kids with disabilities navigate IEPs, home health care, childcare access, and insurance scenarios -- services that can help prevent getting to that crisis point in the first place."
But avoiding parenting crises isn't just about services. We also need to be thoughtful and compassionate in how we approach our parenting, because our kids do not exist in a vacuum. They have a relationship with us, they react to us, and if our behavior and parenting choices do not respect our kids' needs and choices, then we parents can actually be the main problem in our kids' lives.
Especially when, as with autistic kids like my son, so many treatments and approaches and interventions are based on "normalizing." If we prioritize compliance and obedience, if we do not allow that autistic people have autistic brains and autistic learning styles, and are ill-served by forcing them to learn in non-autistic ways, that can lead to trouble.

How else can you work on improving your outlook and attitude as a parent? By finding a supportive community. Community matters, when it comes to feeling supported as a parent. It matters a lot. Both online community, and IRL.

You need to be selective, though. You need to connect and talk with people and parents who are good listeners, and avoid those who aren't. Once, when I was feeling particularly overwhelmed, I managed to squeak in a night out with a friend. On the ride home, I confided in her about some of my parenting worries. She responded by telling me about a friend whose children died from degenerative diseases, implying that by comparison I didn't have anything to worry about. I certainly never confided in her again.

Because when when any of us are floundering, depressed, or in crisis, it doesn't matter if other people have things harder. They are not living our lives. We are. So find someone who gets you, who wants to be around you, and/or who wants to listen (and to whom you will return the courtesy, yes?). Then cut the scoffers or other unfriendlies out. Your time and energy are precious, so don't waste them on people who treat you and your heart thoughtlessly.

Unsurprisingly, many of my friends are parents of kids with disabilities, and/or autistic and/or disabled themselves. When we talk, we talk—and talk and talk and talk. We discuss things we would never, ever say in public, out of respect for our kids and also for the reasons listed in this essay's first paragraph.  We coach and advise each other. And we talk about silly things that are totally unrelated to our kids, because all parenting all the time gets old really quickly. It's all cathartic, it's all fair, and it's all necessary. So try to find your people. Either IRL or online is fine, and anyone who tries to tell you that online community isn't real is living in 1994.

A last, much-appreciated resource for me (as I've written many times) is the writings and insights of autistic adults. Parents and professionals are capable of beautiful observations and crucial recommendations, but there is no substitute for having lived an autistic life. Consider also my personal experience: professionals were the ones who lobbied for my son to have early intervention because otherwise he might "never develop" life skills—and left me a panicked, jibbering wreck; autistic people are the ones who soothed my soul by reassuring me that my son's developmental trajectory was his own, and that, like them, he's probably going to be a life-long-learner and developer.

And of course, my son is also good at teaching me what he needs, as long as I'm paying attention. Our relationship is one of affection and synergy rather than one-sided deficit-battling. He is not my precious special angel meant to teach me life lessons, but rather an embodiment of self-advocacy and grace despite the crap that life, silly people, and even well-meaning people constantly throw at him due to his disability. I hope I will always have his back in the way he deserves, and in the way he has mine. Even when things are tough for either of us.

A final reminder about healthy attitudes towards parenting kids with disabilities, from autistic autism parent Ally Grace. I think we all could all use such a reminder. Possibly daily. Possibly hourly.
"My children owe me nothing. I brought them into the world, which was my choice and is my responsibility now. I will unconditionally embrace who they are. Because that's my job. And because that is my ethical obligation to my children, who are fellow and equal human beings. Whatever their neurological makeup."
Please know that I am not saying every parenting crisis of ours is fixable, because that also would be unfair and untrue. But there are tools, there are people, there is information that may prevent crises from happening, and can also help us find our way to the other side when crises do happen. We parents of kids with disabilities both deserve and need to know more, and feel better, about our options.

