It was the night before my graduation. My chest was tight. Pain in between my ribs. I made the simultaneously wise and unwise decision to google my symptoms . I concluded I was having a heart attack. I was not. I was just stressed lol.
Graduation/transitions can be a lot. Moving from one phase of life to the next with hope, opportunity, uncertainty. It can of course be scary, but not all bad. I still remember my 8th grade graduation. (An event for which I had acquired, my first pair of heels- (and subsequently substituted for flats for fear of tripping) but most of all I remember when my entire community came out to support me and when my name was called- that sanctuary erupted into applause..as I walked across the stage (no character/no costume- just me).
If you’ve seen the movie wonder you remember the scene where he says“everyone deserves a standing ovation once in their lives”.
As an autistic girl- life has marked by scattered moments of being in the wrong place, saying the wrong thing, or saying the right thing at the wrong time, etc. but for that moment-- being 100 percent certain you are in the right spot, at the right moment and the world claps for you is what it feels like. That’s why I love graduations. Seeing people have that moment.
One graduation I (virtually) attended filled me with the opposite. "You’ll want to see this a friend" told me as she excitedly sent the link to the livestream. One of students honored at this university was autistic, and she was nonspeaking and used high-tech AAC. Her mom onstage with her had been her biggest supporter. She went to every class with her, and made sure she had everything she needed. It was beautiful. Until, it was her turn to speak -instead of her holding the AAC device, her mom did, and when she reached for it, the mom gently pushed/patted her hand and told her to wait. [for the record pushing someones hand from AAC device and not allowing them to have it is the equivalent of covering someones mouth when trying to speak] She had obviously previously typed her response to questions and only had to hit play when her time came, but there were other moments where she reached for her device to say something and she was ignored. By the end she was crying as someone on the platform, smiling adoringly put on the medal and cap on her (a stark contrast and striking metaphor of how autistic people are celebrated on condition we painfully meet specific criteria of efficiency and decorum). The feeling of being trapped as a celebrated, voiceless statue inspired my poem Not a Landmark. When I was younger I would cry when enraged so I believed I recognized those tears. Tears of joy my friend thought. I doubted that. It made me angry. And it made me think of how many times people deny autistic people the opportunity to speak.
I am grateful to my parents for always giving me space and time to communicate how I am feeling whether speaking or writing. I have been making an effort to hear from more autistic voices, and also share my own. Which leads me to ….
A podcast called Autism Stories which features autistic people sharing their stories. It was crated by Doug Blecher from Autism Personal Coach. A practice that has for 8 years helped autistic community. (Yes, all coaches are also autistic!).
Previous guests have included incredible autistic scholars, artists and athletes including the likes of Billy Mayfair golfer ( the man responsible for Tiger Woods' only playoff loss in his PGA Tour career) . The Armani Williams- Autistic Nascar driver.
Another guest on the podcast was…me. I recently appeared on the Autism Stories Podcast.
I was not sure who want to hear my story, but I knew it might feel good to share it and have a conversation about this topic that often seems not talked about.
Here is the podcast's official website and the link to my episode on YouTube.
[I had written two different paragraph closings for this post to avoid a sudden/ blunt ending, but both (while relying heavily on homonym humor regarding the word "stage" from the title) feel awkward and out of place. I will not try to force it to fit. Thus I have no closing paragraph. However, perhaps that very situation- lack of resolution is in fact perfect. In reality what could be more fitting in a post on ASD than such an awkward and relatable metaphor-- followed by abruptly ending a conversation, no less. Therefore goodbye.]
P.S.
If you are Autistic and would like to share your story reach out to doug.blecher@autismpersonalcoach.com. Also you if you are nonspeaking, you can participate during the interview using AAC.
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