Showing posts with label martyr parents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label martyr parents. Show all posts

Autism Uncensored: A Dangerous and Spirit-Crushing Book

Photo © Charley Lhasa | Flickr/Creative Commons
[image: Plush red Elmo doll lying on asphalt.
A yellow chalk speech bubble has Elmo appear to be yelling "Help!"]
Maxfield Sparrow
unstrangemind.com

[Content note: Extensive discussion of restraints. Discussions of gaslighting, denying Autistic autonomy and competence, child abuse, autism profiteering, and similar goblins. Discussion of the 1960s medical view of autism as it continues to occur today.]

You may have seen the recent Washington Post article titled “Bystanders were horrified. But my son has autism and I was desperate,” an excerpt from Whitney Ellenby’s new book, Autism Uncensored: Pulling Back the Curtain. True to the exposé tone of the title, Ellenby describes in livid detail the day she wrestled her panicked son, Zack, by clamping his 50 pound frame tightly between her thighs and locking her feet together. The two spent over half an hour in combat as Ellenby dragged him inch by inch toward the red curtain beyond which the Sesame Street puppet Elmo was performing. Zack’s piercing shrieks alarmed onlookers who screamed at Ellenby to stop, threw an iced drink on her, and spat on her.

When the venue attempted to kick Ellenby and Zack out for causing a disturbance, she told them the ADA (Americans With Disabilities Act) gave Zack the right to reasonable accommodations to access public venues, and she was Zack’s accommodation.

I learned from reading her forthcoming book that Ellenby began her career as an ADA lawyer. She had a dream of fighting the huge battles. I’m picturing her mind set on something like a cross between Spencer Tracy in Inherit the Wind, and Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird. She went into ADA law starry-eyed about all the great work she would do, but became frustrated when the bulk of her work turned out to be things like getting down on all fours to measure doorways and stalls to see if they were up to code. That didn’t feel important enough to her, so she switched to a boutique adoption firm. Then she became pregnant with Zack, and thought she would take a little time off to give birth but soon be right back in the thick of things at work.

The first half of Autism Uncensored is a brutal description of how angry and bitter Ellenby became at her son, Zack, when he turned out to be autistic. Ellenby feels like giving birth to Zack was some kind of punishment for her sins, and expresses that belief through declarations like, “After weeks of being entombed by numbness, my heart is finally giving way to the realization that I’m being justly punished.”  “Zack’s autism is collateral damage for a life poorly lived. I just never imagined the punishment for my bad deeds would be inflicted on my innocent child, or be so brutal, so permanent.” “I’m chained to this denigrating, unpaid forced labor with no tangible reward for all my sacrifice.” “I will be incarcerated and tied to him for the rest of my life, a prison sentence” “I can’t pretend this is anything but punishment. At its very worst, autism feels like a living, walking, breathing nightmare.”

The book could use a thorough editing for typos and word usage—writing “synchronicity” for “synchrony,” or “bespectacled” for “bespangled,” for example—but I don’t think the last quote of my previous paragraph was a typo. I believe the author fully intended to say “autism feels like…” because she believes that autism is not a word to describe the structure and function of her son’s brain, but rather a punishment inflicted on her. Like many martyr parents, she has co-opted her son’s identity and cast herself in the role of victim. Autism is not a neurotype; autism is what was done to her. And in between sessions with her hair shirt, she makes it clear that she thinks she is better than this: “I am a well-educated woman. I am an accomplished civil rights attorney. I am a woman who spends hours every night on her hands and knees scraping feces off walls.”

Sometimes her concept of autism is as a separate beast, something outside and inhuman: “Autism is angry. The infuriated beast of defiance is rearing its head, snarling, writhing, biting, only I’m not trying to defeat the beast or even subdue it. I need its passion and power. It’s this very passion that fuels the resistance with which I must align myself, harnessing and channeling that live energy.”