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Resources

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A version of this essay was formerly published at BlogHer.com
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INSAR 2019: Learning How to Prevent Suicide in Partnership with Autistic People and Their Allies

Yesterday we attended the INSAR 2019 panel Where Do We Go from Here? Learning How to Prevent Suicide in Partnership with Autistic People and Their Allies, led by Sarah Cassidy from Nottingham University who has been doing this for four years now. Here is what the speakers had to say. (Any errors or omissions are on us.)

More than 10K stakeholders worldwide have identified the top 10 priorities, with equal representation of #autistic people:
  1. What increased barriers do autistic people experience when seeking help which may put them at greater risk of dying by suicide?
  2. What are the risk and protective factors for suicide in autism across the lifespan?
  3. To what extent are autistic people not believed about the extent of their distress?
  4. How can we further understand suicide where mental health is not a factor across the lifespan?
  5. What are the best ways of identifying and assessing suicidal thoughts and suicidal behaviours, in autistic people, in research and clinical practice?
  6. How should interventions be adapted for autistic people and individual presentations?
  7. What is the experience of suicidality in autsitic people? Is this experience different than the general population?
  8. How do autistic people seek help when they are in a crisis?
  9. How well do existing models of understanding suicide apply to autistic people?
  10. What is the impact of poor sleep on suicide risk in autistic people and how can this be measured?

John Adams, an autistic person and artist on why lived experience is key:

“I don’t live with autism. I live with my wife and two cats. I do live with PTSD."

"We’re losing autistic people daily, and they’re often not remembered."

What barriers do autistic people face? Jon Adams says:
  • Attitudes towards me
  • Attitudes about me
  • The current mental health system
  • Being dismissed
  • No specific autistic pathway
What are the risk and protective factors for suicide in autism across the lifespan?

To what extent are autistic people blamed about the severity of their distress? This leads to trauma.

Adams has heard people say they can’t get treatment for PTSD until the trauma stops? WTF.

"Our narrative is often dismissed and misunderstood."

I want to stay as long as I can, but is leaving a pragmatic decision I need to take if I become infirm?

Autistic people should be leading these discussions, yet our experiences are often written over. The next generation deserves better.

“Mindfulness” is useless. And medication to numb him is not OK either. He wants action, but on #autistic people’s terms.

What is the experience of suicidality in autistic people?

Also: Mental health professionals often cause PTSD in autistic people, according to Jon Adam. Restricted and repetitive behavior SAVED him.

How do autistic people seek help when they are in a crisis?

They’re often called "treatment resistant." Adams says, maybe instead of blaming autistic people, consider how you’re treating them. Why wold they want to “stay” if you blame them so?

Why are the effects of sleep issues on suicidality in autistic people? Sleep problems are bad for everyone, and autistic people are human, so sleep problems in autistic people are bad.

Recommends others treat autistic people with consideration, acceptance, kindness, and genuine listening to unique experiences.  

How can we best identify and assess suicidal thoughts and suicidal behaviors in autistic people?

The validity of tools depends on context:

How can we determine if a tool developed for the general population is OK for autistic people? One factor missing is alexithymia, or not necessarily having access to the real-time experience of one’s own emotions.

We have to involve the autistic community in any tools or interventions for helping people with suicidality.
The Mental Health in Autism project is a participatory research project to deeply new assessment tools for autistic adults.

Theorize that #autistic people would have difficulty communicating their suicidal intent, so they tested the theory.

For threat of suicide attempts, autistic people are more likely than general population that they are having suicidal thoughts, but that this is associated with lifetime   and attempted suicide.

Autistic adults have difficulty attempting certain questions, e.g., questions about what they will do in the future. “I can’t say never, even though I’m not at risk now."

We need to adapt measures to better determine suicidality in the autistic community. We need to do a LOT more work.

Next steps: Measure has been adapted to unrecognizability! Which is good.

Next: Paul Lipkin from Kennedy Krieger, on screening for suicide risk in a pediatric autism population.

WHO say close to 800K people die from suicide every year.

For each death, there are 20 attempts.

Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death for all ages.

