Thought Experiments for Autism Experts

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I spoke in my last post of the recent meeting I had with two neurotypical clinicians teaching a class on the psychology of autism, and how it did not go well. To recap, I had two neurotypical [not autistic] people disagreeing with my perspective as an autistic. To understand why this is so insulting, let’s imagine a demographically different scenario:

You are a black person who has just learned that two white people, who claim to have studied black people extensively, are teaching a class called The Black Experience in America for the first time at your local college – to a bunch of white students no less. You learn that they have not consulted with any black people about what will be taught or considered the perspectives and writings of actual black people. All their knowledge comes from external observations of black people by white people in clinical and institutional settings or from observing black children they have adopted.

You go in and find that they have left out every instance of black achievement, the concerns of black women and black LGBT+ specifically, and have concluded that black people would be better off if they could figure out how to act less black. You try to explain that the only accurate, expert perspective is that put forth by actual black people who have lived in America.

Yet, the white professors insist they are the ones who are closest to the truth of your own situation. They act like you took a dump on their desk for daring to suggest that it’s OK to be black and not be judged as inferior for it.

Not listening to people who are living in the skins or minds or bodies that you study and claim to uplift is useless at best and genocidal at worst.

You explain, calmly, that harms have been done to the black community by institutions and white supremacy and that this needs to be covered in the course material as well. They think that whites are perfectly fair and that racism is a thing of the past. They doubt you, debate your base of researched knowledge, and dismiss your inside observations of the black experience and what the consensus is among African-Americans on key issues. Once again they list their credentials as white experts on black people and question your sanity and intelligence. They insist that black Americans must be misperceiving their own lives and minds.

“But . . . Im black,” you insist, but they continue to teach the class from a white supremacist perspective.

That’s how my conversation felt, because it was the neurodiverse vs. neurotypical/ableist version of the scenario I described. See how messed up that is? [I want to mention that black autistic people do exist, even though they are never included, and the difficulties they face at their intersection are many times worse. Few of us lead single-issue lives.]

It also felt like having a dude mansplain feminism. Absolutely ridiculous.

Much as black people and women are often presumed to be incompetent, even concerning their own perceptions of themselves, autistic people are constantly rebuked, silenced, belittled, and contradicted when we tell others what it’s actually like.

Another parallel: Our white experts on blackness have concluded that blackness is tragic because it can lead to being shot or locked up in jail. Consider this: the  origin of “autism” is ‘from the Greek word “autos,” which means “self.” It describes conditions in which a person is removed from social interaction. In other words, he becomes an “isolated self.”’

Saying that most neurodiverse people have autism or “isolated-self-ism” is like saying black people have “lynch-ism.” We are identified in name by an involuntary consequence of our own oppression and otherization.  The oppressor is linguistically erased. Please note that no one is lynching autistic people or gunning them down like black people; yet autistic people, because of our stigma, are being murdered, are the frequent targets of hate crimes, face discrimination in every imaginable sphere, and we have a bad habit of killing ourselves when we lose hope of human connection. The end consequences of different types of marginalization are often chillingly similar.

But who’s most responsible for this autistic state of being? The autistic person or those who see them as unacceptable? The person who is different or those who have made being different dangerous and lonely? Autism is simply a catch-all term for a wide range of neurological differences that non-autistics find mysterious, confusing, and off-putting. So they actively shut out people with these differences.

Saying that most neurodiverse people have autism or “isolated-self-ism” is like saying black people have “lynch-ism.” We are identified in name by an involuntary consequence of our own oppression and otherization. The oppressor is linguistically erased.

Every autistic person has the capacity to enjoy some, even if not much, human interaction. Most of us desperately wish for closeness, relationships, friends, and social communication. We are not inherently isolationist. This is because the majority-rule humans won’t meet us part-way and learn our neuro-culture and language as we have had to learn theirs. The communication gap is as much their fault as ours, but all the blame and onus to change falls squarely on us.

This is where autistics are shaking up the public perceptions of who we are and what we need – and clinicians and other self-appointed institutionally-backed “experts” are refusing to listen to the growing chorus of neurodiverse voices on blogs, in TED Talks, on YouTube channels, in print media, and in public and professional sphere. Much as black people are often presumed to be incompetent, even concerning their own perceptions of themselves, autistic people are constantly rebuked, silenced, belittled, and contradicted when we tell others what it’s actually like.

