Autistic Moments – What’s Wrong?

Apparently I forget about my face. It’s there, I know, and I’m supposed to put more effort into it, but I don’t. I don’t get why I should, really. Smiling all the time hurts my face, and why should I put effort into my expression especially when I’m not in the middle of socializing? Sometimes I’m hyper focused on something, and that focus means that I don’t have the diverted brain energy going into making my face palatable to others. Sometimes it’s just nice to be alone and stare into space while playing fantasies about mythical battles, dramatic romances, and epic dragons. When my brain’s so busy with such wonderful things, why would I bother trying to make my face look like I want to be approached?

Part of my lack of effort in my face is because I get annoyed when pictures are taken and my face isn’t perceived the way I perceive it. What’s the point in putting effort into smiling if the smile I like isn’t the smile other people like? I’ve been told that pictures I think look really nice (usually with a close-lipped smile) make me look like I want to murder people with some sort of death glare. That I don’t look properly happy without a big, toothy grin that feels weird to pose with on my face. I just don’t see it. I don’t think I look as good, I feel like I see more of me the way I see myself when I don’t smile at all, or when I have a slight smile. I think there’s something delicate about my lips in that way, and big, toothy smiles make me think of comedy, clowns, and jokes – all bulky things in my mind that are heavy and take up energy, even if they take up energy in a good way. Those things don’t mean ‘happy’ to me, not really. They’re amusing, of course, and I can feel happy while experiencing them, but that doesn’t capture ‘happy’ for me. Happy to me is more about being content and comfortable, with pizza, soft clothes, and a good book/movie/videogame. I don’t need smiles to enjoy those things. The way I feel in my head doesn’t match up to what other people feel my face expresses, and it can be exhausting practicing and making sure I remember not to let the mask slip.

I think some of the reason I get comments is because of gender. There’s a thing about getting girls to smile all the time that I don’t quite comprehend. If someone sees I’m not smiling, wouldn’t they understand there could be a reason I’m not smiling? Or maybe no reason to smile? Smiling takes energy and I wish people would stop demanding I spend energy for no good reason.

Just as common though are well meaning people who think I’m always sad or angry or that something must be wrong for me to be sitting by myself and staring off into space without any particular expression on my face. They just want to help, and I get that. I even appreciate the concern.

But sometimes sitting there alone and expressionless helps me recharge my social batteries before plunging into the fray once more. A few daydreams, a little bit of watching the grass grow, playing bejeweled on my phone, or bouncing my leg up and down, and I can be good to go.

So, nothing’s wrong, thank you for asking. I get that you mean well, but I really am fine and you don’t have to look so skeptical when I tell you I’m fine. If I’m not fine, chances are that I just need some time to recharge. If you are a close friend who knows that I enjoy spending time with them without feeling drained afterwards, that’s cool and I’m probably okay with hanging out while I recharge. If I’m not, don’t be offended. But if you’re just a well-meaning passerby, please continue to pass by. Don’t tell me to come on out of my shell because socializing and smiling will make me feel better. It won’t. And even when I do recharge, don’t be too worried about whether there’s a smile on my face. If it happens, it happens. But I don’t think it’s worth draining my batteries to force it.

Autistic Moments - What's wrong.png

Image text:

Well-Meaning Person: Hey, what’s wrong?

Some Girl with a Braid: Nothing. Why?

Well-Meaning Person: You look upset.

Some Girl with a Braid: Huh. Weird.

 

What type of techniques do you use to recharge? I have a few go-to stims (fidgeting, rubbing my eyes, bouncing my leg up and down), and I like soft quite places, like my bed with a heavy comforter (or two) and possibly a million pillows. I’m curious how others cope.

Like, share, comment, or follow me here, on Facebook (Some Girl with a Braid), or Twitter (@AmalenaCaldwell) for future updates if you enjoy my posts!

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Sexual Assault, Autism, and the case for Comprehensive Sex Education for Autistics and the Disabled

Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault discussion

I am lucky as a disabled woman in our society. I’ve never been raped or seriously sexually assaulted, unlike so many of my peers. When I say ‘seriously’, I mean that no one’s ever held me down, no one’s gone under my clothes without permission, no one’s not accepted ‘no’ for an answer. Not that other forms of sexual assault aren’t serious, but I don’t quite know what other word to use to differentiate between what I’ve experienced, which has been relatively minor, and the deeply traumatic pain that’s been inflicted on others to an extent I can’t comprehend. With that disclaimer for the limitations of the English language, let’s discuss what I have experienced and how it applies to the topics of sex education and autism.

