Autism Awareness: Are we nearly there yet?

I spy with my little eye, something beginning with AA!

Not not Alcoholics Anonymous. No, not the Automobile Association. I’m talking Autism Awareness!

In the run up to Autism Awareness Week and Day and Month and Millennia, I’ve been thinking about what it is I really want the world to be aware of.

Most people have heard the word “Autism”, they’re aware it exists, but that’s about it. 

Even those who have autistic family members will not recognise the adults in their midst. No, I don’t look like your child, for much the same reason you don’t look like my three year old, Autistics grow up too. An adult autistic, no matter how verbal, has still had a lifetime of acquiring skills and learning and developing, that a child doesn’t. 

When experts talk about autism – trainers at work, speakers at conferences – they often forget that there will be autistic people in the audience. We become “they”. We are othered by the very people who are supposed to know the most about us. 

This Autism Awareness cycle, I don’t want you to just be aware that autism exists, I want you to be aware of our existence. We are the mothers at the school gate, the co-worker in your office, the woman who is always sat in the same seat on your bus, the man walking his dogs. 

We are not an alien species, we live amongst you. 

We’re your friend who speaks passionately about the things she loves and is terrible at keeping in touch regularly. We’re the coach who is obsessed with bringing the best out in everyone. We’re the paramedic who problem solved your issue. We’re the doctor who worked out what was wrong. 

We’re here. Individual, everyday and permanently here. 

Every day we meet the world more than halfway, we do our best to do things your way. We let ourselves get swept along by your rituals, and then behind closed doors we recover. 

There is no one type of autistic. Some of us are caring and lovely and kind, some of us are selfish and mean. In other words, we’re people. 

People who happen to have a processor that provides them with questions, where yours give you answers. That’s the only difference. That is the definition of autism. 

On Autism Awareness Day, be aware. When you speak about autism we are listening. We love it when you get it right, we love it even more when you hand the platform to us and let us speak for ourselves. Be inclusive. Be actively inclusive. Look at spaces critically, ask yourself how you already meet people’s sensory needs. 

We need the world and the world needs us. We are your problem-solvers, your repetitive-routine lovers, your I-would-rather-get-on-with-work-than-chat workers. 

If you think that you’ve never met an autistic adult, then you’re wrong. You just were not aware. 

We are here, planning our quiet, unsociable revolutions. Waiting for the world to accept us and to see that “Autistic” is not a pejorative term, it’s just factual, it just is. It doesn’t mean “problematic” or “stupid” or “unempathetic”. It’s just a social-processing issue. No more, no less. 

My art teacher once told me that I was a cat in a world of dogs; that I didn’t need people the way others do. Did you know that Catsuit is an anagram for Autistic? Coincidence? Well… yes, but that doesn’t mean I can’t raise my eyebrows suggestively and make it sound meaningful. 

Oh and that was a test. Autistic has two i’s. If you noticed that small detail, then perhaps you’re closer to autism than you think!  

35 thoughts on “Autism Awareness: Are we nearly there yet?

  1. Reblogged this on A Flying Aspidistra and commented:
    A brilliant piece on being an adult autist, on Autism awareness day…we are all around you! But does that even matter? Not really. All we and everyone else needs is to be accepted and loved for who they are, their talents and their weaknesses. Life is a gift.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Thanks, Sonia. I like to see it as the month where the world tries to show us it understands us.

      Unfortunately “the world” will here be represented by a three year old, and “understanding us” will be their drawing of a helicopter. It doesn’t look like a helicopter, it’s barely a circle with a few extra squiggles, but we will pat them on their heads and tell them how well they’re doing, in the hopes that next year it will be a four year old’s version of a helicopter, and the year after that a five year old’s: That every year will bring us that little bit closer to neurodiversity finally being accepted and expected in those around us.

      It makes sense in my head.

      Also, I would like to be a helicopter if that is ever an option.

      πŸ˜„

      Liked by 3 people

  2. Beautifully and accurately said. I’m much more pessimistic at the moment though, relying nevertheless on minds like you, having decided to see the spark of hope in the overwhelming darkness. I am a realist, which refuses to become an optimist at the sight of the full half of a glass, but an existentialist and pragmatist also, capable to see its benefits, unless it’s not poisoned…
    I know, I’m hopeless πŸ˜‰

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Hoping to hope isn’t hopeless πŸ˜„

      It can be hard to be optimistic at times. I’m an optimistic pragmatist. I need to see some evidence to base it all on, but then I’ll hope for the best outcome (and prepare for the worst).

      Thank you πŸ’

      Liked by 2 people

    1. Ah yes, similarities can be harder than differences. I don’t think we’d be human if the people we love didn’t frustrate us at times.

      It would be a very boring world indeed if we all thought the same. As much as I find neurotypicals hard work at times, I wouldn’t change them for the world 😊

      Liked by 1 person

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