tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26397264710091520312024-02-20T21:32:45.929-08:00Don't Touch the Spoonsgeekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-50824906384193677282017-02-04T07:17:00.000-08:002017-02-04T07:17:46.222-08:00Those Fakers Getting Disability Benefits<span style="font-size: small;">So this will likely just be one of those posts where I'm preaching to the choir but I'm so frustrated about this garbage I keep seeing (and have been seeing for <i>years</i>) that I have to vent.<br /><br />Let's start with the basic truth that eludes so many -<br /><br /><b>You cannot tell who is disabled and who is not just by looking at them.<br /></b>Many disabilities are invisible. Not only that but many disabilities/abilities do not remain static. Maybe someone can walk some days and not others depending on their pain levels. Maybe they can only walk for short distances. Maybe they are autistic and some days their sensory issues or executive functioning skills are better than others. Maybe their depression kept them in bed the last 3 days but they just stopped at the grocery store on their way home from therapy.<br /><br />The point is, there are countless types of disability and <b>you can't know what their reality is like by seeing random moments out of their lives</b>.<br /><br />Now comes the ranty part of this post. Every time I see someone say something about all the 'disability fraud' or complaining about 'special treatment' it just makes them look like a gigantic tool. Now, I used to have the foolish idea that they simply didn't understand and if someone explained the reality to them that it would make a difference but, nope, they just double down. And if you examine the facts it all just boils down to pettiness.<br /><i>"Must be nice to sit on your ass all day and get a check from the government. Wish I could do that." </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I won't speak to Workman's Comp or disability insurance provided by employers as I know they vary and have had no experience with them. I don't know so I'm not going to pretend that I do for the sake of my argument. </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">See how that works? </span>What I <i>do</i> know a great deal about is SSI and SSDI. SSDI is based on what a person has paid into the Social Security system before they became disabled. The more they earned the bigger the check they receive. SSI is for those who were not able to work enough to pay into that system. As familiar as I am with the program I still won't apply a definitive amount because I know that sometimes the state of residence will add to it. I can say that for a disabled Vermont resident with NO other income, the amount is less than $800 a month. If you believe that surviving on $800 a month in an area where the average rent for a 1 bedroom apartment without any kind of subsidy is $600 is somehow 'living large' you may want to reconsider your career choices. In my case, I am married so it is drastically different. My husband works at Walmart so I get less than $100 a month. In case you missed the 'Walmart' part, yes, they consider Walmart wages to be 'high enough' that they cut my check that low. <i>For a family of four. <br /><br /></i>Okay, let's assume that everyone <i>is</i> dying to live this high life so they decide to fake a disability. I had medical documentation for my disability going back to the age of 11. I also had a documented work history that went back 20 years and clearly showed that I could not function for more than 4-6 months at a time (at best). And when I say that, I don't mean that I just hopped from job to job. I mean I would work, crash for 18-24 months (sometimes involving hospitalizations), and then try all over again. It still took 18 months of paperwork, evaluations, and me hiring a lawyer to be approved. Every 3 years I have to go through a thorough evaluation to prove that I am still disabled.<br /><br />Then there are the disability accommodations or, as these people love to refer to them, "special treatment". How dare those people with mobility issues get the good parking?! Yeah, I know, most of us can agree that the people with that attitude are tools but I have seen that mindset applied to all kinds of things that disabled people require to live their lives on anything close to equal terms. Don't believe me? Google 'pre peeled oranges' and watch the flaming asshattery unfold. And skipping lines at amusement parks or fan conventions? Sweet baby Jesus! How unfair is THAT?! <br /><br />Lemme tell you a little story. Once upon a time I attended a fan convention with a disability pass. With it I was allowed to cut the line for my favorite actress. Did I prance merrily about with my 'magic pass' Skipping All The Lines Ever? No. I didn't skip any other guest lines because <i>*drumroll*</i> <b>I was too disabled to access the con like everyone else <i>even with the pass</i>. </b>What the folks throwing me the stinkeye (and the ones I saw bitching about it online for days afterward) didn't see was that I paid for my VIP pass just like they did. Only instead of frolicking about the con from open until closing all 3 days like them, I only managed about 6 hours in that building over the entire weekend. While they were hanging out with their friends I was saying,"I'm sorry guys but I have to leave." I met wonderful people and it was worth it for me but I was paying a price that others couldn't even see. If only folks could keep that in mind instead of promptly getting jealous that someone is getting something they are not. <br /><br />I was going to write out a paragraph wrapping this up but I think I'm just going to repeat the previous line since it's really my whole point.</span><i><span style="font-size: small;">If only folks could keep that in mind instead of promptly getting jealous that someone is getting something they are not. </span></i>geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-38908392747306899182016-09-30T07:28:00.000-07:002016-09-30T07:28:31.057-07:00Autistic Superpowers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: small;">I'm not talking about drawing detailed city landscapes from memory or counting cards. And I can assure you that if you toss an open box of toothpicks at my feet the only response you'll get is,"Hope like hell you plan on picking those up."</span><span style="font-size: small;"><br />Spoiler: We're not all Rainman.<br /><br />No, I'm talking about the traits we have that make us stand out from the crowd. Like our strong sense of justice. Many of us become disability activists because of this trait but it applies to all areas of our lives. This is often intertwined with our tendency toward black and white thinking which means we are the ones who will do what we believe is right regardless of any consequences for ourselves. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />Most of the people I interact with online on a daily basis are not autistic and I am often fascinated by the 'go along to get along' mentality I see displayed. I'm not saying this to pick on anyone, as it seems to be a conditioned response to our society so I'm sure many aren't even consciously aware that they are doing it. The autistic mind looks at a situation and if it offends their sense of justice will say,"This is wrong. I simply can't go along with it.", and respond accordingly, whereas a non-autistic person appears to say,"This is wrong but if I don't go along with it other people may get upset or not like me anymore so I'll just stay quiet." </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">(And not just appears - I have literally had people say things like that to me.) </span>Another common thing I see is,"I see them being mean to other people but they've never done anything to me so they're good people." Whether it's a friend talking about a personal acquaintance or a random white person talking about the police I see this numerous times a day online. </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I can't even wrap my mind around that one. </span><br /><br />We're told we lack 'social skills' and are pressured to play along but just because something is 'normal' doesn't make it right. Our society is being torn apart right now by fear and prejudice and hatred but those who stand up (or kneel) to speak out against it are mocked or outright vilified. I am often frustrated by the sense that bad behavior will always continue because there are not enough people speaking out. As long as there are no consequences there is no reason to change the status quo.<br /><br />I appreciate my brain even when it makes me 'unpopular'. I sleep easy at night knowing that I am true to myself and my convictions and, honestly, it really doesn't bother me if people I wouldn't want to associate with anyway don't like me. Perhaps that should be added to the list of Autistic Superpowers, as well.<br /><br />It's like Winston Churchill said,</span><span style="font-size: small;">"You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something in your life."</span><br /><br /><br /><br />geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-61871366262392581112016-08-25T09:06:00.000-07:002019-05-19T14:06:54.720-07:00Yet Another Problem With Disability Representation in Entertainment.<span style="font-size: large;">This isn't going to be about Hollywood blowing off disabled actors or reinforcing the inspiration/burden stereotypes. It's about something troubling I realized recently that has kind of crawled into my brain and refused to leave.<br /><br />Last week I saw an independent film called The Happys and I very excitedly wrote this take on it - <a href="http://thegeekmaker.blogspot.com/2016/08/the-happys-or-holy-crap-someone-did-it.html" target="_blank">The Happys or Holy Crap! Someone Did It Right</a> I was so thrilled to see a disabled character that not only could I relate to but that was written as a human being with strengths and weaknesses. What I did not expect was to discover that others interpreted the story line as unrealistic because it did <i>not</i> follow the usual stereotypes. Here I had hope that characters like this one could educate people about the realities of being disabled while entertaining but it appears to have missed the mark.<br /><br />I spend a great deal of time reading articles about disability and am reminded daily about just how misunderstood it is to much of the population. This creates problems for us because a lot of the misinformation and misunderstanding leads to hostility toward the disabled community. For example, some wheelchair users are able to stand or walk for short distances. Not understanding this leads to charges of 'faking' and even angry attacks. It gets even more complicated when it comes to invisible disabilities. <br /><br />I am autistic. I have an autistic child and dozens of autistic friends. We are all very different from one another. There are enough commonalities to establish a basis for diagnosis but we are still individuals with different abilities. How can film makers portray an autistic character 'realistically' to a society that believes we're all either non verbal 5 year old boys or 'Rainman'? "A person with x disability would not be able to do y." We can and we do. I <i>loathe</i> haircuts. I'm 44 years old and I literally sit there fighting the urge to scream. My 6 year old autistic child <i>loves</i> them. She would get a haircut every week if it could be possible. <br /><br />Saying we're all different is stating the obvious but it still seems to escape the grasp of so many non-disabled folks. On one level it is understandable as it is outside of their realm of experience but at the same time it's troubling because it demonstrates that, at least subconsciously, we are not seen fully as human beings. This affects everything from how strangers treat us on the street to what accommodations businesses are willing to make for us. Maybe if over the next decade every disabled character was portrayed in a realistic manner the rest of the world would begin to get a more accurate picture, but I'm afraid that these rare gems we have now will continue to be misunderstood.</span>geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-90795761410379944562016-08-15T18:48:00.000-07:002019-05-19T14:16:03.721-07:00The Happys or Holy Crap! Someone Did It Right!<span style="font-size: large;">I want to begin by saying that I have turned the subject over and over in my head and can't find a way to write about this without <i>any</i> spoilers. I will keep plot points as vague as I can while still getting my point across but if you haven't watched it yet and want to avoid <i>anything</i> being spoiled, you should probably skip this post.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy7V9pchjDGB4mBqtFtCr9IIWbi6t4cxJYhFUo430nebWo2dPLR05xicC8uFL2GPF3ESOdn9-HU5Grff6WdbkV5xXnY2WxyWgx5iptPF3YDqDCPi-xdBzLwJH9Nh9rgObFDlLryLTV5cU/s1600/thehappysposter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy7V9pchjDGB4mBqtFtCr9IIWbi6t4cxJYhFUo430nebWo2dPLR05xicC8uFL2GPF3ESOdn9-HU5Grff6WdbkV5xXnY2WxyWgx5iptPF3YDqDCPi-xdBzLwJH9Nh9rgObFDlLryLTV5cU/s320/thehappysposter.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">*image description - movie poster for The Happys featuring 3 women and 3 men standing in a line.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;">The plot from their IMDB page - "<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Twenty-one year old Tracy walks in on her boyfriend Mark having sex with
a man and decides to leave him. After assessing her limited options,
she returns to Mark with a deal-if he agrees to marry her, she'll forget
the incident ever happened. Mark accepts her terms, but neither fully