Clean your fucking house, clinicians! Stop destroying the public perception of us and have the integrity to evaluate the harm you have perpetuated and embrace our neurodiversity-positive perspective.

Not listening to people who are living in the skins or minds or bodies that you study and claim to uplift is useless at best and genocidal at worst.

On Talking Down to People with Asperger’s Syndrome

My attempts to blaze a trail for neurodiversity rights in America largely consists of me awkwardly introducing myself to key people, online and in person, who might prove to be valuable allies. I tell them my backstory and then present my neurodiversity-positive perspective to them. If they see the light, they see it; if they don’t they are just awful to me. 

At the college I graduated from (finally, with no accommodations whatsoever), a new class is being taught by two women, a psychologist educator and a clinician, on autistic psychology. I contacted them to have a sit-down to see if they were on the same page as me and therefore willing to be resources and allies. 

It didn’t go quite like I’d hoped.

I introduced myself as an autistic rights advocate. The Educator was friendly and welcoming, if a bit maternalistic, and perhaps this is because she has an autistic son. However, she invited her teaching partner for the class, the Clinician, to sit in on our conversation. I’m not as good at speaking with more than one person to keep track of, but what I have to say is important so I agreed. After going along in my spiel for a while, the Clinician interrupted me as I was finishing up the grittiest part of my tale, and in a voice dripping with condescension, preceded to ask me, like I was a dumb neophyte, what I thought I was really going to do to advocate for autistic people.

In fact, her tone was so acid, I had difficultly understanding for a moment what she was getting at. What she was “getting at” was confirming the power imbalance between us by trying to insult my efforts and enthusiasm. I admit, I had criticisms of how her profession has harmed people like me and how clinicians frequently don’t listen to women who come to them with a suspected autism diagnosis. I spoke of how clinicians are prone to over-pathologizing people with neurological differences rather than working with us to figure out how to navigate our cognitive profile and cultural variance. 

If you are a professional who balks at this, I think you are the one who has developmental difficulties. An important aspect of growing as a professional is being willing to heartily consider the perspectives of the very people you purport to study and help. Clinicians, researchers, nonprofits, and parent organizations have been belittling, nay fighting, the ideas and concerns of autistic adults for quite some time – intellectual disability or not. 

In addition, I’ve spent the last couple of decades living as a person people took to be a normally developed adult woman. Now that I disclose my diagnosis to certain folks, I am amazed at how differently I am addressed and spoken to. Some people take on a parental tone and some speak to me as if I have an intellectual disability. Some are sarcastic or pandering, not understanding that I can easily pick up on this, but not react to it immediately. In truth, I’ve been independently navigating the adult world with no accommodations or mercy for over 25 years and I think out my actions and projects to an insanely meticulous degree. 

[Note: Please speak to all developmentally disabled adults, whether their intellectual abilities are compromised or not, as if they are adults you respect and value. Always. Even when we say things that might seem uncouth or too blunt. Doing otherwise is ableist. If we screw up and insult you, a simple “Hey, I didn’t like this thing you said because it implied this and made me feel thus” is perfectly adequate. We value this kind of feedback because being able to get along with others is important to our survival, assimilation, and self-advocacy.]

However, when it comes to speaking the truth about the urgent issues that autistic people face in America, especially in the deep South, I’m not going to sugar-coat our perspective and its validity. Sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, but people like me are accustomed to being uncomfortable all the time. Welcome to our world. 

Sadly, these condescenders are the same folks who ought to be the ones advocating for our perspective. Ableism runs deep, however, especially in the medical profession. When the patient is cognitively or socially different, the patient is always wrong, mistaken, or misperceiving the situation. There are many phrases and euphemisms to express to someone that you don’t value or believe them, and maybe even think they’re crazy and misguided. 

What gives me confidence in my perspective is the chorus of voices I have encountered since taking up this cause for myself and others like me. Women in the autistic community write beautifully about their experiences, both internal and external. We have a style that transmits clarity, grace, and a heaping helping of blunt-force truth. We are consummate communicators, given the right method, and this is one of the major differences between autistic males and females. [Interestingly, the two women didn’t even directly cover gender differences in an entire semester.] 

We know how to spell shit out for normals is what I’m saying. 