I have had a few brushes with inappropriate men in my life. Two in particular stand out to me, since I’m going to ignore common things like catcalls for now (they’re their own nightmare for another time). The first happened in seventh grade, at twelve or thirteen years old. I was in the school musical, and we girls were backstage in our dressing room getting on costumes and make-up. Without any warning, announcement, or request for permission, the videographer the school had hired to film the production decided to barge in and record us. Most of us were at least half naked, or in only underwear. He was a grey-haired, older man. I still remember the creepy, wide, toothed smile he had on his face as he ogled us. He seemed entertained by the panicked reaction he’d gotten. I was infuriated instantly at the sight of him, at the gall he had to do such a thing, and put myself between his camera and some of the practically naked teens and pre-teens who were trying to hide their bodies from him to try and ruin his shot. I screamed at him to leave. I believe some others shouted at him too, but the details of that are fuzzy because I was hyper focused at the time. He was practically giggling with how giddy he was, but we did get him to leave.

Later, he was instructed by one of the adults to come up to me privately and apologize, as if I were the only one offended because I’d been the loudest. It was explained to me that he was simply trying to get filler backstage content, and that it wasn’t that big of a deal, that lots of films about stage shows and musicals had that sort of footage of actors getting ready, but that he was sorry he’d offended me. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember questioning myself as to whether it was a big deal or not, since none of the adults seemed to think it was to my knowledge. I never mentioned this incident to anyone until recently when talk of the appropriateness of authoritative older male figures barging into pre-teen dressing rooms came into question during an uncomfortable conversation. I realized it had happened to me, and how deeply wrong that is.

The second incident happened in tenth grade, when I was a little older. My school had a fencing team, and the coach had always been just on the edge of being possibly uncomfortable to me, but never crossing any lines – or at least not being reported for it. I do recall him grabbing one of the moms he knew was married and kissing her on the lips against her will, without being reported for it. I said nothing because I was a child and she was an adult, so I figured if she didn’t say anything then it wasn’t my place to. Other than that, he always gave me the vibe of someone I shouldn’t let myself be alone in a room with for long. He would sometimes get a little too close for comfort with me. When I asked about buying my own gear, he said I could buy the standard ‘male’ outfit, but I’d look a lot better with the female tailored outfit to show off my curves (I was fifteen). When giving awards to those participating in a competition he would shake the hands of all the male students and kiss the cheeks of and hug all the female students. Those who know me well enough know that I absolutely loath hugging people I’m not comfortable with, and kisses from people I don’t want kisses from make me want to scream for multiple reasons. But I grit my teeth and dealt with it because I didn’t know how to tell him not to without coming across as reading too much into it, or as ‘weird’ for not being okay with something everyone else felt was normal (back when I refused all hugs from non-family I’d been accused of having ‘something’ wrong with me, and for a long time I lived in fear of coming across that way). The action that went over the line was when he decided it was appropriate to lay his hand on my behind. I had a fencing sabre in hand and instinctively spun around and struck him with it, causing him to berate me for attacking a teacher while I screamed in tears that he wasn’t allowed to touch me like that. It was an embarrassing, confusing spectacle in front of the whole fencing team. I stormed out when he wouldn’t apologize and walked home early from school.

I remember thinking to myself… maybe he didn’t mean it the way I thought he did. Maybe it was appropriate in some ‘sporty’ way. Maybe my pants were too tight – he’d commented on my tight clothes before. Maybe somehow it was my fault, or I’d read the situation wrong. These thoughts shocked me because I knew they were wrong, but they wormed their way into my mind anyway. What kept me secure in the knowledge that he had done wrong and I had done nothing wrong was the education I’d received about my rights to my body, and also my right to defend myself. The confident message I’d always received from my parents that no one had the right to touch me if I didn’t want them to. I mustered my courage and went to the principle first thing the next school day. The coach was fired – which I’m grateful for considering how many schools don’t handle sexual assault well – and I never saw him again.

These are ‘minor’ things in the grand scheme of sexual assault, but I want to talk about them for a very specific reason: how I conducted myself. I didn’t put up with it. I knew consent was something I needed, and that it wasn’t okay for men I didn’t want to film me nearly naked or touch my privates. I’d been taught about consent, and had classes on comprehensive sex education. No means no, and nothing else.

Not all autistics or disabled people get that education. In fact, when it comes to mental disability, it’s sometimes not just neglected completely, but messages opposite to ‘no means no’ are taught.