understands the sacrifices they have to make. As their relationship
deteriorates, Tracy's world opens up when she befriends the quirky
residents in her Los Feliz neighborhood: Sebastian, a troubled recluse
who closed the door to society after being bitten by a poisonous spider;
Luann, a former child star and true free spirit; Krista, Mark's
hard-charging talent manager; Jonathan, a gay magazine reporter; and
Ricky, a hot Mexican with a failing food truck. As Tracy discovers her
sense of self and true passion for cooking, she is a catalyst that
forces them all to grow and connect in unforeseen ways."</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I first became familiar with this indie film project because I am a fan of Melissa McBride. I was eager to help with fundraising for that reason alone but when I saw that it was also an LGBT </span></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">("Hey! That's me!) </span></span>film I was even more excited. The project was completed and premiered at the </span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Rhode Island International Film Festival where I was able to see it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I think it's a fantastic film for many reasons but this isn't going to be that kind of review. It's the character Sebastian and the handling of his 'reclusive' personality that took me by surprise and became the most important to my mind. His story line centers largely around his social disabilities (although just how 'disabled' he is is open for debate depending on whether you subscribe to the social model of disability or the medical model - but that would be a different post entirely). <br /><br />Without going into great detail and spoiling too much, there came a point in the story where it looked like he was going to be The Disabled Person Who Overcame and Did the Thing. My heart sank. I had been enjoying the film so much and I was afraid it was about to be ruined for me. But it wasn't. He didn't end up Doing the Thing. You know what I'm talking about, right? The soundtrack swells, little Johnny is suddenly able to walk and there's not a dry eye in the house.<br /><i>*hurk*</i><br />We hate that and I am so grateful that it didn't take that predictable turn. We refer to that kind of stuff as 'inspiration porn'. And by 'we' I mean us actually disabled people who work hard trying to dispel this common trope that we exist to be objects of inspiration for the non-disabled if we are to be valued at all. It's not just a matter of it being a little annoying. It is dangerous for us to continue to be seen as objects or less than human. Every year on March 1st we have a Disability Day of Mourning for all those murdered by their caregivers. Most people aren't aware of this. Just a couple of weeks ago Japan had its worst mass killing in decades. 19 stabbed to death and another 25 injured. Where was the trending hashtag? There was none because the victims were all disabled. 'Inspirations' or 'burdens', society rarely sees us as fully human. I want to thank these amazing filmmakers for making Sebastian fully human. The average viewer probably wouldn't even consciously notice but it still matters.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />But this is even more personal for me than what I have already discussed. At the time the fundraising campaign was going on I <i>was</i> Sebastian. I had recently become unable to leave my house and the depression that frequently accompanies my losing functioning skills (I'm autistic so losing the ability to function comes with the territory for me) was threatening to take hold so I threw myself into helping with this project as a desperate attempt to make myself feel better. It worked like a charm. I would like to thank these amazing filmmakers for that, too.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />For those who know me, my being in a place where I was able to make that trip to see the film could appear to be The Disabled Person Overcoming and Doing the Thing but it's not. There are probably military operations going on around the world right now that required less careful planning than what this trip required for me. It shouldn't be 'inspiring' to do the things that non disabled people take for granted. It just takes us a little more work. I'm still very much autistic. Bottom line is, some days we can Do the Thing and some days we can't. Sebastian couldn't Do the Thing but it didn't detract from his value as a human being. Thank you guys for getting it right.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-48686606968722487412016-06-06T10:41:00.000-07:002017-10-10T07:00:57.015-07:00Milestones<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMW7SWOWrsI7W6pPc9aQMuYBQv46ykhneeLEW80xa-5rQRJU9zfTdSgOt95phOpIJZBHK2jh2S4rfEMHg2PowUQjtFVKXY579jZm7ueQkf6mfamq7wq0dX5IjkpwmUEdXuf5wdX4ZQZNw/s1600/stillheretattoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMW7SWOWrsI7W6pPc9aQMuYBQv46ykhneeLEW80xa-5rQRJU9zfTdSgOt95phOpIJZBHK2jh2S4rfEMHg2PowUQjtFVKXY579jZm7ueQkf6mfamq7wq0dX5IjkpwmUEdXuf5wdX4ZQZNw/s320/stillheretattoo.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*Image description - lightly tanned woman's arm that has scars and a tattoo that reads 'I'm still here'.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: large;">Well, I did it. Yesterday was my birthday and I turned 44. Most people see 30, 40, or 50 as the big milestone birthdays but, for me, 44 is it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: large;">I jokingly told my husband yesterday morning,"Okay, I made it. I can die now." </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: large;">No, I don't plan on dying soon but I have now officially outlived my mother. She was 43 when she committed suicide and that's been looming over me (with the help of several craptastic 'professionals' over the years) for a long time.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: large;">She's been gone for almost 28 years now and I still don't know if she was consciously trying to kill me. I knew she didn't want me and she came right out and said she would have wanted to abort me if she'd known she was carrying a girl but did she really want to see me die? The only time she ever showed concern for my depression and suicide attempts was when there was someone, usually a therapist or caseworker, whom she wanted to play the 'good mother' for. One thing is for sure, she loved the attention it got her. Poor Barbara With The Crazy Daughter. How haaaaard it was for her. I was 13 before someone had the balls to call her out on her part in it all. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: large;">Her last words to me on the day she died was to call me a 'slut', repeatedly. She just found out that I had been raped the week before (or 'seduced that poor man', as the oh-so-fucking-predictable narrative goes) and had to come right over to see if she could break me the way she always used to be able to. But I wasn't nine years old anymore. Or twelve. I was 16 and had learned that when people enjoy hurting you the best defense was to not give them what they want. I kept my cool and calmly headed out the door for my therapy appointment. By the time I arrived he said she had already called him and told him what she had done. He wouldn't tell me what he said to her but he warned me that she was going to 'pull something dramatic' to try to win over everyone's sympathy because she knew she had gone too far.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: large;">Take a bottle of pills, drive straight to the hospital, and everyone will feel so sorry for her that they'll forget what a shit human being she is. That game probably would have worked on most of the family, too, except for a medical condition that caused the drug to hit her system faster than expected. There are some that believe that she killed herself because she was 'depressed' but I saw her that day. She was just an evil woman trying to hurt people and couldn't handle getting called out on it. I think she started out that day believing I would be the one to try and kill myself.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: large;">But she's gone and I'm still here. I made it.</span></span><br />
<br />geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-37544836383173111382016-05-24T13:28:00.000-07:002016-05-24T13:28:40.384-07:00Life Isn't All Rainbows and Sunshine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*image description - Pink background with the words 'Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what they have been through. - Sam Cawthorn'</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /><span style="font-size: small;">I've been giving a lot of thought to authenticity online lately and my eldest daughter said something today that really struck me. She told me about an article she had read that talked about social media making people feel depressed because their lives didn't resemble the shiny, happy stories they were seeing their friends post. This made me think about my propensity for keeping my posts/tweets on the light side and how that doesn't give the full impression of my life. The thought that someone could compare their life to mine and feel that theirs falls short somehow kinda makes me giggle a little.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">The thing is, my life is not just all about <i>me</i>. I will happily discuss my anxiety, sensory issues, and problems with social situations but they are <i>my</i> story. I have a husband and 3 kids who do not necessarily want or need me to share with the world what may be going on inside our walls. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />This is especially the case with Evie. There are a gazillion blogs out there where parents complain about how hard their lives are because their kids are autistic. This has created the ableist impression that disabled children are burdens and the parents must magically be saints for loving them. I do not ever want to contribute to that nonsense because that's what it is. I much prefer to post cute or amusing anecdotes that illustrate what an incredible kid she is. We do go through rough patches but I don't talk about them publicly. Not because I want to give people the impression that our life is some 60's sitcom kind of perfect but because she deserves to not have her difficulties broadcast to the world.<br /><br />The other piece of it is just basic therapy for me. Sometimes the only way I can make it through the day is by finding some grain of positive in the middle of a whole bunch of yuck and focusing on it with all my might. I'm really not a Pollyanna (although I recognize that I may come across that way at times) but I just can't see the point in wallowing when I know that counting my blessings will help elevate my mood. I can't do it all of the time, and sometimes it's much easier than at other times, but I try. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />While I'm sure that some people are putting on a false front for the sake of misleading people into thinking their lives are better than they really are, I know that many of us are being genuine. We're just not posting <i>everything</i> that happens in our lives.<br /><br />I mean, seriously. Do any of you really need to know that for some reason the big toe on my right foot is suddenly sprouting a full head of hair? WTF is up with that even?</span></span><br />
geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-19491473394030464992016-05-15T07:24:00.000-07:002016-05-15T07:24:35.309-07:00It Seems I Social Media Wrong<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ5HndYVB_xLvNC2mK2hikSy76NrpNrwzf674sjJh3_v1aaUX3LXyjsbZ_XTufRlm249oCc5rvuS_wYNTw8EQwTD71zIV7hqsPMlxERZZqKtI5uwdjyfg5faMfcnpwJOjKyBLOZ1Op8e0/s1600/pretending.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ5HndYVB_xLvNC2mK2hikSy76NrpNrwzf674sjJh3_v1aaUX3LXyjsbZ_XTufRlm249oCc5rvuS_wYNTw8EQwTD71zIV7hqsPMlxERZZqKtI5uwdjyfg5faMfcnpwJOjKyBLOZ1Op8e0/s320/pretending.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*Image description - green and black background with the words 'I cannot build a life worth living by pretending to be someone I'm not'. Image credit - Landon Bryce</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Like many (if not most) autistics, I suck at the superficial. Small talk is difficult and I much prefer meaningful conversation. For perhaps the 542,370 time I have had a friend point out that sharing too much online can bring on badness. I know this intellectually but it doesn't seem to have an effect on my approach to online socialization.<br /><br /><br />I am Heart-on-my-sleeve This-is-what-I'm-thinking Gal and no matter how many times it comes back to bite me in the ass I just can't manage to be any other way. Oh, I'm sure I <i>could</i> with some discipline. I could start posting nothing but quick snapshots of popular interests but that's just not me. If I am going to interact with other people it strikes me as pointless if there's no actual connection. <br /><br /><br />I don't expect the world to care about what I'm thinking or feeling at that moment or what amusing thing my kid just said or what my favorite song is that day but it's all <i>me</i>. Not everyone will like me and that's totally cool. I don't like everyone and would expect no different. So while I may be doling out ammunition for the less pleasant types to use against me, it allows everyone to see who I am and decide whether I'm someone they want to get to know. I have made some amazing friends online (plus landed me a wonderful husband in the process) so the good has far outweighed the bad. <br /><br /><br />For me offering up a sanitized image of myself to avoid potential badness from others online would be like never wearing anything considered 'too revealing' to avoid possibly being raped. I'm doing nothing wrong by being myself and it shouldn't be my responsibility to prevent the bad behavior of others. If they want to behave badly they will do so regardless of what I choose to post.<br /><br /><br />So I will keep on keeping on. Those who like people like me can find me and stick around and those who don't can know to pass me by.</span></span><br />
