Understanding “autism” as a sensory-movement disability, rather than as a social disability, might help autistic people to not only better understand ourselves, but to better understand other autistic people, as well.
Christine Condo on how the experience of being autistic is like being locked out of a glass room that she can see inside but can never enter.
If you have transient episodes of not being able to speak, or not finding the right words, you may think it’s selective mutism. Could it be autistic catatonia instead?
I am writing this to carve out space for myself in the socially-constructed version of the world. I don’t exist if I’m autistic and all autistic people who act the way I’m acting are masking.
I am ashamed of my recent adult autism diagnosis. Either I am a fraud or autism is too inclusive. But I long for greater authenticity.
The degree of my social awareness makes me feel “too good” to be autistic. I now recognize this as a prejudice against the neurodivergent, a prejudice that unconsciously imposes shame on myself, but which I am making an effort to change.
In part one of this series, the language and social significance of words related to intelligence and ability and the divide between the mainstream, academia, and autistic culture are explored.
Have you felt your whole life that you were different from the people around you? Are you diagnosed with ADHD or mental illness, but feel those diagnoses left unanswered questions? Do you think you have more in common with your autistic child than with most people? You might be a #NeuroLurker.
One autistic college student found out the hard way that college was not what he had expected, and navigating the social terrain was a clumsy journey.
Not for lack of effort and billions of dollars spent, scientists have still not found a cure for autism. From one genetics student, an exploration of why.
Understanding “autism” as a sensory-movement disability, rather than as a social disability, might help autistic people to not only better understand ourselves, but to better understand other autistic people, as well.
Christine Condo on how the experience of being autistic is like being locked out of a glass room that she can see inside but can never enter.
If you have transient episodes of not being able to speak, or not finding the right words, you may think it’s selective mutism. Could it be autistic catatonia instead?
I am writing this to carve out space for myself in the socially-constructed version of the world. I don’t exist if I’m autistic and all autistic people who act the way I’m acting are masking.
I am ashamed of my recent adult autism diagnosis. Either I am a fraud or autism is too inclusive. But I long for greater authenticity.
The degree of my social awareness makes me feel “too good” to be autistic. I now recognize this as a prejudice against the neurodivergent, a prejudice that unconsciously imposes shame on myself, but which I am making an effort to change.
In part one of this series, the language and social significance of words related to intelligence and ability and the divide between the mainstream, academia, and autistic culture are explored.
Have you felt your whole life that you were different from the people around you? Are you diagnosed with ADHD or mental illness, but feel those diagnoses left unanswered questions? Do you think you have more in common with your autistic child than with most people? You might be a #NeuroLurker.
One autistic college student found out the hard way that college was not what he had expected, and navigating the social terrain was a clumsy journey.
Not for lack of effort and billions of dollars spent, scientists have still not found a cure for autism. From one genetics student, an exploration of why.
Understanding “autism” as a sensory-movement disability, rather than as a social disability, might help autistic people to not only better understand ourselves, but to better understand other autistic people, as well.
Christine Condo on how the experience of being autistic is like being locked out of a glass room that she can see inside but can never enter.
If you have transient episodes of not being able to speak, or not finding the right words, you may think it’s selective mutism. Could it be autistic catatonia instead?
I am writing this to carve out space for myself in the socially-constructed version of the world. I don’t exist if I’m autistic and all autistic people who act the way I’m acting are masking.
I am ashamed of my recent adult autism diagnosis. Either I am a fraud or autism is too inclusive. But I long for greater authenticity.
The degree of my social awareness makes me feel “too good” to be autistic. I now recognize this as a prejudice against the neurodivergent, a prejudice that unconsciously imposes shame on myself, but which I am making an effort to change.
In part one of this series, the language and social significance of words related to intelligence and ability and the divide between the mainstream, academia, and autistic culture are explored.
Have you felt your whole life that you were different from the people around you? Are you diagnosed with ADHD or mental illness, but feel those diagnoses left unanswered questions? Do you think you have more in common with your autistic child than with most people? You might be a #NeuroLurker.
One autistic college student found out the hard way that college was not what he had expected, and navigating the social terrain was a clumsy journey.
Not for lack of effort and billions of dollars spent, scientists have still not found a cure for autism. From one genetics student, an exploration of why.
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