Showing posts with label actuallyautistic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label actuallyautistic. Show all posts

International Day of the Stim: The Worry Stone

Photo © the author
[image: Close up of fingertips grasping
a worn black pottery shard.]
Hannah King
mystinkybackpack.blogspot.ca


September 17, 2018 is International Day of the Stim! For more articles and information, see dayofthestim.blogspot.com.

I found this old piece of pottery at the beach. It’s been worn smooth from the waves, and it fits perfectly in my hand. My thumb rub it over and over and over and over—it feels great.

My thumbs are major in my stimming, always have been. I think one reason my thumb stims survived the years of stim-suppression I underwent at school and home is that I could stim—surreptitiously—with my thumbs. It was easy to tuck my hand into the folds of a cardigan sweater and reach for the nubby underside of a button, or to slide my thumbs and fingers quietly along the coolness beneath a school desk. And while I loved to glide my hands across a tree trunk with abandon when no one was watching, I could also quietly pinch a piece of moss-eaten bark between my thumb and forefinger, anytime.

I was told that stims were bad at a young age, and was shamed for them. It has taken me half a lifetime of learning to realize that my stims never should have been pathologized, to realize that no one should have been making a big deal about my stims, and that my stims have in fact been a helpful way for me to stay grounded—and also to cope in intense sensory situations.

Some of my early stims (such as walking in circles) have been extinguished, but many remain, though in modified form. I no longer tend to jump when I’m happy they way I did as a child, but I rock up and down at the knees. And though I used to flap my hands when I got excited, I now only flap when I’m very agitated: my hands fly around my head like a flock of birds, which is a way to get settled but is also a warning flare. If you see me flapping my hands, please give me some space!

For someone my age (40), the idea of stim toys, designed and made by autistics and for sale online, is totally amazing. (Way to win, Neurodiversity Movement!) All my life, I’ve just been grabbing at things that feel good and making use of them.

The closest thing I had to a stimmie toy when I was a child was a gift from my father’s fishing buddy, Uncle Scott, who handed a soft piece of marble to me one day, like an afterthought. “It’s a worry stone,” he said. I realize now that it was quite intentional, and also kind, when he gave me that gift. He somehow knew that would be the thing I liked the most: with one pointed edge, and a silky indentation just perfect for my thumb.

I wasn’t able to thank him at the time, but he was one of those special people who didn’t need a thank you to understand gratitude. We should all feel so comforted, understood, and validated for the beautiful forms of comfort we forge from the ordinary.

My new piece of pottery is a lot like the worry stone Uncle Scott gave me all those years ago. I’ll use it when I’m thinking hard, especially if I’m communicating—or when I’m just relaxing. Claiming it as a stim is part of healing from the abuse and suppression I faced as a kid.

Stimming shouldn’t have to be secret. NO ONE has the right to suppress an autistic person from stimming. Our hands were not meant to be quiet. Stim on!

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This essay was originally featured at dayofthestim.blogspot.com.
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I'm Not Just Socially Awkward

Photo courtesy the author
[image: Blurry photo of a pink ride-on bouncy balloon with
an animal face and two "horns" for handles. Overlaid white text
reads, "I'm not just socially awkward." Smaller white text in the
lower right corner reads, "@oufoxgloved"
and "Autnot.Wordpress.com"]
Rhi Lloyd-Williams
autistrhi.com

When I tell people I’m autistic, it usually goes one of two ways; either they can’t make me fit into their idea of what autism is and completely reject it, or they mark me down as “socially awkward” and leave it there.

Autism explains my lack of constant contact, it explains my monologuing about things that interest me, it explains why on social occasions I move around a room like a loose cog in a machine—catching on things, getting stuck in places, jarring against this and that before being knocked into a corner and staying there.

Those are the things about me that you can see. What you can’t see are the other bits; my problems with Executive Function, my never-ending battle with literalness, my lip-reading over auditory-processing, my sensory issues, my affinity with numbers and disassociation with names, and on and on and on.

When people classify me as “socially awkward” they expect too much from me. They’re surprised when I find some things hard. I’m not telling you that I can’t make a shopping list because it’s boring and takes time, I’m telling you that it’s incredibly hard. There are too many variables, I have to hold them all in my head, I can’t, it gets too big. I falter and have to start again, but then the same thing happens. I cannot juggle the thoughts needed like that. I cannot think in a linear way, I have to include all the forks going off in different directions.