The pediatric community has not been on top of this.
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The Importance and Power of Autistic Self Diagnosis

White person with blue eyes and a Freddie Krueger sweater taking a selfie in a mirror,  except a smaller circular mirror is inverting their face where their head would usually be.
Image © Stig Andersen | Flickr / Creative Commons
[image: White person with blue eyes and a Freddie Krueger sweater taking a selfie in a mirror,
except a smaller circular mirror is inverting their face where their head would usually be.]

Solveig Standal

We autistics need to have a serious talk about autism and self-diagnosis: what self-diagnosis means, and what effects it will have on us when inevitably both autistic and non-autistic people attempt to gatekeep our own autistic identities.

Ultimately, we know that it’s not autistic people who dictate who we allegedly are and what is allegedly best for us. Neurotypicals continue to dominate the conversation and speak over autistic voices, which ultimately reinforces a pathologizing viewpoint about us, and centers around the idea that somehow we fundamentally cannot speak for ourselves, purely because of our neurology.

The medical community continues to ignore people who do not fit the white cisgender male stereotype of autism—something that more closely resembles the cultural images of Rain Man or Sheldon Cooper. The medical community, as well as charities run on our behalf by non-disabled people, frequently overlook autistic girls and people of color. In the United States, the CDC does not even publish prevalence rates of autism in adults. Effectively, this means that the needs of most autistic people continue to be ignored, and the accommodations that are provided have a tendency to drop off as we reach adulthood.

We know what it’s like to see autism charities run by neurotypicals, whose primary focus is to paint a picture where we are the burdens that they must endure. At best, we are inspiration fodder intended to make neurotypicals feel better about themselves. At worst, we are portrayed as the driving wedge that ruins otherwise-healthy marriages. We are portrayed as highly disruptive, problematic, unteachable. We are portrayed as literal puppets, and given no autonomy whatsoever.

We know what it’s like to have our needs constantly ignored by the people who are supposed to be supporting us. Personally, I have sat in countless meetings centered around my disability accommodations in public school, where teachers and counselors discussed my situation as if I were not even in the room. Where so many people were very eager to tell me who I was, and what I needed, and how I felt, and where they all seemed to insist that they knew me better than I could possibly ever know myself. And as hard as things were for me, I know I would have been abused even worse if I were not white. Racism and police brutality is an inextricably critical part of understanding the dynamics of abuse we face every day.

I grew up in the 1980s in a very rural setting, and our access to information about autism was extremely limited. One of my earliest memories was a television news special about autism, where they asked questions about whether or not we were really people inside, or just walking automatons. At a later date, my parents were interviewed about me. I very distinctly remember the news channel interviewer describing the "emptiness" in my eyes, as if there was nobody inside of me. As if I were not a real person.

This was also during a time where Bruno Bettelheim and Andrew Wakefield’s beliefs were so widespread; they argued that autism was caused by vaccines, or by cold and unloving mothers. Self-proclaimed autism professionals preyed on parents of autistic children, demanding them to go to extreme measures in false hopes that they could cure us of our autism. They also pressured parents into therapies that were designed to make us look less autistic, probiotic diets, gluten-free diets, and more. One doctor, after spending less than five minutes with me, suggested that I should immediately be institutionalized. Finally, seeing no other options, my parents contacted the only autistic self advocate they knew of—Dr. Temple Grandin.

Dr. Grandin wrote back and explained autism to my parents in a way that only an autistic person could. She explained to them how I was not broken, I didn't need to be fixed, and I didn't need a cure. Ultimately, the best thing for them to do for me was to learn to accept me for exactly who I am, and focus on improving quality of life as best they could. And because of her lived experience as an autistic woman, she was able to impart better knowledge to us than all the other medical professionals put together. It was this step—connecting with another autistic person who had first-hand experience of what being autistic was like—that resulted in a bigger, much more profound improvement in my life than years spent with neurotypical professionals.