I have heard people defend the phrase “combat autism” by saying that they love their child and hate autism. When the average person says they’re fighting autism, it feels bad to me but I try not to say too much because I’d rather win hearts and minds, than be too direct and alienate anyone I might otherwise have influenced. But when Whitney Ellenby was fighting autism, it was very much not a case of “love the child; hate the autism.” When Ellenby writes about fighting autism, she is talking about fighting Zack. 

Ellenby wrote very clearly about hating Zack, and she used the kind of language I’m not used to seeing outside medical books from 40 and 50 years ago. “He’s not even a boy really, but the shell of a boy, an exquisite cutout of a child with no actual stuffing. He is damaged ... deformed ... disgraced. And his disgrace is my own. This is what my glorious womb has produced, a profoundly dysfunctional child.”

The author tells us that she has intentionally chosen to use the present tense when writing her history with Zack as if everything were happening in the moment in order to achieve maximum emotional impact. She succeeded in that aim; her book is harrowing. I felt clobbered reading the first half of Autism Uncensored. After enough clobbering, I just felt numb and empty.

The second half of the book starts when Ellenby’s daughter Cassie is born. Cassie is not autistic, and at first Ellenby loves her more than Zack because she is typical. “Cassie exhibits everything Zack did not, and more. I feel truly appreciated, indispensable, valued. I’m not just smitten but truly grateful to my daughter for allowing me finally to know true reciprocal joy and interdependence. So this is why so many parents describe newborns as transformative, revolutionary and all-encompassing. Now I get it. Now I can’t pretend that I don’t.” Zack clearly sees the overwhelming favoritism going on and in a panic about his own survival he does things to hurt the baby.

Ellenby complains about all the extra work of policing Zack while taking care of Cassie. She wishes she could get rid of Zack and start fresh with Cassie and forget she ever had a child who wasn’t normal. “I cannot see a way out or how will it [sic] ever subside in the face of such obvious, lasting discrepancies between my two children. I’ve never been one to repress my fantasies, the theme of which are now overwhelmingly versions of 'starting over.'” “What if Keith and I could start over with just her and then have just one more typical child? Now that we know it’s reproductively possible, the notion is intoxicating, the vision of Cassie as the older sibling to another adorable healthy baby, rounding out the family to the four I’d originally envisioned, before all hell broke loose.”

Ellenby realizes she’s sharing a horrifying thought and tells the reader “no one who hasn’t walked in my shoes gets to judge me.” She reasons that it’s natural for her to feel this way after everything she has endured from Zack. But around 60% into the book, Ellenby’s affections for her children suffers a sea-change. The catalyst? Cassie starts talking. Now Cassie uses logic to resist doing what Ellenby wants her to do. Cassie treats her mother to streams of insults: “From now until forever, I’m going to be friends with everyone except you!” “And I don’t even like the way you dress! And you try, but you are not even funny!” “And you know what? Daddy is SO much more funner than you! And he’s a better cook, and he’s better at video games, and he looks better in his clothes than you do in yours.”

Ellenby can’t stand it and begins to hate her daughter, opening up room to love her son as she uses the ambiguity of his silence to layer dehumanizing mystical interpretations of autism onto him. “Unbelievably, the scales of enjoyment between my two children are tipping in a direction I had not thought possible.” She begins to really appreciate Zack’s silence. “Zack’s own economy of words works to our mutual advantage—I talk too much, he too little. Somewhere between us lies a normal amount of speech.” From this point on, she always writes about Zack with a stereotypical new age-y praise of his innocence and higher spiritual nature.

Around the same time, she starts noticing that people will be overwhelmingly supportive and helpful when she makes a public announcement about Zack’s autism. People on the train provide an endless supply of tissues and plastic bags when Zack soils himself unexpectedly and Ellenby announces it’s due to autism. Gang members at a water park band up to protect and assist Zack on the giant water slide after she gives an impromptu speech about Zack’s autism on the steps of the water slide. Ellenby wrote in the first half of the book that she was Zack’s accommodation and he “rides” her. By the second half of the book it is becoming clear that she is riding Zack, using his autism for a social payout to herself.