<br />geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-4370930576207691772016-04-22T16:49:00.000-07:002016-04-22T16:49:35.627-07:00Trying To Be Good<span style="font-size: small;">This morning, as I sputtered about one of my conditions making things difficult for me, my husband implied for perhaps the millionth time that he believed my disabilities were actually a blessing. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>"Without them I think you would be arrogant and have less tolerance for people."</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i> </i>This cracks me up every time because I have been called a 'snob' enough in my life to believe that others see me as arrogant anyway, and <i>tolerant</i>? Ugh. Most of the time I feel like I'm The Most Intolerant Person On the Planet and it feels squicky.<br /><br />This is because I have been told that my expectations of people are too high, too many times. To be fair, it's usually come from folks who behaved badly and were trying to deflect from their own nonsense but it makes me second guess myself nonetheless.<br />Don't be mean.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Do be genuine.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Don't be manipulative or play games.<br />Do be respectful of other people.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Are these expectations really 'too high'? </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">People, especially online, violate these expectations pretty regularly. Depending on the situation I may give a few chances but I inevitably end up walking away. Partly because those negative behaviors bother me so much and partly because I believe in the 'birds of a feather' bit. I don't want to associate with folks who exhibit traits that I wouldn't want others believing I possess. I am acutely aware of my propensity for black and white thinking but I also believe that we reinforce bad behavior by letting it slide.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">So I distance myself and then I'm The Bad Guy. This creates a kind of perpetual inner conflict because I do try so hard to be good. I hurt for those who are suffering and I try daily to do things that will lift people up, even if it's only for a moment or two. I try to be kind and helpful and make people laugh. Is it wrong that I can't do these things for people who behave badly?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I know I'm not a saint but I try to make the space I take up in this world not suck for those I interact with. <br />But it can feel pretty crappy with this inner voice constantly whispering,<i>"You're not good enough. If you were a really good person you would tolerate those character flaws" </i> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Would I feel differently if I wasn't disabled? Would I just think I was better than everyone else and not care about being a good person? I dunno. I can't even imagine what it would be like but maybe that's just because I'm autistic. Ha.</span><br />
<br />geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-35448029153249962572016-04-15T05:53:00.000-07:002016-04-15T05:53:41.225-07:00Trusting My Gut<span style="font-size: small;">One problem with being an autistic woman is that it can be very difficult to tell when something occurs because you're autistic or because you're a woman or if it's because of both. <br /><br />'A woman's intuition' is a thing that most, if not all of us have heard of and, yet, we're often written off as 'hysterical' or 'dramatic' when we utilize it. Most of us have an internal alarm system to warn us when we're in danger but a lifetime of hearing that we're just being drama queens can cause us to ignore those alarms which can lead to finding ourselves in bad situations that should have been avoided.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I can't speak for any other woman out there but I know that almost every abusive situation I have found myself in had plenty of red flags pop up that I either ignored or excused away because I second guessed myself and doubted my internal alarm system. I believe on some level abusers know this and count on it. The abuse --> abuser's expressed remorse --> victim's forgiveness cycle just perpetuates it. </span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: small;">"See? I was wrong. They're a good person. I know because they feel really bad about it."</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">As an autistic, it is very easy for me to miss malicious intent because I simply can't comprehend it. Oh, I've had it explained to me a million times and I could list off the reasons I've heard given for it but my brain still can't wrap around it. I end up dismissing my inner voice when it tries to speak up on the matter because of this. <i>"Whoa. That was really mean but why would they be mean to me? I must be misunderstanding."</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Some people get off on hurting others. Some people get off on control. It's a thing. We know it's a thing and yet we let badness slide because we second guess ourselves. Why do we do this? Especially those of us who have had the unfortunate experience of finding ourselves in these situations more than once? Nothing makes me annoyed with myself faster than the realization that I have made the same mistake more than once. Fortunately most of the people in recent years that I have formed relationships with, whether romantic or platonic in nature, have been with good people. I don't think there are as many bad apples as it can appear sometimes but they sure do a lot of damage when they turn up. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">As an autistic I am pretty good at spotting patterns of behavior but I think I need to streamline my approach to assessing potentially abusive relationships. I don't need to be kicked in the face multiple times to determine that someone is a facekicker. We all have the right to protect ourselves and I'm adopting a 'one strike and you're out' system from this point forward. I am very open and this gives abusers a lot of ammunition. Instead of hiding to protect myself I have decided to continue to be open and simply observe how people respond to my openness. If I mention I'm bi and they respond by telling me what shits bi people are? I know they're unsafe. If I mention I'm autistic and they respond by being condescending or gaslighting me? I know they're not safe. Instead of saying,<i>"Why would they be mean to me? I must be misunderstanding."