Five-year-old Johnny doesn’t want to hug his parents. His therapist tells him he has to. He shakes his head, he avoids eye contact, he tries to wiggle away, he has a meltdown, he gives every signal he can to show how deeply uncomfortable and physically painful this is for him. His parents think it means he doesn’t love him because they can’t understand that physical contact and love aren’t necessarily connected. His therapist spends hours, weeks, years training him to hug on command regardless. His no does not mean no. He is not allowed to say no, because his therapists and his parents don’t believe he has a right to his own body.

When Johnny is in middle school, his parents don’t let him take sex ed because they feel it’s not something someone with his neurology needs. Then his PE coach makes inappropriate comments that go unchallenged. The coach makes him give hugs that last too long after class. The coach slides his hand between Johnny’s legs. The coach says they should shower together, that it’s okay and it’s what adults do. The coach wants to show Johnny other things adults do. Johnny obeys because he’s been taught and trained and forced to submit by his parents, his therapist, and his teachers. He’s been taught that his body isn’t his, and that he has to do what others tell him to do, even if it makes him uncomfortable, if he doesn’t want to, if it doesn’t feel right, or even if it hurts. He doesn’t know it’s wrong. He learns what sex is from his coach. Sex is a painful act forced on him for the purpose of someone else’s pleasure. He has never learned anything to tell him that’s wrong, that sex is supposed to be something else, something good. That a relationship isn’t supposed to hurt.

There are a lot of horror stories around compliance training – most I hear about come from traditional ABA therapy. Therapists forcing their young clients to hug on command, and those clients growing up not to have a concept of bodily autonomy, making them perfect victims for sexual predators. I’ve read the stories of victims and survivors, and it makes me sick to my stomach. I think of all the people out there not taught about sexuality or healthy relationships because it’s deemed inappropriate for their autistic brains, despite them potentially being sexual beings like all other teens and adults.

I think how easily that could have been me if I’d gotten an early diagnosis and my parents had sent me to a bad therapist simply because they wouldn’t have known any better.

Maybe instead of trying to keep that videographer from filming us, thirteen-year-old me would have just stood there and allowed myself to be filmed in my underwear by a man old enough to be my grandpa. Maybe he shows me that inappropriate footage and tells me that if I don’t take off the underwear in private, he’ll send the film to my classmates and parents. Maybe instead of getting my fencing coach fired, fifteen-year-old me would have remained quiet, giving him the ‘signal’ that I wouldn’t report him if he progressed to more horrific actions.

Not being labeled as autistic or disabled may have saved me from a terrible fate, but I shouldn’t need to suffer through nearly two decades without a term for my own brain to have access to the education to learn to stand up to assault, to learn about healthy sexuality. Autistic and disabled people deserve appropriate, comprehensive education. We often have mature sexual bodies. We need to learn about what that means. We need to have full knowledge of the concept of consent, and about what healthy relationships are like, what they look like with us in them. Healthy relationships are about mutual respect, friendship, love, and potentially also include pleasurable sex (including lgbt+ sex – not all autistics are straight). While this is desperately needed for everyone, I feel there’s a heightened need for those of us with social disability to have education on this because social norms are something we need to learn across the board. A relationship is a social construct, and if we aren’t taught about them in a good way, there’s the potential for someone to teach it to us in a bad way.

If you are the parent of an autistic, don’t assume that because of their difficulties (non-verbal, no eye contact, intense stimming, severe sensory disorders, or any other issues) they don’t need to learn about adult matters. Consent is not a luxury for the able-minded or able-bodied. Autistic children become autistic adults. We have adult bodies and we need to know about them, about our rights to them. I am what happens when you do things right – a strong individual capable of standing up for her right to say no and eventually finding fulfilling, happy, healthy relationships in the dating world. Your child, who will become an adult, should be too. Please, don’t neglect us.

Thank you.

Autistic Moments – Talking Over Me

What is the correct way to refer to me and others like me? Let’s talk about talk.

When it comes to autism, there’s a lot of talk about talk. Mostly, in the form of arguments for or against one of two sides. One side promotes ‘person-first language’. Person-first language is calling someone a “person with autism.” This is because they feel that putting emphasis on the fact that we are people will help humanize us, and also often because they don’t want to see their child as a walking condition/diagnosis. Rather, they would like to see them as just their child.