Ellenby describes a turning point at which I sense she first began to realize she could commodify Zack’s autism for money, social status, or both. Ellenby stages another wrestling match with Zack, this one to get him inside a movie theater to see Happy Feet. This time, instead of springing the performance on an unsuspecting and captive audience, Ellenby goes into the theater alone first to announce that she will be dragging Zack in during the previews and that he’s got autism and this is part of his exposure therapy.

The theater-goers silently watched Ellenby drag her son into the theater—kicking, clawing, biting, shrieking—and then, “A few members actually kneel to give me strong hugs; others pointedly ask me for my business card so I can work with their disabled children, cousins, grandchildren. Once again history has been made in the life of my child. Savor it.”

Ellenby ends her book by telling us about her business and all the good it is doing in the world of autism. The book reads like a business card. It’s the kind of book meant to drum up more business and I think it will be highly successful in that regard. And I think that’s a horrible state of affairs.

Ellenby began dragging her son places after she felt Zack was not making enough progress on ABA therapy. She decided mother knows best and began her own program of forcibly dragging him places he didn’t want to go so he could see for himself that it wasn’t so bad once he got there. The author spends a few pages of her book enumerating the flaws of ABA and, for a moment, I agree with her:

“A flat prohibition against certain behaviors wipes out a panoply of ritualistic comforts for an entire population, some of whom may very well depend on them to function at all. And if we suffocate those adaptive behaviors, even when the child is learning, are we not teaching the child to be ashamed of his own natural impulses, telling him his are disfavored or deviant? And would we do the same to typically developing children, or to ourselves as adults?”

“But something even more sinister is going on here: we are undermining Zack’s autonomy and sense of self-worth. ABA protocol is literally robbing Zack of independence and bodily choices, because we are making them for him.” Yet what is Ellenby’s Tackle and Drag Therapy but a super-intense experience for Zack of completely losing his autonomy and bodily choice?

Ellenby felt like a small fish in a big pond as an attorney; making her life about autism makes her feel like a much bigger fish. Again, she co-opts Zack’s identity to fill her ego needs: “I am autism and it is me; I live and breathe it, fully intoxicated: it’s in my marrow. And most unexpectedly, it gives me profound joy and sense of purpose to acknowledge it. It doesn’t matter that I was trained to be an attorney. I’m meant to be something more feral, more hands-on, more intimate and immediate. After a decade spent wandering the wilderness as a little attorney lost, possessing raging zeal with no clearly identifiable group to ignite it, I have come home.”

Ellenby admits she’s not even got the proper training to safely restrain a child. With her attorney instinct, she makes sure to tell people not to do what she did. Yet she uses such scientific phrasing when she describes her “experiments” and writes about her perception of the success in such glowing terms many vulnerable parents will do exactly what she describes, as closely as possible to the way Ellenby did with Zack in search of some magic outcome.

And for all Ellenby’s criticism of ABA in her book, when I Googled her business I found that it’s based on an ABA model. And in her Washington Post article, Ellenby admits that what she is doing with her Tackle and Drag therapy is exactly what ABA therapists do if the 40-hour work week of ABA therapy isn’t making a dent in a child’s behavior. She told Zack’s doctor about the Elmo show, after the fact, and he explained that: “as a last resort, in a controlled way and only after years of therapy, a licensed behavioral clinician might have physically restrained Zack to force him to confront his fears, had he not responded to more gradual methods.”

As Sid Ziff once quipped, this is not a book to be lightly thrown aside; it should be thrown with great force. But it is in the midst of being published and the publisher has defended the author, using some particularly nasty rhetoric against Autistic people who don’t like the book. It will be published.