</i> I will say,<i>"Unfriend. Unfollow. Block."</i> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">My gut feeling has been right, time and time again, and I need to stop gaslighting myself and start listening to it when it's warning me.</span>geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-55483608198591940162016-03-29T10:44:00.000-07:002016-03-29T10:44:28.164-07:00'Not Like My Child'?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: small;">Okay, so those of us in the autistic community see that phrase, 'not like my child', on a near daily basis. Not only is it dismissive of any opinions we may express over our experiences with being autistic but it's mind blowingly absurd anyway. I'm a 43 year old woman. I'm 'not like' <i>anyone's</i> child, autistic <i>or</i> neurotypical. <br /><br />But that's not what this little rant is about anyway. It's the assumption that my 5 year old child must not be 'like their child' simply because I talk about 'acceptance' instead of pissing and moaning about hating my life. <br /><br />Parenting is hard - full stop. Don't tell me I don't understand and then list off all the areas where your child struggles or needs supports in an attempt to make them sound as 'bad' as possible. Newsflash - I could say all the same things about my child but I don't. I don't because she is a human being who doesn't deserve to have her difficulties spread all over the internet so her parents can get sympathy and attention from strangers. I don't because she is all kinds of adorable and funny and awesome and that's what we embrace and wish to share. I don't because so many of the things listed as being so horrible don't strike me as being a big deal anyway. It amazes me that the supports we offer young children in the toileting or safety departments suddenly become something to cry to strangers on the internet about when it's an older autistic child/adult involved. <br /><br />If people put the energy into appreciating their child's strengths that they do into lamenting their child's weaknesses we wouldn't need to keep having this awareness/acceptance debate. We are human beings. We deserve acceptance and not the negative 'awareness' that is constantly being spread about us. When you are demonizing your autistic child for internet sympathy you are demonizing ALL of us and, yes, we take that personally. </span><br /><br /> <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8R6uiW8nlnn2Hd8i0nQP8mY92HER2cXRMPyX2a4BCMYPcQ9YulEedMy63Nj8zFraq4e__ouoUY4ZnPGh9CvLwbjeeswcDZBd8iMQrkKJbYDeUZH35G11s_Od2CTbGBb0FoyFuvv6jdow/s1600/evie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8R6uiW8nlnn2Hd8i0nQP8mY92HER2cXRMPyX2a4BCMYPcQ9YulEedMy63Nj8zFraq4e__ouoUY4ZnPGh9CvLwbjeeswcDZBd8iMQrkKJbYDeUZH35G11s_Od2CTbGBb0FoyFuvv6jdow/s320/evie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*image description: caption with red background reads - 'I need your acceptance much more than I need autism awareness' alongside a photo of a smiling blond haired 3 year old girl who happens to be my incredibly adorable daughter.</span><br /><br />geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-24858745911022989092016-03-20T09:19:00.000-07:002016-03-20T09:19:51.311-07:00My Thoughts On Autism and Suicide<span style="font-size: small;">I am going to preface this post by saying <i>I am not going to kill myself</i>. I'll even say it twice. <i>I am not going to kill myself</i>. Now that that is out of the way...<br /><br />The disability community has been abuzz recently due to articles like this - <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/to-your-health/wp/2016/03/18/people-on-the-autism-spectrum-live-an-average-of-18-years-less-than-everyone-else-study-finds/?postshare=2971458486798651&tid=ss_fb-bottom" target="_blank">People on the autism spectrum live an average of 18 fewer years than everyone else, study finds </a>and I have hesitated to share them on Facebook because I don't want people, my children specifically, to worry. Turns out I have too many thoughts on the subject to keep my mouth shut, though.<br /><br />I have an odd mixture of horror and relief reading about the suicide stats. Nine times more likely to commit suicide? 14% of autistic children think about suicide? I'm horrified for my tribe but relieved to know on some level that it's not just me being 'crazy' again. This sense of doom that I have lived with my whole life has a reason to exist. <br /><br />I'm a bi, Autistic whose mother committed suicide. That's, what? Like the Trifecta of Doom? The other day I thought,"I probably have something like a 1 in 10 chance of <i>not</i> killing myself", but it actually made me giggle. Partly because I'm kind of twisted like that but mainly because I have this little voice in my head that gets really scrappy when people try telling me what I'm supposed to do. Oh, wait...you're saying I'm expected to kill myself? Pffft. Bite me. Just for that I won't even if I really, really wanted to.<br /><br />And there are some moments when I do want to. Life can be really hard and the thought of a nice long dirt nap has its appeal but I would never do that to my family. I don't want my kids to ever know that feeling of doom. Right now I'm at that magical age (43) that my mother was when she died. I had professionals tell me for decades that this would be a hard year for me but, again, don't tell me what I'm supposed to feel or do. Scrappy kicks in. And while the subject has been on my mind lately it has had much more to do with the Swedish study and less to do with any feeling of connection to her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">The sense of doom is just something there to live with, like the tremor or the feeling of being a freak. It breaks my heart to think that so many of my tribe feel the same but at least we're not alone in this. This world is not autism friendly so it's not 'crazy' to have thoughts of escaping it. We just need to try and focus on the things in it that are worth staying here for. </span>geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-91067837777700114412016-01-25T16:25:00.000-08:002016-01-25T16:25:19.701-08:00Who Wants To Cater My Pity Party?<span style="font-size: large;">Okay, so it's not really a party. More of a tiny gathering. We need coffee. Cinnamon rolls would be nice, too. <br /><br />I've had this brain my entire life so I'm used to it by now. Even when it's giving me a hard time it's not usually too big of a deal because I simply adjust and wait for the abilities I've lost to come back. They have always come back. I can easily count on one hand the number of times in my life when I have been this disabled for this long. In the past I have become depressed and needed hospitalization but I'm getting much better at dealing with these setbacks. Understanding why it happens makes a huge difference.