Many years later, as an adult, I came to realize that I needed to be able to emotionally process everything that happened to me. I needed to find a better understanding for myself in terms of what it means to be autistic, based on my own experiences—not based on what the "experts" see from the outside. I knew the only way to do this was to find other autistic voices to compare notes with. It started out by finding books written by autistic authors like Loud Hands, finding the Autistic Self Advocacy Network, and eventually making my way onto online autistic communities through Twitter.

I have found solace and comfort within our autistic community. I found other autistic people with common experiences and understanding of what it really means to be autistic… and I found people with substantially different experiences and understandings, too. I found a place where my interests aren’t looked down on.

This is a place where autism isn’t described in clinical terms with symptoms and conditions and treatment plans and other pathologizing things. Instead, we are a community of self-advocates who are fighting hard to claim our place as the real experts of what it means to be autistic. As the real experts of autism, we are in a better position to help others recognize their own autistic identities, and we’re in a better position to support them as they figure out what that means to them. In doing this, we are shifting away from a pathologizing clinical narrative that describes us as broken, and moving towards one that allows us to celebrate who we are and recognize our own strengths and our own needs.

Self diagnosis, at its core, is all about recognizing our own neurodivergence and reclaiming our role as the experts in our own lives. Understandably, there are limitations to what we can do with a self diagnosis. We cannot write our own prescriptions for medication, and we would not qualify for the kind of public assistance that requires a formal diagnosis. Self diagnosis does, however, give us better access to that autistic community support I was talking about earlier. It strengthens our network with other people who have shared experiences with us. Self-diagnosed people can access tips on what to expect from those of us who have gone through the formal process, weigh the costs and benefits of a formal diagnosis, and decide whether or not to pursue one in the first place.

Despite all this, there is a movement to restrict autistic community to those who receive a formal diagnosis, and this becomes a problem for a number of different reasons. First, so many of us don’t even know to pursue a formal diagnosis until we recognize in ourselves that we might be autistic, or others start to point things out to us. The process of self-discovery then takes time, and it only stands to benefit when people around us believe that we probably are actually autistic.

Yes, ultimately some of us will come to realize that they are not really autistic, but the exploration still helps them find answers about themselves, and no one is harmed in the process. However, when we deny someone’s autistic identity, we shut them out of the whole process, deny them access to the tools they need to better access the health care system, and potentially deny them their formal diagnosis altogether.

When we deny the validity of self diagnosis, we fail to recognize how broken health care systems can be. We effectively restrict our support to those privileged to afford a formal diagnosis. We ignore the fact that doctors notoriously ignore the needs of patients who aren’t white cisgender males. We pretend that autistic people of color are seen as potential threats who are sent into the juvenile justice system, and not seen as neurodivergent students with accommodation needs that are being unfulfilled. And worst of all, when autistic people find themselves neglected, ignored, and belittled by the very professionals who are supposed to be supporting them, they are neglected, ignored, and belittled by their neurosiblings as well. This cannot be allowed to happen.

As we continue to claim our rightful place in leading conversations and crafting policies about autism, we need to remember that self diagnosis is one of our strongest assets. We need to remember our own process of self-discovery and everything that we struggled with along the way. We need to ensure that future generations of autistic people do not have to suffer through the things we suffered through, because it’s the right thing to do.
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Parents, Do Not Infantilise Your Teenage and Adult Disabled Children

Finn Gardiner
expectedly.org

Photo © G_Jewels | Flickr / Creative Commons
[Image: Black infant in a wooden high chair,
being spoon-fed by an off-camera adult.]
If you’re a parent of a teenage or adult child with a disability, it’s important to avoid infantilising them.

What is infantilisation? It’s treating people who are no longer children like children in a way that restricts their ability to be fully integrated with their age-peers. It’s talking to them in a condescending voice, dismissing their ideas and opinions, acting as though you will always understand them better than they understand themselves, or going out of your way to shield them from everything you think may be even slightly dangerous.

Infantalisation is treating your child as though they will always be a child, whether they’re five, fifteen or thirty-five.

