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The Autism Spectrum According to Autistic People

Autism neurodiversity

Prismatic

Prismatic
Elyana Ren is a proud Hufflepuff and unquenchable bookworm. She grew up in the middle of the Pacific, but found herself after moving to the Pacific Northwest. Her work features the authentic experience of being disabled, neurodivergent, and queer. When she isn't writing, she uses the creative arts to empower others to trust and love their own voice. Elyana can be found on Twitter @aprismuncovered and on A Prism Uncovered. If she isn’t there, she is probably in the company of a few good books, her guide dog, and her collection of plushies. Actually, always check there first.
A woman of color stands resolute against a wall, her face proud, her eyes closed. Her shirt reads, "Fragile. Who?"

Why I Choose Autistic Pride

Growing up, I was acutely aware that I did not belong. The proverbial elephant in the room, my identity was carved out of all the

A pair of hands hold a conductor's wand as if directing a symphony

Chains, a Poem by Elyana Ren

Thinks in poetry, lives in prose Dreams in colors she cannot understand The music of her words is lost In the starts and stops of

A woman of color stands resolute against a wall, her face proud, her eyes closed. Her shirt reads, "Fragile. Who?"

Why I Choose Autistic Pride

Growing up, I was acutely aware that I did not belong. The proverbial elephant in the room, my identity was carved out of all the

A pair of hands hold a conductor's wand as if directing a symphony

Chains, a Poem by Elyana Ren

Thinks in poetry, lives in prose Dreams in colors she cannot understand The music of her words is lost In the starts and stops of

A woman of color stands resolute against a wall, her face proud, her eyes closed. Her shirt reads, "Fragile. Who?"

Why I Choose Autistic Pride

Growing up, I was acutely aware that I did not belong. The proverbial elephant in the room, my identity was carved out of all the

A pair of hands hold a conductor's wand as if directing a symphony

Chains, a Poem by Elyana Ren

Thinks in poetry, lives in prose Dreams in colors she cannot understand The music of her words is lost In the starts and stops of