Problem is, no one is deigning to listen. No one is seeking us out for our opinions. No one is giving us any funding, marketing, or nonprofit money to further our cause. We all know now that women and minorities have a hard time getting people to believe what they experience. Imagine how having a stigmatized brain condition and being female complicates this. Add on not being white and/or being queer and you can understand why our suicide rate is shockingly high. 

After explaining to the Clinician the various direct actions and programs we need in our community to mitigate our suffering and how I’ve been avidly building a network and platform for three years, I hope her misgivings were assuaged. But, boy, it left a bad taste in my mouth. I hope they heed my words and give my ideas a bit more study . . . 

One mean-ass old white woman down; a bazillion to go.

On Being an Unaccompanied Woman

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I’ve always been my favorite companion. I want to be by myself the majority of the time. After I’ve been around people I have to go home and pace around until I calm down and sometimes this can take hours. I enjoy most interactions with the people I choose to meet with, but like I said in my last post, people’s treatment of me varies a bit. So it’s always a gamble.

I know that being a woman who goes about her life solo is it’s own kind of oppression.

I go on vacation alone, to restaurants alone, to movies alone, to museums alone, to concerts alone, to bars alone, to community events alone. ALWAYS. This is highly unusual behavior even in our “post-feminist” landscape. I see all the “independent woman” memes and cringe though. We give a lot of lip service to being strong women who don’t care what other people think about us, but the truth is that most women, and men, still see an unaccompanied woman as bizarre, tragic, lame, and sad. 1000% of movies with “strong female leads” have her hooking up with a partner and having at least one quirky best friend.

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And a confident woman never lacks company.

Since I have been alone so much in public spaces, I know how differently I am addressed both when I am “with” someone and when I’m not. And then there’s how people treat a woman who is known to be habitually alone. We still burn witches, after a fashion. There are  archetypal and patriarchal explanations for this, but I won’t get into all that.

Being popular and having people desire your company while you desire theirs is the default social goal of neurotypical people. As if everybody is the gregarious kind.

It’s strange to see people out in pairs and groups, looking at me with either petty pleasure or condescending pity when they see me out by myself. Paradoxically, I look at them and I feel so sad that they have to be accompanied in public to enjoy themselves. I feel people can be a distraction if I’m looking at art, watching a movie, or listening to a band. Even eating a meal with others can ruin the experience. Why would I want to pay for fancy food or an overpriced movie ticket if I have to try to hold up a damn conversation that distracts me from savoring the reason I’m there?

People feel like a prison after a while.

Think I’m kidding about the bad treatment? Nah. There’s the little stuff like every hostess saying “just one?” when I come in. Then there’s the big stuff like being followed by strange men when I depart somewhere. And the medium stuff is how I always get shit service when I sit at a bar by myself. Or how people see me conducting my life solo and assume I have low worth, social or otherwise, so they don’t hear me when I speak and shut down any sort of communication.

The core of female identity is based on our interpersonal relationships, not our individual merits. Every little girl, socially impaired or not, picks up on this very early as if our lives depend on it. Because our lives do depend on it. Women have to rely on more protective layers of society in order to survive because, well, all the rampant gendered violence. And poverty, etc. Just as a white person will never quite understand the anxiety of getting pulled over like a black person, a man will never know the anxiety of being a woman out by herself. Or living by herself.

Isolation can be a death sentence for a woman.

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And we can’t fuck around with time machines.

A single woman with no children is practically a non-entity. Unless she’s young and hot or has a high-powered career, why is she even here? What’s she good for? Get the torches and pitchforks!!!! Think I’m kidding again? I applied for TennCare once and they called me back and the only question I was asked was, “Are you pregnant or do you have a child?” I said no and that was the end of the conversation. They don’t help jobless single women without children. No one does.

A rule of thumb in social theory is that if you are a woman – ANY kind of woman from any group or background – and you don’t conform to a degree that isolates you, you are generally in danger of poor childhood and adult outcomes. Women are expected to be accompanied in spaces where social activity occurs. When you are not, the freaks looking to separate the “weak” from the herd perk right up and even kind people do not know how to address you respectfully.

A week ago when I started writing this I had far more hope for changing how society and power structures view independent, intelligent women, but damn if this isn’t a painfully disappointing juncture in history. Whether you have the protection of a social circle or not, take care of yourselves out there, and keep your chins up!

 

 

On Gatekeeping and White Savior-ing

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“Suffer the little minorities to come unto me for approval and rescue.”