You may think in straight lines, but my thoughts are like lightning bolts. They flash brightly, sparking off in every direction, and by the time the thunder rumbles, I have lost the central bolt and am caught in how my hairs all stand on end.

I am not socially awkward, I am socially different. Autism isn’t about not making connections, it’s about making different ones.

I am built to logicise and problem-solve, and this means I am brilliant at certain aspects of thinking, but terrible at things that other people take for granted as "easy."

When I say I find something hard, please don’t tell me how easy it is. Please don’t tell me I just have to do it like this or like that. It will never be easy for me. It will always take time and energy that could be spent elsewhere. If you found quadratic equations hard, I wouldn’t tell you how easy they are. I wouldn’t tell you to just do this or just do that. I accept that although I can explain and help you get to the answer, this may be something you will always need support with.

I am not socially awkward and lazy or incompetent. I did not get this autism diagnosis diagnosis because of shyness. I am autistic, with all the joys and pains being human brings. I am creative and imaginative, I am loving and thoughtful, I am good at things and bad at things. The things you find easy may not be the same as the things I find easy, and that is just fine too.
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About That "Coming Avalanche" of Autistic Adults...

Greg Love
ageofneurodiversityblog.wordpress.com

wave coast
Waves in Santa Cruz, California. © Wonderlane, Creative Commons
[image: Ocean waves breaking on a rocky shore.]
It is currently autism “awareness” month, that time of year when autistic people are told that they are costly and burdensome, that they ruin families, and—even worse—that they’re growing in numbers (oh, the horror.) A petition has even circulated, since Donald Trump took over the White House, claiming autism must be declared a "public health emergency."

While these ideas remain disturbingly common, some parents are changing their tune, albeit unfortunately not in ways that actually diverge from “awareness.” Nowadays, parents and professionals are increasingly alarmed at the incoming “avalanche” of autistic adults who will be ill-prepared for the lack of services and supports after high school.

It is true that the world scarcely cares to accommodate the support needs of autistic adults—yet at the same time it can no longer just “disappear” those adults into institutions like it used to. We have the disability rights movement to thank for winning important reforms over the last several decades, mandating access to the same education options available to non-disabled people. Basic civil rights like non-discrimination in public and private institutions and services, in hiring, in residential facilities, etc., had to be demanded before what should be considered routine accommodations were mandated by law.

Many autistic adults require access to—and deserve—quality services and support to guarantee that their basic needs are met, and to allow for full inclusion into their communities. But those services and supports simply do not exist in most communities. And being fully aware of this problem does not justify using the bigoted language of “awareness” to scare everyone into action.

I have a question. It is a question seldom asked by the “autism community” of non-autistic parents and “experts.” Why do we have this scarcity of services and support for adults? I’m not exaggerating. This simple question is never adequately addressed, if it is asked at all. When it is asked by some parents and professionals, it is erroneously framed as being based around an assumption, that this state of affairs was always going to exist because the world has yet to catch up with the reality of the “epidemic” at their doorsteps.

On the contrary, this is what I see: there is no incoming “avalanche” of autistic adults. There is simply autistic adults who would have always been born, who would have always existed whether or not services and support were available to them.

This is what I see: an “autism industrial complex” that has emerged in recent decades, with its purpose being the development of “treatments,” and locating the source of autism, to possibly cure it.

This is what I see: in childhood, an overwhelming focus on Early Intervention, extending as far back as two years of age or earlier, with therapies that are justified on the basis of teaching “skills” but which frequently consist of behavioral modification, compliance-training, and normalization.

This is what I see: a tunnel-visioned focus on autism as a childhood disorder that erases any notion that these children will grow up into autistic adults, with decidedly adult needs.

This is what I do not see: any ability on the part of the “autism community” to connect the dots, so to speak. While this community of non-autistic parents and professionals stumbles to come up with answers to the oncoming “crisis” of autistic adults, autistic adults are already here and have a lot to say about it.

Perhaps we ought to start with the obvious question: why is it that you continually separate the way autistic children are treated and the way autistic adults are treated? These are not separable issues. Autistic children are treated as “fixable” or amenable to “recovery” with intensive Early Intervention as early as age two. The “autism community” says that they should be subjected to hours upon hours of therapy to reduce “problem behaviors” and learn “skills.” This community believes that the only hope for autistic people is through experimental social engineering therapy that seeks an unmistakable goal of autistic erasure.

