Autism is often a hidden disability. There is no universally visible signifier–no mobility aid that we all use, no assistive technology or service animal or language common to all or even most autistic people. While many of us use assistive technology, many others go through our days–our lives–passing for nondisabled.
Or do we?
If you’re autistic, you can probably recognize other members of the tribe fairly easily. Maybe by their stims or their use of AAC, their noise cancelling headphones or by the body language that’s so like your own. We all have our tells.
I know mine. Atypical eye contact and body language are the most obvious. Occasionally my voice gives me away as different–it’s too loud or too mumbly or too flat or simply decides not to exist. If none of those is a tip-off, well, it’s only a matter of time before I have a social communication mishap.
In addition to the new set of questions that my diagnosis raised, it’s also forced me to think about my identity and how I want to own being autistic. I wrote a bit about identity very early on in this blog. At the time I challenged myself to revisit the subject in the future, after I’d had more time to educate myself and think about the labels I’ve been given.
In the past couple of months, I’ve been using autistic and aspie interchangeably to refer to myself. Not because the DSM-V will be eliminating Asperger’s but because it feels more comfortable. I’ve also been learning about the social model of disability, which says that disability is created by the way society is organized rather than by a person’s differences.
My previous concept of disability had centered on the medical model, which says that people are disabled by their differences, which need to be fixed. Because I was resistant to the idea of being seen as someone who is “less” or “defective” I was resistant to thinking of myself as disabled. The social model of disability has given me a much more positive way of thinking about disability. It looks at a person’s disability and asks what kind of supports that person needs, not what’s wrong with them.
The social model feels like a good fit for Autistic people. I don’t want to be fixed but there are some things that would make my life easier.
Learning to be Autistic
Since I’ve begun blogging, I’ve noticed that I have a constantly evolving sense of self. The more I write and read and talk with other people, the more my understanding of who I am shifts and solidifies.
Little by little, I’m learning what it means to be autistic.
You may notice that I generally use “small a” autistic rather than “capital A” Autistic in my writing. That’s intentional, not an oversight.
Autistic refers to Autistic people as a cultural group. For example, I consider my blog Autistic space–a safe space where Autistic people can gather to share information about how we experience the world. I make an effort to participate in Autistic advocacy events online, like the recent flashblogs. But I don’t feel ready yet to be an advocate in the sense that many other Autistic people are.
The funny thing is, I never thought about being advocate at all until recently. I started blogging as a way to process this huge new self-discovery. Writing has always been my primary way of processing. Big thing to process equals a need to write hundreds of thousands of words in response.
As I got involved in the online blogging community, I slowly began to realize that like it or not, I am an advocate. That’s something that I’ve come take very seriously. Words have consequences. We can lob them like rocks or wield them like a scalpel; we can use them to soothe or incite. Mostly I want to use them to understand and to promote acceptance–self-acceptance and acceptance of Autistic people in general.
I feel like I’m still learning to be autistic. This is personal for me right now. Perhaps this is my way of being an advocate–the constant dissecting and researching and writing and explaining and oversharing.
At some point I’d like to also feel comfortably Autistic, but for now, discovering my “small a” autistic self is an all-consuming process.
When I learned that I have Asperger’s Syndrome, my first impulse was to read everything I could get my hands on. I was excited to discover that my town’s library has a large collection of books about Asperger’s and autism.
I went to the library, armed with my list of call numbers, and was surprised to discover that only two of the books listed as available in the online catalog were actually on the shelf. Puzzled, I brought up the entries for Asperger’s on the library computer and realized that I’d glossed over one key detail: most of the books about Asperger’s and autism were shelved in the library’s Disability Resource Center.
Looking down at the two books in my hand, I noticed the bright orange DRC stickers on the spines. The books I’d found in the general collection had been shelved there by mistake.
Some of the autism books that I borrowed from a nearby town library had a more generic “Health Information Center” sticker on the spine.
And so I was confronted with the question I’d been avoiding: am I disabled?
Like many people who discover they’re aspies later in life, I already have a fairly strong self-concept built around a set of labels I’ve carried with me most of my adult life:
woman
wife
mother
entrepreneur
From the start I was surprisingly okay with adding aspie to that list. It’s a label that explains much of what makes me different from other adults. It’s so much easier to say I’m an aspie than to try to catalog the long list of ways in which my brain functions differently from a neurotypical brain. Even when the Asperger’s designation is retired in 2013, I think I’ll still identify as an aspie because that’s how I entered the spectrum.
Autistic was a harder label to accept. I’d always thought of autistic people as nonverbal and cut off from the world. I now realize that I’d bought into a dangerous stereotype.
As part of the online autism community, I’ve learned a lot over the last few months. I’ve learned that the autism spectrum is as diverse as the neurotypical spectrum. I’ve learned speaking is not the only means of communicating with the world around us. I’ve learned that the autism spectrum is not hierarchical; we can’t quantify the people on it using neatly bounded phrases or concepts. I’ve learned that autistic adults have a responsibility to stand up, speak up and continue speaking up.
So, yes, I’m autistic and proudly so.
But disabled? I actually Googled a definition to see what the word means in a pure etymological sense. So here it is, straight from Google’s dictionary:
A physical or mental condition that limits a person’s movements, senses, or activities.
Undeniably, yes, that applies to me. Asperger’s is a neurological (physical) condition that limits (or at least alters the function of) my senses and my activities to varying degrees.
Still, I struggle with the Disabled label. My resistance has nothing to do with the appropriateness of a dictionary definition and everything to do with my biases against the negative connotation of the label.
There is a strong and growing movement in the ASD community to emphasize the strengths that result from being on the spectrum. There are many and, personally, I wouldn’t trade my aspie strengths for the ability to make small talk or not bump into the furniture with alarming regularity.
Well, on most days I wouldn’t.
But here’s the funny thing about labels. Even though I don’t think of myself as disabled, I still have to go into the Disability Resource Center to pick up books about people like me.
Do other people see me as disabled?
Undoubtedly some do.
Maybe the real question is, does this bother me?
I guess it does, on some level. Would I be writing about it if I didn’t?
I’d like to say that thinking and writing about complex issues like this helps me untangle them but sometimes I end up more uncertain than when I began. Instead of coming to a conclusion, I’ve come to an occlusion. I literally have nowhere to go with the rest of this piece because each path I start down leads me deeper into the weeds until I encounter thoughts so thick and overgrown that I have to turn back.
So instead of putting a bow on this and calling it done–something I’m sure I would regret doing because my understanding of this topic is still so poorly formed–I’m going to challenge myself to continue reading and thinking and learning, to dig deeper. I’ll be back in early March with an update–not necessarily with answers, but certainly with more thoughts.
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some related posts by other bloggers about labels, how we identify and the significance of language:
I know there are many, many more smart thoughtful posts and articles about this topic. If there’s something you think I should add to this list, let me know. I’ll continue building it as I read and explore.
Musings of an Aspie 