<br /><br />But once in a while it still bothers me because it wasn't that long ago that I could do the things that I can't do now. Facebook reminds me every day with that cursed 'Memories' feature. Oh, look. I took Evie to Walmart. Wait...<i>and</i> made cookies? Then took the kids out for dinner? In <i>one</i> day? <br /><br />Today I needed to package something up for a friend and take it to the Post Office. I joked about it on Twitter and Facebook but the amount of struggle involved in completing such a simple task made me so furious with myself. Address the envelope. Put the shirt in the envelope. Tape it shut. How hard is that? Apparently so fucking hard that it took me a week to be able to do it. <br />And I can't even explain why it's so difficult. I know what I need to do and I know how to do it but it's like a paralysis. I just <i>can't</i>. <br /><br />The trip to the Post Office was even harder. We live in a small town. It's a small building. One clerk available and I've never seen more than 3 other people in there at one time. It should <i>not</i> be the monumental task that it feels like it is. It makes me feel stupid. Pathetic, useless and stupid.<br /><br />But the issue isn't really about the package or the Post Office today. I know the reason that it's bothering me so much is that little voice in my brain that keeps repeating,<i> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>"If these simple tasks are so much of a struggle then how are you going to manage a con in Atlanta?"</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i>I won't wallow long. I prefer to stay 'shiny'. I appreciate the many blessings in my life and the good things my brain has to offer but I suspect this feeling will crop up many more times between now and October. <br /><br />Oh, and don't forget the chocolate. We need some of that to go with the coffee and cinnamon rolls. Just don't make it Lindt. They support Autism $peaks. </span><br /><i> </i><br />
<i> </i><br />geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-64704235736231994582016-01-10T09:20:00.000-08:002016-01-10T09:24:59.512-08:00On Accidentally Creating Inspiration Porn<span style="font-size: large;">In my previous blog post, <a href="http://thegeekmaker.blogspot.com/2016/01/and-then-suddenly-i-was-autistic.html" target="_blank">And Then Suddenly I Was Autistic</a>, I spoke about what it was like for me growing up undiagnosed. I have received some wonderful feedback but my intention in writing that was not to amass a pile of <i>wowyouresoamazings</i>. Mine is not an unusual story. There are so many other people out there with similar experiences even though the details aren't the same.<br /><br />The CDC comes out with their figures ("1 in 68 children!" *<i>gasp</i>*) and folks start throwing around words like 'epidemic' or 'crisis' when the reality is that we've been here all along. <br /><br />So many stories like mine.<br /><br />It's not vaccines or older mothers or genetically modified foods. We've always been here. Granted, if I had lived 100 years ago I probably would have remained locked away and unable to go on to pop out miniature versions of myself, so there are likely a few more of us but it's not because our mothers had Gestational Diabetes or whatever the hell they think the cause is this week. <br /><br />But, yeah, I really wasn't shooting for the inspiration porn vibe that was apparently radiating from the previous post. I don't want anyone's sympathy or to inspire anyone. I merely wanted to educate and illustrate the reality of growing up without a proper diagnosis.<br /><br />I choose not to define myself by any of my bad experiences. I don't wear my struggles as some Badge of Honor. Shit happened and, yes, it helped shape me but I have not been that child for many, <i>many</i> years. I'm not even comfortable with the word 'Survivor' anymore. The way I see it, with the weight we have assigned to that word now, it's still giving too much power to the past. Everyone suffers at some point in their lives so if they're still breathing, they are 'surviving'. All that being said, I certainly don't begrudge anyone else the labels they choose to assign to themselves. I just prefer not to use that particular one myself.<br /><br />I'll stick with Autistic, Wife, Mother, Friend, and the occasional ridiculous online moniker but I'll happily pass on Survivor or Inspiration.</span><br />
<br />geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-19873580477507602552016-01-06T17:00:00.000-08:002016-01-06T17:00:28.888-08:00And Then Suddenly I Was Autistic...<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Trigger warning: Institutionalization, abuse, suicide, general yuckiness.</b><br /><br />When I was little no one knew I was autistic. I was just a hyperlexic, sleep disordered, sickly, difficult child. In addition to meltdowns I had shut downs so I was eventually taken to a neurologist to rule out absence seizures. While they said my brainwaves were unusual, it was not epilepsy. It was written off as 'stress' but they didn't suspect autism. I was subjected to many invasive medical tests during my childhood to try and determine what was 'wrong' with me but aside from some food intolerance, nothing showed up.<br /> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I hated life as far back as I could remember. I always had such a strong sense of not wanting to be here, like I knew on some level that life wasn't supposed to be so hard or overwhelming. At the age of four I drank an entire bottle of perfume after my sister told me it was poison but it wasn't until I was nine that I made a conscious decision to try to kill myself. <br /><br />I was put into therapy and tested. I recall them being frustrated with me for my 'non answers' but some of the questions simply made no sense to me so I refused to even try. How the hell should I know what the woman in the picture was thinking? I could have fun with that one now but back then it seemed pointless.They still didn't know I was autistic and as I continued to get worse I was eventually institutionalized. I officially became The Crazy One of the family.<br /><br />I spent two birthdays in the 'Bad Place' but they didn't figure out I was autistic there, either. Looking back at it all, I believe that some of my fellow patients were also misdiagnosed autistics. Unfortunately their 'treatments' were pretty much the opposite of what autistic kids would need. Living in close quarters with 29 other kids would be hard for anyone but being locked out of my room so I couldn't escape from the constant chaos was their approach to 'making me deal' with it. Meltdowns would follow. I was written off as 'resistant to treatment' and told I would spend the rest of my life in places like that. After 16 months the insurance stopped paying because I was getting worse instead of better. I was kicked out and sent to a residential program in Pennsylvania.