How can the needs of autistic people across their lifespan ever be properly addressed when so much money and energy goes into erasing their neurology before they ever reach adulthood? Meeting the needs of autistic people across the duration of their lives is incompatible with seeing them grudgingly as human beings after they’ve been through years of therapy and behavior modification and—shocker!—came out autistic in the end anyway.

So is there really an “avalanche” of autistic adults coming? Parent of an adult autistic daughter Cindy Godwin believes so, and she also doesn’t hold back on the insulting, pathologizing, and fear-mongering language that usually accompanies “awareness”:
“As the number of autistic children grows, so does the number of autistic adults. Their needs remain much the same as they age, yet the support they once received fades. Though families like mine are feeling it most acutely, this is an issue for everyone to consider. The tsunami of adults with autism is coming.”
We’ve now graduated from an avalanche to an even scarier and more devastating “tsunami.” She prefaces her piece by reminding her audience that “autistic children never really grow up.” So what do we do with these children in adult bodies?

She describes the “scene” found at her daughter’s town home, because boundaries like privacy need not be observed when it comes to your autistic kids. Her daughter may be almost thirty years old, but her mother considers her too "feeble-minded" to have any concept of privacy, and describes her daughter's executive functioning disabilities as though the young woman is a human zoo exhibit displaying "the autistic adult in its natural environment," for millions of people to read:
“She’s sitting on the sofa playing video games. Dirty dishes are everywhere in the kitchen, pizza boxes and empty soda bottles cover the countertops, the trash is overflowing and stinks, the patio is littered with cigarette butts, laundry needing to be done is stuffed into black garbage bags. The notice of a certified letter, announcing that she has been dropped from her therapeutic art program for non-attendance, sits on top of a stack of unopened mail and unread handouts from her counselor. 
"This was the scene I walked in on recently. “She” is my 29-year-old daughter.”
This mom, who states she “suffers combat level stress daily,” along with hundreds of thousands of other parents, evidently equates executive functioning disabilities with immaturity. Remember, “autistic children never really grow up.” As an autistic adult with similar executive functioning disabilities, I find Godwin's description of her daughter beyond insulting, but also realize it is standard fare coming from the “awareness” community.

To be fair, not all parents are fixated on the standard impending crisis and tragedy narrative. Father of an autistic son Raquel Regalado published a recent short piece entitled Time for Autism Awareness to Grow Up.
“As the parent of an autistic teen I can attest to the old axiom, “little kids, little problems, big kids, big problems.” And while we appreciate the social and developmental gains our children have made, the older they get the harder it becomes to find services, programing and opportunities for them because funding and public opinion is fixated on early signs and intervention.”
He is absolutely correct when he says, “funding and public opinion is fixated on early signs and intervention.” Let me be clear: this must be the starting point for the divided autistic community and autism community to find common ground in discussing the needs of autistic adults.

But there is an alternative to seeing this as an “avalanche,” and there is certainly no justification for using dehumanizing and pathologizing language to describe a problem that no autistic adult had any part in creating.

Autistic adults do face a severe lack of services and support. But they also regularly face an “avalanche” of bigotry from non-autistic parents and experts, and even the President of the United States, plus anti-vaccine cure cultists, Early Intervention and ABA social engineering conversion therapists, and a highly influential international organization that makes a lot of money but has little intention of using it to address the most important needs of autistic people and their families.

But let us say that there is an avalanche of autistic adults. I welcome it. Because autistic adults are adults, not children in adult bodies, and the failure to meet their needs as adults creates a space for them to begin advocating for the services and support they need. And more than advocating, but demanding it.

Unlike so many other parents, I don’t see myself as the “voice” of my own autistic son. When he grows up, he grows up into an autistic adult, and no matter his communication challenges (he is non-verbal now, but he’s also three years old), he can learn to advocate for himself along with other autistic adults.

Autistic adults are only a “crisis” when autism itself is understood as a crisis. There is only an “avalanche” of autistic adults when autistic children are understood as an “epidemic.” Accepting autistic people as autistic people, and allowing them the same self-determination that every other person has a right to regardless of their support needs, will turn this bogus avalanche into a simple issue of human rights. Never again should any person, based on their different neurology and disability, be described in this way.

Accept autistic children as autistic children and there will not be an avalanche, only a need to make certain that autistic children grow up to be autistic adults with their adult needs met, and fully accommodated.

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A version of this essay was previously published at ageofneurodiversityblog.wordpress.com.
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