3 Perspectives on Autism Acceptance
Our neurodiverse staff at Cottage wanted to address Autism Acceptance month, and it took us a while to collectively generate what we wanted you to know. We chose to tell you in three voices, because there are many ways to be neurodivergent and we wanted to be able to show a fuller picture. Here we are:
Jocelyn:
I was a weird kid, and I’m a weird grownup. I have intense interests that are not shared by a lot of my peers (I promise, I usually only tell you about the more palatable ones). I am super sensitive, in my emotions and in my body. I feel passionately about things like truth and justice, because I understand those as fundamental rules of how we are all supposed to live. I’m extremely gullible, because I always think people are going to tell the truth and be upfront, like I would be. I have this kind of moral purity that makes some people think of me as no fun. I have trouble predicting how people are going to feel and react sometimes, and tend to feel like an alien wearing a Real Person costume. And when I think I am wearing my Real Person costume perfectly and trying really hard to appear human, that tends to be when actual real people think I am being the most weird or, when I was younger especially, rejecting me outright and out loud. I get overwhelmed and go quiet. I take days to process conversations or events that some people seem to do on the spot. I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety for decades.
It turns out that these are all characteristic of Autistic people. I didn’t learn that until my forties, and there was no way for my parents or teachers to know that when I was growing up, because back then, girls were almost never diagnosed with Autism. Even today, most professionals view Autistic traits from the perspective of pathology, and of what tends to characterize four year old Autistic boys; seldom considering how it looks in girls, women, and nonbinary people (in fact, gender expression and sexuality variations are also higher in Autistic populations!). Learning that there are other people like me and that the way I am isn’t broken or wrong but just a different and real way to be human has been a tremendous relief to me. It’s the difference between being a really weird horse versus a perfectly normal zebra!
I like the way I am. I like that I’m authentic and empathetic. I like that I stand out. I like that I can feel people’s feelings so intensely, even though that feels overwhelming sometimes. I like that I can notice things that seem to be invisible to allistic (non-Autistic) people. I like being excited about nerdy niche topics, and it feels so joyful to find those rare people who share my interests. And I definitely think that the way my brain works is incredibly advantageous as a teacher in this very special school.
The principles underlying the way we teach and learn at Cottage are based in a combination of progressive, liberatory educational theory, that emphasize the importance of equitable, trusting, attuned relationships between student teachers/learners and adult teachers/learners, and up-to-date neurobiological research that shows that we are best able to access the part of our brain that is responsible for thinking, planning, listening, creating, and innovating when our nervous systems feel safe and regulated, and this is accomplished primarily through co-regulation with warm, caring adults. The special way that I am wired is part of what makes me great at what we do here. And we teach this way for all the children, because it’s best practice for all neurotypes, but it is especially beneficial for neurodiverse classes (and really, every class is a neurodiverse class, acknowledged or not). We teach in an inclusive manner because it works the best for our goals of raising lifelong learners who believe in their own creative power and know that their ideas are valuable, and even more fundamentally, that they themselves are valuable, exactly as they are.
Wallace:
I spent a lot of time writing something else for my portion of this series, because it’s very hard to decide what (of the very many things) to talk about regarding autism. I’m not going to send you the other (much too lengthy) piece.
What I’m going to tell you instead is very simple: Having my son diagnosed with autism made me a better parent and teacher.
My son was diagnosed early because I wanted information. Most people thought there wasn’t even a POSSIBILITY of him being autistic; note if you’ve met one autistic individual you’ve only met one autistic individual- everyone looks and acts different because we are humans. Because he was diagnosed early, by the time he got to elementary school I was able to be a very strong advocate for him. I had gone through years of speech therapy and occupational therapy with him. I had studied autism and brain development in a way I hadn’t before (even though I had been a mother for three years but then and had my first teaching job way back in 2003).
I learned about his senory profile (and also that we ALL have one). I learned what he needs to regulate his sensory system AND what I need (and how to recognize what friends, family members, and co-workers need). I learned how language influences communication and social interactions/ that non-verbal communication is just as valid as spoken (consent anyone?)/ that sometimes giving people information by verbally communicating (and receiving information through verbal communication) feels different to different people (think about that next time you fight with your spouse).
I’ve learned about Declarative Language vs. Imperative Language.
I’ve learned what co-regulation is, and how there actually is a correct way to do it.
I’ve learned about how the autism spectrum isn’t linear, it’s circular and we all have a spectrum profile.
I’ve also learned about how rigid I am, how rule following I am, and how limited my world view had been. I learned that I fetishized “normal,” (which now seems so, very boring and unsophisticated to me), and how much that limited my life in very important ways that I’m still feeling the repercussions of.