My passions (and vendettas) have led me to lend my talents and testimony to many local organizations fighting injustice. All social justice groups are flawed in some ways – we are only humans trying to help other imperfect humans. However, some orgs and non-profits with the goal of helping targeted minorities are inexplicably headed up, even in 2018, by white, cis, straight, able-bodied, neurotypical men.

Most of them start out with noble intentions. They have a transformative college class, an indirect experience, or read Chomsky and/or Zinn, and then the rage kicks in. Rage that doesn’t necessarily belong to them and they can’t ever fully understand. Unfortunately, when white men with no ax to grind get het up about injustice they assume the way to help is for them to be in charge of activist groups and efforts. And don’t think for a second that non-intersectional white women are immune to this impulse either.

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At a time in my life before I was diagnosed with an invisible disability, I really wanted to help lift up the downtrodden because I felt my privilege put me in a unique position to do so. I went to school to become an “inner city” high school teacher, but in the teacher education program at college I found myself uncomfortable with how we were taught about economic and racial inequality. The tone was condescending and we were given assignments wherein we went out into predominantly black neighborhoods to study them like they were specimens or a different species altogether. From all the shade I saw the few black teaching students throw at our old white male professor, I could tell they disapproved as well.

It’s fine to utilize privilege if you are a luckier member of the same demographic, but cross-demographic advocacy, while vital, can be problematic.  At some point I realized all high school kids are evil monsters and the black community doesn’t want or need my help. I dropped out of the teaching program with one semester to go and finished up my useless English degree.

Now I’m involved in criminal justice reform, not because I feel guilty about what people of color deal with, but because I’m an especially lucky member of another demographic  also targeted by police and the system. I’m appalled at what black & brown people experience, but I can never truly know enough about their perspective to loudly insert myself into their campaigns for change – and the idea that a white person(s) would take charge of their activist space is disgusting, but it happens. A lot.

But because I’m an autistic woman, I’ve directly experienced police brutality and entrapment in various broken institutions. However, I’ve still had to convince the far less oppressed people in charge of activist efforts that I’m worthy of speaking and taking up space when it comes to these issues. Some of these “interviews” have been darkly hostile. For instance, not many white guys invested in helping black people are aware of disability issues and a few have been bigoted towards me – an intersectional feminist covered in police brutality scars.

Truly, there are no completely safe spaces yet. Say a social justice bro corners you in an inappropriate manner and shows you the kind of guy he really is when the other do-gooders aren’t watching: lots of women and minorities won’t say anything about it to other members for fear of thwarting the cause or being accused of doing so. Especially if that ableist white man is threatened, territorial, and totally in charge of the space.

Every time I join a new organization I go through this heartbreaking process of “winning over” the white male (or normal female) leader. It’s not like these are paid positions and most orgs purport to be accepting of all people willing to help – so why am I having to fight so hard? Why do I feel oppressed in places where everyone in the room has read Chomsky and Zinn? (BTW, Chomsky is also on the spectrum bros.) Speaking the social justice gospel isn’t the same as embodying it. Open-mindedness doesn’t stop at one or two new realizations – it means continual self-examination for missed blind spots.

So to the well-meaning minimally-oppressed out there: Thank you for your time, talents, and work, but the minute you begin setting requirements for participation and excluding those with a greater stake in the cause, you are falling back into the ideological mire you brag about having escaped.

Perhaps you’ll heed a message from a fellow white guy, so . . .

ht9L9Ps

 

 

Why I write about upsetting subjects

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The past month or so I’ve been over-exerting myself because I have some wonderful opportunities coming up. I applied for a writing fellowship and, this past week, prepared my presentation for the 2nd Annual Southeast Adult Autism Symposium. If you are in the southeastern portion of the U.S. around the 21st of this month I highly recommend registering.

The fellowship is about my negative experiences with various powerful institutions as a neurodiverse woman. The presentation is about my experiences with sexual assault and social manipulation (and how to avoid it). So it’s been pretty intense having to deeply examine and write about these adverse incidents again. All the statistics are grim and it’s very clear that the two groups of people that are the most disadvantaged in America (besides, of course, people of color and women) are the cognitively disabled and the imprisoned. I’ve met people who are all four of the above minorities, and they are royally fucked. They never even get a chance.

