Sincerely, Your Autistic Child by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Beacon Press
Published: 2021-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

18 I Am an Autistic Woman

Amy Sequenzia

My world was ever expanding, but I was being pulled back from it.

I WRITE THIS not only from the point of view of an Autistic woman. What I have to say is about Autistic girls, Autistic boys, Autistic women, and Autistic men. It is about how important it is to understand our way of interacting with the world, how important it is that we rely on each other, and how important it is that neurotypical parents rely on us to help the younger and future generations of Autistics.

When I was about two years old, my diagnosis was PDD-NOS, although I think at the time it was simply PDD, or pervasive developmental disorder. Soon after, I was diagnosed as Autistic. Before the PDD diagnosis, a doctor said I had cerebral palsy. Other doctors did not follow through. I identify myself as Autistic.

It is known that girls are less likely to receive an autism diagnosis. Women might find it difficult, too. Most likely because of society’s expectations of how girls should behave, be, or react, we are less likely to be diagnosed and sometimes the diagnosis comes later in life.

This was never an issue for me. Once I received my diagnosis, the fact that I am Autistic was never in doubt, and the doctors agreed.

That was then. Even though the diagnosis was not controversial, growing up was a little more complicated. Several times I was said to be an “atypical” Autistic, maybe because I liked to cuddle, could make eye contact with some people, and liked to stim but not in a way that was considered a “typical autism stim” (I don’t know what people meant by that).

The first thing many people thought when they saw me was “mentally retarded.” I am non-speaking and did not have a reliable way to communicate. I could make noises and echo a few words, and I could make a light laughing sound. To me, this was communication, but people around me would hear just a lot of nonsense.

It was difficult for me to respond to people’s voices. Sometimes it still is. Those times when I could make eye contact with other people, I could not understand the words they were saying. I was focused on their faces. Sometimes I was seeing the words as a colorful, dancing group of letters. It was beautiful and nothing else mattered. When someone said my name, three little letters—green, pink, and yellow—would float around, and it was like music.

My response to people talking to me was, usually, a stare and a smile. Their conclusion: “She can’t understand anything.” I could, but interaction was hard, and the beauty of the words was much more attractive.

The fact that I would simply smile when talked to was, at least once, “tested” (as witnessed by a friend). A person said something to me, forcing me to look at his face, and I was mesmerized by the words I was seeing. The things he was saying, according to the friend, weren’t nice things.

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