Ellenby has said no one should speak badly about her book unless they’d read every word. Well, I’ve done that now and I feel soiled and deflated. Demanding that Autistics who are upset by one bite of her book must go on to consume the whole thing before being permitted to have an opinion is the demand of a bully who knows they are requiring vulnerable people to traumatize themselves with her words.

While Ellenby has, perhaps unwittingly, exposed a lot of the ugliness and unsuitability of ABA, she embraces the behavioral paradigm still and enacts the very worst versions of it. Autism Uncensored is a traumatic read and should be resisted as much as possible. I’ve read it for you and saved you the trouble and trauma. Instead of this revolting mess, I suggest you read the following:

Respectfully Connected

Blog: respectfullyconnected.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/RespectfullyConnected

"Authors of this blog come from a wide range of backgrounds and between them have an enormous amount of parenting experience. They all share a desire to parent in a way that both models and facilitates respect and connection, and that values all kinds of diversity. The authors of this blog also share the experience of being part of neurodivergent families."

"This blog exists to share the authors stories, with the hope they will empower and encourage other parents on their journey with the knowledge that there is a gentler, more compassionate way of raising autistic children than much of society tells us, and that close attached relationships are very possible."

We Are Like Your Child

Blog: wearelikeyourchild.blogspot.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/WeAreLikeYourChild

“We Are Like Your Child [is] a collaboration of Autistic (& occasionally, other disabled) adults. We discuss our difficulties & how we work with or around them from a neurodiversity & social model of disability perspective.”

WALYC was organized in response to the many parents who refuse to listen to what Autistic adults have to say about the lived experience of autism, telling us that we can’t possibly have any useful insight or advice because we’re “not like their child.” But you can’t compare an adult to a child and the members of WALYC often discuss challenges many people’s children of all ages face, along with strategies for circumventing or overcoming those challenges.

The Thinking Person’s Guide to Autism

Oh, wait, that’s where you are right now, reading this. Well keep reading TPGA! There is so much collected wisdom here from Autistics, parents, therapists, and more that it would take a shelf of textbooks to hold it all (and the valuable content continues to grow.)

These three sites alone will keep you very busy reading and learning things that will actually help you and your child. Reject Ellenby’s Tackle and Drag therapy and anything that comes from Dr. Lovaas and his ABA practices. Boycott Autism Uncensored and tell everyone why Autistics deserve better.
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The Stories We Don’t Tell: My Mom On Raising An Autistic Child And Why She’ll Never Write About Me

Sarah Kurchak and her Mother Jane Kurchak
 [image: Cheerfully geeky selfie of the author, a white Canadian woman wearing
glasses and also goggles on top of her head; and her mother, a white woman
also wearing glasses plus a pinstriped blue collared shirt, tie, and white jacket.]

Sarah Kurchak
www.riskyfuel.com

When I’m feeling particularly frustrated with my career, I offer to ghostwrite a memoir for my mom. It’s a slightly bitter, semi-serious joke. I’m mostly taking a shot at the fact that the memoirs that non-autistic parents write about raising their autistic children have a much better shot at getting published and selling than anything that I, as an autistic person, could ever hope to write about autism. But there’s also a little part of me that just wants that payday. (I can’t extend this offer to my dad, because he’s a fellow autist and no one seems particularly interested in hearing what autistic parents have to say about these things, either. Or acknowledging that autistic parents even exist.)

My mom is a funny person, and usually quite indulgent when it comes to my humor, but she always shuts this joke down pretty quickly. Even in jest, her answer is clear. This isn’t her story to tell.

As I’ve watched the autistic community respond to the latest offerings from this wretched subgenre and wondered how I could contribute to the conversation at a time where I don’t feel intellectually or emotionally equipped to properly tackle the issue as a writer or an advocate, I kept coming back to this point. So I asked my mom to read two of the most recent and high-profile examples of the Autism Parent memoir, Judith Newman’s To Siri With Love, and the excerpt from Whitney Ellenby’s forthcoming Autism Uncensored that was recently published in The Washington Post. And then I asked her if I could interview her about them. And about us.