Well, I screwed up my life so much that there was no way I was ever going to build a typical career from the ground up. I have massive employment gaps, a criminal record for a very stigmatized crime, I take medications that show up as illicit drugs on pre-employment drug tests. Since I’m not an automaton or snitch, I don’t ever do well on those mysterious pre-employment personality surveys, I fail the math test every time, and, being an isolating person, I don’t have any personal or work references.

For many spectrum people, trying to fill out a simple job application is enough to trigger a meltdown. I don’t remember names, dates, phone numbers, or the order they came in. In addition I was heavily, incorrectly medicated for most of my adulthood. A lot of it is indistinct except for the bad stuff. I don’t have any idea what to write down. I panic.

Once I got a diagnosis, I realized I was still on my own and had to create my own opportunities. No help was coming. So I read books about leadership, compromise, communication, building movements, and lots of other relevant subjects. I basically voc-rehabed myself. I was privileged enough to have the time and space to do this by not having to work and being left alone to heal for several years. And it took that long.

The reason I speak and write about tough issues is that most people who’ve been as marginalized as me are never spit back out of the Leviathan. They don’t have the words or the resources that I do. Absolutely no one else who has been that low is visibly advocating for them – the forgotten spectrum men and women who are swallowed by failed institutions ranging from inadequate and misguided, to malicious and punitive.

I’m also playing the hand I was dealt.

My family is not happy that I don’t “just move on.” They don’t like people who “dwell on things” and “stir shit up.” What they don’t know is that “voice feeds on the lack of opportunity for exit.”  I can’t take a traditional, and probably safer, route to accomplishing anything and thus exiting my circumstances. My past and my disability have trapped me. I have no clear exit. But I do have a voice. Voice is draining and has consequences, but it’s better than dying anonymous without ever having risked something for someone else.

 

 

Don’t call me dude: The misgendering of non-binary people

I have an acquaintance who shares one of my biggest passions and we occasionally collaborate. We have been helpful to one another’s causes over the past year and have a productive back and forth. One problem: he calls me “dude” a lot. Even in texts.

This is me:

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I know. I ooze masculinity.

But I still get “dude-ed” by people regularly and I have a few theories about why:

One: They misinterpret my manner in conversation as being flirtatious when I don’t mean it to be (or want it to be), so (if not interested) they misgender me to send the message that they don’t see me as a sexual option. This the likely situation with my collaborator.

I don’t have a lot of nuance in my social presentation. When I’m trying to be nice to a man OR woman I know it can come across as a little too friendly and flirty, and this has led to sitcom-like misunderstandings in the past. As I’ve said in other posts, have two modes: Golden Retriever who’s been cooped up all day and Daria. Not a lot in between those until I get comfortable with someone.

Two: I’m not gender binary in that I don’t have super-femme way of speaking or moving or what I think of as an “affected” vocal style. When people hear me speak I don’t sound like a girly-girl or even a grown woman. No vocal fry or genteelness in me. My voice is gender neutral, but when people with binary expectations hear me they read it as masculine. The speech patterns of women in our culture (and others) is not inborn – it is a learned affectation.

For instance, my sister speaks to me in her “real” voice which is pitched lower like mine is, but when she is in certain social situations she, perhaps unconsciously, pitches her voice higher and starts to sound a bit like a Valley Girl. (Love u, sis.) This is a concession to conformity I am neither willing or able to make.  Another example is the way Japanese women are expected to pitch their voices very high or they face social censure.

But it doesn’t mean I’m gay and it definitely doesn’t mean I’m a dude or that I specifically identify as one. I’m a middle-aged cis-gendered heterosexual female. And a pretty one.

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Like, totally.

I’m happy with myself. However, I know many women and men on and off the spectrum who are much more non-binary in presentation than I am. I mean, just look at Temple Grandin. She’s never spoken about her sexuality or gender identity and that’s a shame because being non-binary is very common among autistic people. I can’t speak for everyone similar to me, but I think it has to do with not “seeing” OR respecting the arbitrary gender expectations that people with better social intelligence are ridiculously obsessed with. We find it unfairly constrictive and difficult to keep up a false self at all times.

We are purely ourselves and that should be respected.

[Additionally, there is a distinct overlap between trans people and ASD – being one makes you more likely to be the other. More research needs to be done to determine why – but who really cares why? Just stop being shitty to them, because they shouldn’t have to exhaust themselves to make normals comfortable anyway. They have the highest suicide rate of any group of people.]