Infantilisation is different from recognising that disabled people have support needs. That’s part of what being disabled means: being at a relative disadvantage compared to non-disabled people because we require specific supports to help us live within the community, whether that disadvantage is related to physical health, cognition, mental health, sensory processing or perception, mobility, or something else people find disabling.

It doesn’t matter what kind of disability your child has, whether chronic illnesses and intellectual, mobility, psychiatric, learning, developmental and sensory disabilities, or a combination. People with all kinds of disabilities deserve to be taken seriously and treated with respect.

A teenager or an adult with an intellectual or developmental disability is still a teenager or an adult. Accommodating the support needs of an autistic 17-year-old or a 30-year-old with Down syndrome does not mean that you should treat them as though they’re younger than their actual age. You can support people without condescending to them.

Disabled teenagers and adults are just that: teens and adults. Teens and adults may be interested in relationships, sex, college/university, dating, alcohol, parties, mature subject matter in films, TV or books, and other activities and experiences that other people their age are interested in. Pretending that disabled teens and adults don’t have these interests does them a disservice.

If you don’t recognise your teen or adult child's autonomy, they may seek out predatory people who pretend to respect them, but who may lead them into danger because you didn’t talk to them about sex or drugs or relationships or realise that they, like other people their age, may want to try things out.

I’ve seen other disability activists, like Cal Montgomery, talk about allowing disabled people the right to experience ‘dignity of risk,’ or allowing them to try new things and potentially fail at them or learn from their mistakes. I think that’s important. Young people of all ages should have the opportunity to learn what works and what doesn’t work for them.

I understand the desire to protect one’s children from harm. If I had children I would want to avoid them from being harmed, too. Unfortunately, you can’t always control what happens to people throughout the lifespan, as much as you may try. The inherent uncertainty of life requires that parents allow their children to adapt and respond to that uncertainty. There is no such thing as a permanent cocoon, and you’ll find that your teenage or adult child is probably more resilient than you may expect. We deserve the right to try.

Infantilisation is very familiar issue to me. I myself have a developmental disability and my parents—my father in particular—infantilised me as a teenager and as a young adult. I wasn’t allowed to do what many of my peers were allowed to do; my parents claimed that I ‘wasn’t ready’ for many of the things everyone else my age seemed to be allowed to do, like going to school dances. My parents restricted what I read, thinking that I wasn’t mature enough to handle heavier themes in books, TV and films despite encountering similar subject matter in my assigned readings at school. They would force me to attend church even when I’d told them clearly that I was no longer religious; they justified this by claiming ‘in our house, we serve the Lord,’ even though I was only going through the motions of practising Christianity.

I was also a legal adult when this happened; I didn’t tell my parents explicitly that I was no longer Christian until I was eighteen. The appearance was what mattered, even if it was clear my beliefs had changed. When I was nineteen years old, my parents installed parental controls on my Windows account. (I found a way to disable them a few days after they installed these controls without their noticing, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that they still treated me like a small child even though I was an adult.) I was old enough to vote. In fact, I had voted when I was eighteen; I distinctly remember being eager to vote against George W. Bush in 2004.

My parents didn’t always give me the right to try, or if they did, they would do it begrudgingly and blame me if whatever I tried didn’t work out, instead of listening to me and working with me to identify strategies that did work for me. For them, supporting me meant controlling me.

I should also add that recognising that your teenage or adult child with a disability is, in fact, a teenager or an adult is different from using their age as a weapon against them. You can respect their autonomy and recognise that they may need support in certain areas. Just because somebody struggles with housework and certain kinds of planning, as I do, doesn’t mean that you can tell me ‘why, you’re 32! If you want to be treated like an adult, you should be able to muster up those non-existent executive functioning skills!’

Yes, I’m an adult. That doesn’t mean that I don’t have support needs. Rather, it means I should be able to share what my support needs are, and direct the means by which I receive support. Autonomy in adolescence or adulthood is about being able to make decisions about one’s own life and enlisting support to make those decisions and implement them. It is not about having to do every single thing by yourself if your disability prevents you from doing so.