The following has been lightly edited for length and clarity. And I’m not so sure it helped the latter. I’m not convinced that I perfectly articulated my points, but it’s the best that I can do right now and I’m hoping you can get the general idea from what I have said.

People argue that no one represents the real autism. This, in its somewhat rambling, possibly overly earnest, and well-meaning glory, is also the real autism.

Sarah Kurchak: You read To Siri With Love recently. Can you give me your general impression of that book?

Jane Kurchak: OK, what I went through while reading was a range of emotions. Mostly it was anger, and then sadness. But, I guess, ultimately I felt that Gus was the punchline and he wasn’t in on the joke. And that bothered me. And I kept thinking…she’s his mother, and that individual that should be the most secure person, place, everything on earth was [instead] doing this end run behind him and telling the whole world about his bathroom issues. And it wasn’t her story to tell.

I always put you in the kid’s position. How would you feel if that were going on? How would you feel? How is Gus going to feel in ten years when maybe the reality of that book hits him? It may or may not, but it still was never her story to tell.

Another thing that bothered me were the number of people and celebrities that were gushing over this book. I kept thinking…why is nobody saying to her “Maybe you shouldn’t be telling Gus’s toilet secrets?” I don’t know. So that’s what Siri did to me. And, in that case…I never, ever questioned that she loved Gus. I just don’t think that she went about all of this the right way. And who am I to judge? But she put the book out there. It’s for all of us to read. We’re going to have opinions. And I just don’t think that was her story to tell.

Which brings us to the article in The Washington Post that we read last week, which was called “Bystanders were horrified. But my son has autism and I was desperate.” Can you give me your general impressions on that?

That made me cry. As upset as I was with the whole Siri book, that pales by comparison to that article I read. That’s child abuse. It is. And, again, I put you in that kid’s position. And never…and I’m not saying that I’m parent of the year, or any of those things. I stumbled through this. I didn’t know. But I cannot, for the life of me, ever ever imagine thinking that was a good idea. To do it wasn’t a good idea. And to write about it is as repugnant as the action.

I was thinking…what the eff is that lady thinking? “I was desperate? People were watching me?” You took him into the damned situation in the first place! This isn’t about her. It shouldn’t be about her. She wanted him to see Elmo.

What I noticed in that piece, even more than in Judith Newman’s observations, was that she kept blaming situations on her child’s autism that were actually problems involving people’s perception of her.

This is all about her. This is all about her.

I try to have sympathy. Not just as a human, but as a writer. Because I think we do have somewhat different boundaries. And yet…I am also someone who has significantly benefited from other people protecting my boundaries so that I could get to the point where I could decide to reveal perhaps too much in certain situations. But even though I am an open book in a lot of ways, there’s a lot of stuff that people don’t know.

And there’s a lot of stuff that is probably going to get weirdly meta in this conversation, where we’re going to talk around what we don’t talk about in my life, so that it can’t be Google-able and people can’t attach things that still have a lot of stigma around them to me, so that I can continue to survive and function as a person in the world and as a writer. As small as my profile is, it’s still a public profile. And none of that would be possible if you and dad had ever been more public about my life.

And we’ve talked about this before. It never occurred to me to make any of your stuff public. We talked about your sleep thing. We all knew about your sleep thing and I joked about that. “Sarah didn’t sleep! That’s why she’s an only child.” There were jokes like that.

There are other situations that we will never discuss. But they were never insurmountable and I can tell you that when some of those things were happening, I would simply say “She’s not going to be doing this at ten. She’s not going to be doing this at sixteen.” It was in the moment.

Do you remember…of course you remember wearing the Smurf hat to Pupo’s [Welland, Ontario’s most beloved grocery store].

I also remember wearing the Smurf hat in grade nine.