The last reason people call me “dude” is the saddest and probably the most likely: Women and girls (the white ones anyway) don’t allow me into their circles for very long. I have a lot of problems with NT women in particular. Therefore, unlike most little girls and teens, I never learned the “proper” gender mannerisms and speech patterns and social skills of women because I was never around them. I couldn’t model my behavior on theirs. Instead, like many women with Asperger’s, I spent all my time hanging out with dudes. (This presents its own set of issues).

In my late teens/early twenties I started hanging out with hippy motherfuckers and they pretty much call everyone dude – sometimes in the middle of sex I’m sorry to report. I mirrored their speech patterns and mannerisms so I have a dude-like way of speaking at times and this throws people off.

I hope in the future our culture can be less condescending to those who eschew some of humanity’s sillier requirements for acceptance.

Until then, the dude abides.

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Why it’s not cool to roll your eyes at awkward people

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For a while I’ve wanted to discuss one of the most frustrating aspects of having a different social presentation: gestural aggression. What’s that? It’s something just about everyone engages in on a daily basis. I’m not talking about obscene or threatening gestures. I mean the ones that we drop into conversation to let the other person know that they are mildly perturbing or that they are crossing an invisible boundary. It includes all sorts of “shade” –  huffs, sighs, arm crossing, and, of course, the eye roll. These actions can often accompany snarky, muttered, or condescending remarks.

Although this sort of passive-aggressive body language is the expert territory of teenage girls, I see people of all demographics and cultures using this suite of gestures. This is not so much a form of instinctive communication as it is a form of learned social and conversational policing by those who are more able to conform to the unspoken expectations of the interaction.

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Although sometimes an eye roll can be priceless.

For instance, I tend to get eye rolls when I get “overly” enthused during an interesting conversation. Interesting conversations are few and far between for me at times, so when I find myself speaking to someone about a favorite topic I can get “carried away” and go on excitedly after the other person is ready to speak again or change the subject. This is par for the course when dealing with an Aspie and we all do this regularly, but there are consequences that others might not be aware of.

When people roll their eyes at me it hurts, and though I don’t read body language as instinctively as others, no eye roll ever escapes me. I can fucking hear them. I just have no earthly idea how to respond in real time to something that feels so hostile to me when I am sincerely trying to be as agreeable as I can.

An eye roll says, “You are weird and inappropriate and are now on thin conversational ice.” It says, “I don’t have enough respect for you to be patient with you. You are not worth listening to.” Once more I am quietly “told” that I’ve somehow screwed up my talking again and another person is growing tired of me.

While one eye roll or exasperated sigh isn’t enough to derail my mood, the silent censure adds up and I get the overall impression that regular people don’t want to interact with me as much as I want to be included. Gestural aggression sends a harsh message over time that you are not welcome or tolerable. It makes you more nervous and less confident when you try to talk to people later on.

Don’t get me wrong: I know better than most that conversing with a socially impaired person can be laborious and frustrating. I try to make it easy on other people I’m around by putting forth a monumental effort to not draw any eye rolls or bore anyone. I consciously, meticulously try to match the tone, topic, and appropriateness level the other persons sets. I make an effort to let the other person have their say without compulsively interrupting.

But it’s exhausting, and I don’t always succeed. Paradoxically, I can police my own social presentation better when I’m less familiar with someone, but as I grow more comfortable my more exasperating conversational differences start creeping in because I feel safe being myself with that person. In the past, those people to whom I let slip my awkwardness may become confused and annoyed and pull away. Let the self-flagellation begin!

I want the socially traditional among us to understand that most weirdos are doing our damndest and attempting to offer something of our carefully guarded, loner selves to other people. I long for positive interactions and better communication skills, but when people express conversational disdain and censure, it derails those attempts to not be an isolated, squirrelly freak. And it’s not my fault.

I’ve watched so many otherwise kind people rudely shut down the conversational efforts of those autistic or simply awkward people they have decided not to extend social tolerance to. This is an insidious form of ableismPeople mostly think of ableism as being insensitive to those with physical disabilities, but people with invisible disabilities – like social and communication disorders – are still boldly discriminated against by even those who love them using social judgement and unconscious exclusion.

What I’ve discovered in my own long history of talking with other awkward people is that it’s entirely worth the extra patience and occasional misunderstanding to get to know the fascinating and insightful people trapped behind uncool exteriors. Please try to meet us part-way because enjoyable, meaningful communication always depends on the efforts of everyone involved.