The other side champions ‘identity-first language’. Aka: “I’m autistic”, “I’m an autistic”, or “I’m an autistic person.” This is because, since autism is in our brains and is a major aspect of our personality, we don’t see ourselves as separate from our condition anymore than you might see yourself as separate from your gender, sexuality, religion, race, or other intricate parts of your identity. We feel that separating autism from our personhood is dehumanizing in that it is trying to sanitize and change us to be more appealing to neurotypicals. As if we can’t be seen as both autistic and a person, that these things must be separate, because autism is not a person and the implication is that being neurotypical is the default onto which is added autism. Except that’s not the case. We cannot be without our autism, just like we cannot be without our gender, sexuality, religion, etc.

I’m female in the same way I’m autistic. No one ever stops me to say that I should say “No, you’re a person with female-ness. Put the person before the female.” The implication I get from that is that, somehow, females aren’t a type of people. Which is probably why no one says it, because females are undeniably people. But apparently, autistics are not?

If you can’t tell already, I prefer identity-first language for all the reasons I’ve listed, and probably a few more I’m forgetting.

The main point I’d like to get to isn’t the merits of one over the other. In fact, I think it’s just fine if someone prefers to be referred to as a person with autism (though as an English nut, I feel it’s a bulky, unnecessary phrase). If they do, then I’ll respect that and refer to them as such – though I should mention that the majority I’ve encountered and across the expanse of the internet prefer identity-first. No, the main point I’d like to get to has to do with non-autistic people getting all huffy and puffy over language. There are a lot of people online who claim to be autism advocates, parents, or professionals who flat out stamp on and insult autistic people for asking that their choices be respected. Sometimes a neurotypical posts something about “people with autism” and an autistic person corrects them, only to be virtually shouted at, berated, and belittled. Sometimes a neurotypical will seek out autistics and inform them that they’re being offensive.

However they make these comments, neurotypicals engaging in this behavior are disrespecting and offending the very people they claim they want to help. They are silencing our voices because we make them uncomfortable and they are accustomed to the stereotype that we cannot communicate. Sometimes they tell us that because we can speak, we don’t count (which is always amusing when this is told to someone who then reveals themselves to be non-verbal behind the keyboard).  It’s as if they want us to be silenced. They want to believe the stereotype that autistics cannot communicate. The advance of technology has made us more capable than ever before, and they don’t want us talking for ourselves, because then who will listen to them as the expert? We challenge their authority by existing and typing. You can’t have much more expertise and authority on autism beyond being autistic yourself and living it 24/7. I feel that these people talking over us are afraid that we’ll displace them and replace them as the ‘top dog’ in go-to autism related matters. They have a loud privilege at the moment in this society. Like all people with privilege, they’re afraid of losing it, even if it’s a sub-conscious fear. So they put us down and try to keep us quiet, try to make their voices the loudest.

No one likes being told that what they’re doing is hurtful. It’s a personal stab when someone accuses you of doing anything wrong, even if you didn’t mean to. But if you’re an adult, you should know to graciously accept comments and use them to better yourself. The proper response to an autistic person telling you, “Actually, I prefer being called autistic” is not “How dare you question me?! I have so many qualifications!” (or variations thereof). Instead, try, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I’ll try to do better in the future. Thank you.”

And as for other autistics out there… Don’t be afraid to correct people to whatever your preference is. If they don’t hear/read/see our voices and communications, then they’ll never change, never learn to respect our agency, and may not even realize we do indeed have our own agency. If you can’t emotionally handle the potential backlash, then do what’s best for your mental health. But if you can, know you have the support of at least this autistic. You do you, and don’t let anyone tell you you’re doing it wrong.

What are your thoughts on and experiences with person-first vs. identity-first language? Leave them in the comments below!

Autistic Moments - Talking Over Me

Comic Text:

Some Girl with a Braid says: … And that’s how I learned I’m autistic.

Blue Mommy Martyr says: Oh no, sweety, you shouldn’t say ‘Autistic’. Say ‘Person with Autism’ or else you’re insulting them. Put the ‘person’ first.

Some Girl with a Braid says: Can you not see us as people and autistics at the same time? I feel personhood is implied with any descriptive identity. And, as an autistic, I prefer identity-first language. Actually, the vast majority of autistics I’ve encountered within the autistic community prefer identity-first terminology because we feel that separating our personhood from our neurology is stigmatizing and vilifying a significant part of who we are. We cannot be the people we are without our autism. We cannot be people without our brains. Autism is also not something we can be rid of; it is not a cancer that can be cured or a purse that can be put down. It is always with us. It is who we are, for better or worse. It’s the same way you would refer to yourself as a female instead of ‘person with female-ness’. It’s a part of who you are and not offensive. If someone on the spectrum does prefer person-first language, then use it at their request, but by telling me how to talk about myself, you are policing and silencing the community you want to help, and insulting us by trying to rob our agency.