I do, too. But that was a bit of a dare, and you go for it. But you loved that hat. And then remember we had to convert it into a Smurfette hat, and you had those big yellow yarn braids hanging down? I loved that you wanted to put that on your head and wear it to the grocery store. You had so much fun doing that, why would I not have gone along with that?

And I do want to be clear for anyone who is going to read this and think this is just an example of someone who is quirky and not “really” autistic: This is an example that we can talk about freely. There are other ones that are way more private that we’re not going to get into. But your choices in all of these situations came from the same compassion. They all came from the same logic. And ultimately ended up benefitting me in the same way, too.

Yes, I can see where you’re going. Yes.

In this conversation, we’re talking about To Siri With Love as a book, because we’ve both read it. We have only read Whitney Ellenby’s article that was published in The Washington Post. We haven’t read Autism Uncensored, her forthcoming book, as a whole. And this is, in part, because you have asked me not to. So can we get into why you asked me not to read this book?

Your level of empathy can be debilitating. You’ve always been like this. Always. And I see your daily struggles. I see you try to function in a pull-up-your-bootsraps neurotypical world. And I know if you read this book, it will crush you. It will take a bigger toll on you, by far, than Siri did. And, as your mother, my concern is your ability to continue functioning carrying that level of upset. So it’s a selfish motive because I don’t want you to hurt and I know that what we’ve read is only a small part of what’s gone on. I don’t want you to read it.

If you were a writer, and you decided to write about me and my childhood, how do you think you would approach it versus what you’ve seen from these parent memoirs?

I have always said to you, to anybody that will listen to me, I have learned more about life in the world from you than from anyone or anything else. And if I were to write, it would be about the lessons that I’ve learned from you. Nothing that you’ve learned from me, but what I’ve learned from you. Only from my perspective. I would never, ever expose, without your permission, any of the incidences that have happened. But every one of those was for me to learn more than it was for you to learn.

So I guess it’s that. Watch your child and learn from them. Take you cues from your child. Just because I’m your parent doesn’t make me right. I would write about how you enrich my life. And people might read this and think “You have to say that. You’re a mother.” They can think what they want. My reality is that my life is a better life because of you. I’m a far more tolerant person. I’m a far more understanding person because of the lessons that I’ve learned from you. Not just because you’re autistic but because you’re autistic and the way you view things and the way you approach things has taught me a different way of viewing and approaching. So that’s what I would want people to know.

So I think we’ve already touched on this a bit but I’m going to try to get a bit more explicit because, for me, this isn’t just an issue of what we write about autism. What concerns me is that this gets to the heart of the stories that we tell about autism in daily life. And when I approach these books…I’ll admit, part of it is professional jealousy, because I want to have at least a fraction of the platform that these people have. I want to be able to write about my autistic life or write autistic characters that can make the next generation feel less of whatever the hell it was that I felt growing up.

But it goes beyond that, too, because I am someone who has benefitted—and, I would argue, only survived and reached this point—because of the stories that nobody told about me. Because I had parents who didn’t exploit me, didn’t film my meltdowns, didn’t tell people about, say, how much I lost my shit at the dentist every time I went, didn’t talk about my toilet training, my utter attachment to you to the point where you couldn’t really go anywhere alone without me freaking out. And these are all things that, again, I want to point out to anyone who is reading this, I am glossing over because this is as much detail as I feel safe revealing under my byline now. The only reason that I feel that anyone can come at me and say “You’re not autistic enough to count” or “You’re not the kind of child that they’re talking about here” is because, when I was that kind of child, no one told on me. When that happened, you would take me out of the situation. No one saw it. And then you wouldn’t talk about it later.

And it would never have occurred to me to talk about it later.

You also, I want to point out, suffered because of that. For all of the talk about autistic kids not being aware of their surroundings, I was hyper aware of the level of criticism that you and dad faced, often when I was around, for ostensibly coddling me, or overprotecting, or spoiling me. Obviously it never occurred to you to say anything, but it could have alleviated your burden if you had told people why you were doing it. And you never did.