What I hope for all of the parents at Cottage is that they get curious about neurodiversity (neurodiversity just being the differences in all human brains - humans are a neurodiverse population by design). That they start to notice that even if they think that their child doesn’t need extra supports for cognition, processing, sensory needs, motor programming, social/emotional learning, or regulation on a consistent basis (but honestly, good luck finding that kid… I don’t know one) they dive into the knowledge that the autism community puts out. There is no more generous of a community, at the moment, for sharing advances in ways to give our children the tools they need to become well-rounded, healthy, open minded individuals.
I’m wrapping this up to keep those of you in the back from falling asleep - but I could go on for days, and I often do. I’m here and happy to talk to anyone about any of what I’ve said or any other questions that come up!
Books, Podcasts, and Instagrams I’m currently loving:
Books:
Declarative Language Handbook by Linda K. Murphy MS, CCC-SLP
CO-Regulation Handbook by Linda K. Murphy MS, CCC-SLP
Brain-Body Parenting by Mona Delahooke, PhD
Podcast:
TILT Parenting: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/tilt-parenting-raising-differently-wired-kids/id1102055778
Instagram Accounts:
@neurodivergent_lou
@declarativelanguage
@sensorystoriesbynicole
@the_neurodivergent_teacher
@theautisticlatina
Ana:
I grew up in the 80s. The word neurodivergent didn't even exist yet. I was quiet and shy in the world outside my family life. When I was in Kindergarten, I remember watching my classmates play together and wondering how do they do that? How are they friends? I mostly played alone; I didn't really speak at school. But I was interested in making friends. I observed them, studying them, wondering if I could try doing what they were doing, but I never did. I (parallel) played close enough to others that my teachers believed I was engaging with my peers. My favorite thing to do was paint or climb the caboose-shaped monkey bars. It was tricky to figure out when it was my turn but if I got there first I’d swing from one side to the other with no problem.
I was also that kid that walked on their tiptoes. I only realized this mid-year, when a new girl approached me and asked me “ why do you walk like that?” I didn't understand what she meant, but suddenly I felt different than the other children and I didn’t like it. I remember that she kept pushing my feet to go flat on the ground. It was only after that that I noticed how often my teacher handed me the can-stilts during our outdoor play. I spent a lot of time on those stilts and for the next year or so I tried really hard to teach myself to not walk on my tiptoes.
That was when I first learned that in order to fit in, I had to camouflage or mask. It was a way to not stand out as different. I tried to navigate the social structures of the classroom and playground. I wasn't very successful. I was bullied and teased all through elementary and junior high school. I was labeled a weirdo by classmates. Adults labeled me “sensitive”, “artistic”, “innocent” or “naive”. All words that sheltered me instead of helping me. But I wasn’t a “weirdo” or “broken; I simply needed support. I needed a grown- up to notice when I was struggling and help scaffold toward connecting with other people on my own. When adults weren’t dismissing my needs with labels, they often missed by signs of distress because of my masking.
Masking is when we learn, practice, and perform certain behaviors and suppress others in order to be more like the people around us (APA). Through masking I found my way to interact with others; it was almost a superpower to fit in. I didn't have to really understand some things in order to be part of them. I just laughed with everyone and figured out what it meant later, sometimes finding that it wasn't funny at all or it was mean and confusing. But it made me feel a part of things.
Another super power that benefited my masking was that I could often see people's feelings, translated into colors and emanating from them. A clue that would allow me to understand more clearly if the person was mad or frustrated or if they needed support. I learned later that not everyone has this connection to color. It is a condition called synesthesia, “a condition in which stimulation of one sense generates a simultaneous sensation in another” (APA) a cross wiring of the senses. Of course, I did not learn how to feel or understand emotions through the colors . In fact, I felt everything with such intensity that what I learned was how to separate them from my own feelings and know when they were mine or not.
These are some of the struggles of being a neurodivergent person. However there are also many beautiful things. You realize that you process things differently and feel things more intensely; given the right support and outlets, you can discover so much about yourself and express yourself, like I do, through making art or building community. Here, at cottage, too, being a person who might recognize what a child needs and supporting them.
I want to close by saying that it took me a long time, without support or tools, to get where I am. I made them up as I went along, and found my own support systems. It would be nice if people were open to thinking that neurodivergent family and community are all around, and focusing on supporting instead of trying to “fix” us or dismiss distress as “eccentric” or “unique” behavior. This new generation might struggle less if we make sure to check in, make the environment safe for their agency and self-advocacy. They might discover their own voices sooner.