Text says: Something's wrong. Green text on a photo of a graph notebook with a broken pencil on it.

Something’s wrong

[Content note: ABA, gaslighting]
Something happened over the past few days which has just not ended. It should have ended – several times – but it hasn’t. For me, though, for now, though, it’s ended. I’m done with it – but I’m not quite *done* with it.

Text says: Here's the thing: I don't manage my son. I don't even try to manage my son because my son does not require management. Green text on a semi-transparent white square over a green watercolour background.

I don’t manage my son

Recently, I read something on a site aimed at providing support to parents of autistic children that made me feel uncomfortable. Like many of these types of sites, it was the typical story of woe and hardship experienced by parents and it was filled with ableist assumptions.

Text says: Rusty Halo. Purple text over a white rectangle over a purple textured background.

Rusty Halo

There seems to be a recurring theme among disability communities that parents and families of disabled people are perceived as some sort of superhuman, angelic, saintlike people… Guess what? We’re not. We’re just people. Some of us are good people, some of us aren’t that good. But, what everyone seems to forget in these discussions of sainthood …

Text says: Insight: 'Coming out' as autistic. White text on a dark green circle over a yellow-green to green gradient background.

Insight: ‘Coming out’ as autistic

Over the past few weeks, I have slowly been ‘coming out’ as autistic to my friends. I’ve had some mixed responses and I just need to unpack two of those a little bit…
I’ve had one ‘friend’ who has outright rejected me. She interrogated me demanding an explanation for why it is important to me to embrace my identity.