Blue Mommy Martyr says: How dare you! I know more about the experience of people with autism than you ever could because I’m a professional and I have a two year old nephew with autism!

Some Girl with a Braid says: …

Blue Mommy Martyr says: You obviously don’t know any better, so I’ll be offended by you on your behalf and attack you for you.

Some Girl with a Braid says: Are you serious right now?

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Autistic Moments – Faces

I’d always read about autistic people having difficulty with faces. Usually in regards to recognizing emotions and reading body language, but also in recognizing people. It’s called prosopagnosia, also known as ‘face blindness’, and is defined as the inability to remember faces, or sometimes even to differentiate a face from an object. I’d read about this often being something that autistics deal with, but always thought that was a symptom I just didn’t have. I can recognize my parents’ faces, my siblings, my cousins, grandparents, best friends, long-term classmates, and most teachers. If I meet someone I consider interesting, I’ll probably remember their face. Then I went to college, away from my small class of forty-two graduating students, some of whom I’d known for twelve years.

I started getting greeted by people I’d just met and completely not knowing why they were talking to me or why they knew my name unless they mentioned what class we had together, or how we’d met. I’d be unable to remember what name went with each person, and facebook (ironically named for this post) became a saving grace. I’d always had difficulty remembering names, but for the longest time I figured that was just because I knew too many people and that they only recognized me because of my unusual hair, so it was just natural some would slip my mind and I couldn’t be expected to remember everyone. Once in college, it was a jump into the deep end to try and keep everyone’s names and faces straight.

There was one particular class I remember that made it all crystal clear to me that perhaps I did have a mild version of this autistic symptom. I had a project I was supposed to present with a partner the next time we had class, and I was feeling fairly confident since she was a nice person and we’d done some good research. The day comes, and I go up to get ready to present. I’m pulling up our powerpoint presentation and realize I can’t spot her in the class. I start completely panicking, thinking that maybe she’s sick that day and I’d have to present her half of the project. I started frantically looking at the door, looking nervously at the teacher, reading over her half of the powerpoint so that I could practice at least a little and not bomb in front of the class… then at the last moment this girl walks up with a big smile and asks if I’m ready to go. Relief flooded me because I realized the only reason I thought she was absent was because she’d changed her hairstyle and that was how I’d been recognizing her up until that point.

I told this story to my fiance, and he just told me, “Yep, sounds like you had an autistic moment.” It took me a moment to realize, yeah, I had. And somehow, that felt really good to know.

If you’ve experienced moments like this, feel free to share them in the comments section, I’d love to hear all about it. Like, share, or follow me here, on Facebook (Some Girl with a Braid), or Twitter (@AmalenaCaldwell) for future updates if you enjoy my posts.

Autistic Moments - Faces

Comic Text:

Some Girl with a Braid says: See you tomorrow for the project presentation!

Girl with Ponytail says: Yep!

(Next day in class)

Some Girl with a Braid thinks: Oh no, she’s absent today, I’m screwed. Oh no, oh help, oh no…

Girl with Ponytail who’s hair is now open says: Hey! Ready to present our project?

Some Girl with a Braid says: Yep, all set up and ready to go!

Some Girl with a Braid thinks: Oh thank goodness, she just changed her hair.

I’m Acting

When it comes out that I’m both autistic and enjoy theater, I often get asked some variation of, “But you can’t even make a phone call without anxiety, how can you go up on stage in front of so many people and perform for them?”

My response: “It’s scripted, perfected, practiced socialization in which I can interact indirectly with people I can’t see easily due to the brightness of stage lights, and get praised for afterwards with applause. What’s not to like?”

Perhaps that’s what drew me to the stage. I was shy at first, but after singing the Star-Spangled Banner in third grade for a school talent show, I wanted more. People stood and cheered for me. I could socialize without socializing. I was accepted without needing to speak to anyone.

In middle school, I began acting rather than singing and dancing as I had been up until that point. The difference between the first two and the third is that singing and dancing are highly perfected, ideally the same for each performance. They are a person on their own or in a group doing something that, for the styles I was practicing, did not require anyone else. Acting is completely different – acting is reacting. Acting is learning how to be someone else, to be human in ways you are not. Acting is learning a script and putting on a persona, a mask, and being so in tune with that persona that if the person you’re reacting to messes up their lines, you are capable of adjusting in character as someone else without throwing off the performance. Acting is teaching yourself to think, react, speak, and move like someone you’re not.