Again, teenagers and adults with disabilities are still teenagers and adults. We have the right to make decisions about our lives and receive support to help us make and carry out those decisions. Having a disability doesn’t mean we’re children, or that we don’t have the right to learn by trial and error. We should be allowed to learn and grow from our experiences.

Your children are not an extension of you; they’re autonomous human beings who will eventually develop their own goals and priorities in their lives that may or may not coincide with yours. Your job is to help guide and support them, not to use them as proxies for your own desires. Respecting disabled people’s autonomy helps us live healthier, more fulfilled lives.
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Under a Double Rainbow: Autism and LGBTQIA+

Trans Solidarity Rally and March 55436
Photo © Ted Eytan | Creative Commons/Flickr
[image: Multiracial crowd rallying with flags and signs behind a banner reading
"Trans Solidarity against transphobia for justice".]

Maxfield Sparrow
unstrangemind.com

Ten years ago, I wanted to write a paper about autism and gender issues for a gender and sexuality conference at which I had previously presented. I started the research, then dropped into a depression after realizing how little material was available, and that the existing research about autism and gender was both dismal, and erasing. The medical journals talked about transgender autistic children as if their gender issues were delusions, mere symptoms of their autism. I never wrote that paper.

Today, not only is there good autism information available, but the “double rainbow” of being both autistic and LGBTQIA+* is just beginning to be more accepted and understood. We have a long way to go, but people are beginning to understand that autism does not guarantee asexuality, nor are Autistic people’s identities always heterosexual and cisgender**.

In fact, there’s even an organization, Twainbow, started by Louis Molnár in 2015. Molnár was diagnosed with Asperger’s in 2013, and noticed both the dearth of resources for “double rainbow” people, and the similarities between coming out of the closet as a gay man and coming out of the closet as Autistic. Writing in The Advocate, Molnár said,
“For many decades the blame was on just about anything from poor parenting to vaccines. Homosexuals were subjected to behavioral conversion therapy, shock therapy, injections, beatings, removal from imaginary catalysts, and social shaming to drive the gay out of them. These very things currently happen in the autism world.”
Steve Silberman, author of the autism and neurodiversity history best-seller NeuroTribes, spoke about Twainbow, saying, “Any organisation that fights for the civil rights of LGBT+ folks on the spectrum, raises awareness of the special challenges and joys of living under the double rainbow, promotes pride and self-confidence, builds alliances, and condemns bullying, systemic ableism [i.e., the discrimination of people with disabilities] and homophobia is doing really important work.” Silberman is right: acknowledging, understanding, and supporting our “double rainbows” is a crucial part of autism acceptance and raising Autistic children to be happy, healthy, fulfilled Autistic adults.

If you are an Autistic person who lives under the double rainbow, rejoice! You are not alone! Molnár estimates that over five million people world-wide are “double rainbows.” I would not be surprised to learn that Molnár’s estimate is far lower than the reality. Last year, I did a literature review and analysis of the research on autism and gender variance, and discovered that people who were surveyed at gender clinics were ten times more likely to be diagnosed or diagnosable with autism, compared to the general population. Additionally, Autistic people are seven times more likely to be gender variant than the general population. And those figures are just for gender issues, independent of sexual orientations.

If you are a parent of an Autistic person who is or might be a double rainbow, you may be concerned. Either you are worried for your child or you are worried for yourself (or both.) You might worry that your child is already facing so much stigma and discrimination due to being Autistic and a non-mainstream sexuality or gender will make life that much harder for them. You also might be struggling with worries about attitudes from extended family or from those in your family’s religion. You also might be worrying about your ability to parent a child who has “fallen so far from the tree.” If you aren’t Autistic and you are heterosexual and cisgender, you might worry about your ability to support and mentor a child whose life experiences are so very different from your own.