No. I never really thought of that before. It didn’t occur to me.

We knew what worked for you. If we were to go into a situation with you, we knew what worked and what didn’t. So if we had to remove ourselves from that situation and hang out somewhere else, what was the problem?

I guess there’s a price that you pay…and people judge. We all judge. But we’re so…who wrote the damned book? Who wrote the book on how society has to function? What’s normal? We can apply it to your temperature, but we certainly don’t need to apply that to behaviour.

I think people assumed that I was a nervous, clingy child because I wasn’t pushed enough, when the reality was that you guys were like that because I was a nervous and clingy child and any steps I’ve made in life are because I have a secure home base. A safe place where I’m never going to be exposed or judged or unduly pushed into something.

And that’s what I feel like every single parental home should be, regardless of if you’re 6 or 36. You should be able to come here, to decompress, and the world doesn’t get to peek in.

My main point that I wanted to discuss here is that I’ve been protected by what you and dad didn’t share, but I also want to say that I think I was really nurtured by the fact that you didn’t bring any outside measurements to my growth and development. Ever. You always always wanted to work on my terms and do what actually made me succeed or survive, or grow. I bring up that shoe story that was in Refinery29 to parents a lot, because I think it’s a great example of how practical you were. The modifications didn’t help. They made me sad, because they ruined my shoes. So you were like “That’s not the solution.”

Unfortunately, because of the narrative that we have around autism now, so many parents are so scared of screwing up and so scared of having these autistic children who won’t be “normal” in the future that they just keep hammering away at one thing, even if it’s not working, even if it’s harming their child, like it’s the only answer.

So again we get back to society’s expectations is driving these parents to make these ridiculous decisions. It’s all of these benchmarks. Why are those the rules?

We should probably wrap this up, but one last thing that I want to say is that I am not just concerned about what these books reveal about their subjects and how that harms them, but I’m also dubious about the purpose of them at all. These are books that are intended to expose the “real” autism or shed a light on the plight and what I wonder is who this level of awareness serves. It seems to me that, as long as the actual issues that they’re talking about have stigma attached to them, we’re not helping autistic people by talking about them in this way. We’re helping carers, because people will sympathize with them. If using a diaper is still stigmatized, then talking about an autistic person who uses a diaper is only going to make people sympathize with the person who might have to help them with it, as opposed to helping people accept that some people just happen to use diapers.

Until the actual autistic needs and behaviors are accepted, I don’t see any purpose to this kind of awareness beyond narratives that peddle in tragedy and the lionization of non-autistic people.

That’s it exactly. I don’t know a catchy phrase for it. But they put it out there, you see how the public eats it up and it’s permission to be the victim. So that’s why it’s going to sell. And I bet there are a lot of…I have no idea what the statistics would be, but there’s no way in the world that Dad and I are the only two who let it play out this way. There have to be a ton of people like this, but those stories just aren’t as exciting.

I’ve become associated with a lot of great parents through Twitter, and I know they’re out there. Unfortunately, part of what makes them great parents is that they don’t dominate the conversation, so you don’t see them.

So you’re going to write a story. You know, when you write that story, you’re going to expose yourself to more criticism.

Yeah.

And I’m not going to lie. I think about that. And I wish it wouldn’t happen. But I have to say, in this case, you’ve taken it upon yourself to help someone that can’t really speak for themselves and I’m so fucking proud.

It’s not that they can’t speak or communicate, it’s just that I am lucky enough to have slipped into a platform that…you know, I might have a higher profile career if I weren’t autistic, but it’s still more than a lot of great autistic writers and bloggers are afforded. And I’m just…I don’t know…what is any of this for if the next Sarah has to live all of this the exact same way?

OK. And I just want you to know that I’m proud.

I’m wondering if it’s going to seem incredibly self-serving if we end on my mommy being proud of me.

Well, you can decide whether you want to put that in or not. But I’m not just throwing that in. I am.

----

Originally published at Medium
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