I believe it’s likely that my six years of acting lessons attributed significantly to the delayed revelation of my autism (which no therapist, psychologist, or psychiatrist suggested until I was nineteen years old and in the spiral of a shutdown). In some ways, I’m grateful for my acting ability. I can pass. I can be normal. I can be Amalena without autism if I need to be. She is a character separate from myself I can slip into. I can look you in the eye, smile and laugh at the right times, and make all the appropriate faces because I spent years studying mine meticulously in the mirror to get it to mimic normal people’s just right, without realizing that I was doing so much more than learning how to play a role on stage. For the most part, I know how to react to other people’s faces appropriately because I trained to react via a character’s reaction to another character’s reaction. There are a lot of good things in knowing how to pass as neurotypical. I can go to job interviews and act the way they expect someone to act, and no one knows I’m not ‘normal’. If I keep my mouth shut about it and don’t slip up, I will not be discriminated against due to outward signs of being autistic. Even if I decide not to keep up with it down the road, it can get me a foot in the door to start with. That’s a positive, considering the world isn’t necessarily a kind place to those who are different.

However, there is a massive negative that’s related to what my mom told me for years (out of good will and no malice, as we had no clue I wasn’t neurotypical). She would point out when I was around others that I should change my expression (“Smile more, you’ll look friendlier! You look like you want to murder someone. Don’t cross your arms, it makes other people think you don’t want to talk to them.”), and that when I was interacting with others, I should put on a persona just like in acting so that I could gain more confidence and be happier. She told me if you tell yourself something long enough, you’ll make it true. If I told myself I was a sociable, happy, confident individual for long enough, that would make it true. If I pretended. Acted. Lied to myself.

But it takes effort to maintain that persona. To be ‘Amalena’ instead of Amalena. It takes a constant emotional toll to act every day, day in and day out. Around family, friends, and acquaintances. To smile, laugh, and hug people I don’t want to. What happens if you wear a mask too long is that the mask starts to crack. Fractures form, the edges chip off, the paint peals back as if exposed to severe heat of the person burning alive inside.

And then you can’t take it anymore, and the mask shatters. And you have to learn what it is to be you without the persona, because you can’t take it anymore and the light shining in your eyes burns because you have no shield between you and the world. You forget how to be you because you’ve been trying not to be for so long. You have to relearn yourself.

I went to college and was alone for the first time while surrounded constantly by people I didn’t know. The stress of that situation and the pressure of maintaining who I was supposed to be according to everyone else caused the chronic depression from high school to deepen, and caused new debilitating anxiety. I often found myself trapped in my dorm on the eleventh floor with no motivation or too much panic to be able to leave the safety of being surrounded by my clutter and my blankets.

Then my psychologist suggested that I was Autistic, thanks to a casual mention of an apparent ‘symptom’ I hadn’t considered unusual. (Doesn’t everyone count their steps to make sure that they take an even number of them?) I read about Autism and how it presented itself – specifically how it presented itself in girls. It seemed so obvious. The terrible temper tantrums and anger management problems I’d inflicted on my parents weren’t just bad behavior. They were meltdowns. The nauseating hatred for the texture and smell of certain foods wasn’t just the sign of a picky, spoiled child – they were sensory overloads causing aversion, as was my sensitivity to loud noises in places like concerts and movie theaters. The way my brain worked wasn’t the experience everyone else had – it was autistic. And that was okay.

I don’t act as often anymore. I have the persona of ‘Amalena’ I can slip into if necessary, a metaphorical mask kept in a metaphorical case on a metaphorical shelf, but I don’t force myself to try as often as I used to. I feel free now, knowing why I am the way I am, and knowing it’s alright not to act. It might not be socially acceptable all the time, but I’ve learned not to care because it’s simply not worth the stress.

I think that acting is a good skill to learn for an Autistic individual, if they can handle the stress involved in taking some of the classes. It’s a handy thing to have in the back pocket and can be a sort of ‘foreign language’ course in tone, body language, and all those other things that elude so many of us. But it should never be used to make an Autistic person be a neurotypical person. Characters belong on stage, not in your life. Be yourself instead of pleasing people who don’t want you to be. Ultimately, I believe that is the key to being a happier, well-adjusted Autistic.