When it comes to fears of stigma and ostracism from society, family, school, church, and more, I recommend finding other parents in your situation to share hopes and fears, tips, and ideas. While there are not yet many organizations supporting double rainbows and our families, if you are in the United States, you can meet other parents of LGBTQIA+ children at your local chapter of PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays). Of course those parents may not be familiar with the needs of double rainbows like your child, but they are great people to talk with about issues of rights, safety, stigma, and more.

Some other organizations that might be helpful to you and your child include True Colors, GLSEN, and Queerability in the U.S.; Stonewall, Mermaids, and Gendered Intelligence in the UK; and Minus18 in Australia.

Some other important things to remember as the parent of a double rainbow or potential double rainbow:

  • Be open to listening to your child, even when the topics get difficult. LGBTQIA+ interests might indicate something about your child’s identity...or not. Listen without judgment, and let your child lead the way with the conversation. Ask questions that show your interest but try not to jump to assumptions about your child either way.
  • Be ready to hear some challenging language. Your child might use words that make you uncomfortable like “queer” or even words that are considered slurs among some people, like “faggot,” “dyke,” or “tranny.” If your child identifies with a challenging word, ask if you should also use that word or if your child wants you to use a different word. Sometimes minority groups reclaim language for their own use but do not want people who are not a member of that minority to use those words. Even if the words make you uncomfortable, strive to keep any sense of judgment out of your questions and comments.
  • Your child may need gender or sexuality support at school. This could include a gender neutral bathroom to use, uniform change or discussion of clothing changes, social stories about gender and/or sexuality roles and issues, staff training, and more. Joe Butler goes into more detail on some of these points in the article Supporting Trans and Gender Questioning Autistic Pupils.
  • Seek peer support and double rainbow mentorship if possible. In addition to some of the regional organizations listed above, some writers to look at include Caroline Narby and her Double Rainbow series; Dr. Dawn Prince-Hughes who writes in her memoirs about life as an Autistic lesbian; John Scott Holman, a now-deceased gay Autistic man who wrote frankly about his struggles with addiction as well as the challenges and joys of being a double rainbow; Lydia X. Z. Brown, a genderqueer activist and law student; Wenn Lawson, who wrote for years about life as an Autistic lesbian before coming out transgender.   
  • Be prepared to learn. You might not be aware, for example, that some transgender people are non-binary, meaning they do not identify as either male or female. Some transgender people do not seek to medically transition their bodies. Some people have a different identity for their sexuality and their romantic interests, leading to combinations like “asexual homoromantic.” If you’ve never learned about much beyond gay/lesbian/straight/transgender, be prepared to be a little overwhelmed by the information and options out there. You’ll need at least a surface understanding in order to help your child navigate to an understanding of where they stand in all the gender, sexuality, and relational spectrums.
  • You don’t need to be told this, but I’m rounding out the tips with it anyway because it’s so important: love your child. You already know, having an Autistic child, that parenthood carries no guarantees of what sort of family you will end up building. Odds are, you didn’t expect an Autistic child, but you love them so much and would never erase them to try to get a non-autistic child instead. Take that love and acceptance with you when helping your child figure out their gender and sexuality. Maybe your child is cisgender and heterosexual. Maybe not. So many of us are LGBTQIA+ that you serve your child’s best interests by assuming they might turn out to be any of the identities represented in that acronym, just in case they do. If your child turns out to be a double rainbow (or even a triple rainbow like me: Autistic, Transgender, and Gay) you’ll want to be ready to be there for them, offering the same love and guidance you’ve offered through every other facet of their beautiful life.
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*LGBTQIA+ is an acronym meaning lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, asexual, and others not specifically named, leaving room for increased future understanding of non-mainstream gender and sexual identities

** Cisgender or 'cis' is a word that means identifying with the gender a person was presumed to be when they were born, and people looked at their genitals then declared with excitement, “it’s a boy!,” or “it’s a girl!” If that presumption turns out to be what the baby grows up to feel comfortable with, then that person is cisgender rather than transgender.
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