<br /><br />They didn't know I was autistic, either, but they accommodated my needs anyway. They also didn't believe I was 'crazy' and for the first time I stopped being quite so miserable. Mostly. In defense of the professionals, I was also an abused child so many of my 'behaviors' could be excused as the effects of that. PTSD could take the blame for the disordered sleep, hypervigilance, and other things. I was there for a couple years and then returned home to Vermont.<br /><br />I was still The Crazy One of the family. Shortly after coming home my mother killed herself, my father moved on and moved out, and I was left as a teen to flounder. I spent the next 20 years in and out of marriages, long term relationships, and many failed attempts at holding jobs. I just could not do life like 'normal' people no matter how hard I tried. I could 'pass' for a while and then I would go through a burnout period where I could barely function. I used what energy I had to try and hide the worst of it from my children. After several years of this cycle I was determined 'disabled' but the reasons given were depression and anxiety. Well, yes, I have severe anxiety but since that time have come to realize that the depressive episodes were triggered by my loss of ability to function and not the other way around. Losing the ability to do things sucks and there's an adjustment period that follows. Feeling depressed during that time is an understandable reaction but not the cause.<br /><br />So how did I magically become Autistic? Like so many autistic adults it was when my youngest child was diagnosed. Again, I assumed so many of my little 'quirks' were from being abused. Lousy eye contact? Must be my low self esteem. Don't like to be touched? Must be that pesky old sexual abuse. Pointed, amused looks from my husband during Evie's evaluation? Yeah, okay, I get it. She and I do a LOT of the same stuff. Even the toe walking. And smelling everything.<br /><br />It wasn't until I read the differences between the way autism presents in males and females that it was really driven home for me, though. It explained so much about everything I've struggled with over my lifetime. I've now had three years to process all of this and I'm still learning new things about myself and how my brain works all the time. This knowledge has been a blessing. I still struggle daily but now I understand why and know what I need for accommodations to make life more bearable. <br /><br />I no longer don't want to be here. Here isn't so bad after all.</span></span>geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-41786037152605902122015-03-19T17:05:00.002-07:002018-04-01T02:28:40.511-07:00It's That Time of Year Again...<span style="font-size: large;">We're rapidly approaching the month of April which means you'll be seeing people post 'autism awareness' images and 'lighting it up blue'.<br />You will also see the Autistic community and their allies bitching about it.<br />See, 'awareness' sucks. 'Awareness' is prevalence rates and tragedyspeak and 'we need to find a cure' crap. It's a money grab by Autism $peaks and the scarier they can make the 'awareness', the more cash will flow into their coffers. And Twizzler Challenges? No.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*Image description: Super cute little girl with blond hair, pink sunglasses and a pink tee shirt that reads 'Autism Speaks does NOT speak for me'.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br />We're all about 'Autism Acceptance' up in heyah. Acceptance is understanding that it's not all doom and gloom. That, yes, some times are really rough but many are beautiful and full of joy and that's what we should focus on. It's learning to embrace difference instead of merely tolerating or even trying to eradicate it. It's understanding that maybe that 'spoiled brat' screaming in the checkout line is really an autistic child who is experiencing sensory overload and giving them a kind smile instead of the stinkeye. It's understanding that children don't magically outgrow autism and that you have probably known autistic adults in your life and never realized it. <br /><br />So, what is autism? Autism is a little girl who sang so much her parents didn't realize she couldn't talk. It's a little girl who is terrified of seeing someone sweep with a broom but loves to use a broom herself. Autism is listening to Gangnam Style, on repeat, every time we went anywhere in the car. For four months straight.<br />It's the Wiggles Christmas DVD year round.<br />It's belly cuddles and bracelet collections and spontaneous giggles.<br />It's a child who notices everything and forgets nothing.<br />And she'll swipe your phone in a heartbeat.<br />It's the 42 year old woman who spent her life being told that she was crazy only to discover that her brain really does work differently from others. And that it doesn't mean she's broken. It's the 42 year old woman who doesn't understand why the world works the way it does but can instantly understand why her child can't tolerate going into a BJ's Wholesale Club.<br />It does not mean Rainman but sometimes I do hear,"Uh oh, mama!", hundreds of times in one day.<br />Autism means that 'hundreds of times in one day' is not an exaggeration. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Autism also means that your mother's mail carrier's autistic cousin probably doesn't appear to be anything like my 4 year old. Or myself. There is no One True Autism. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Autism is not all rainbows and unicorns all the time. It is disabling to some degree on even the best of days. I will never post about many of Evie's struggles because being 4 years old does not mean her dignity should be ignored. If she wants to talk about them in a blog someday, that's up to her. I don't mind talking about my own difficulties. I'm pretty much an open book but I don't always work,"I had a meltdown yesterday and beat my legs with a hairbrush", into everyday conversations.<br />I kinda want to now, though. <i>"Did you see last night's episode of Supernatural? Wasn't Cas hysterical? Speaking of, sometimes I scream and cry and pull hair out of my head when I'm overwhelmed."</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Or not. <i>*sigh* </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><i> </i>So what did we learn today? Acceptance = Good. 'Awareness' = Bad. My kid is all kinds of awesome and she wouldn't be herself without her autistic neurology. Me? Every 6 months or so I manage a minute or two of awesomeness but, yes, I wouldn't be me without my autistic brain, either.</span></span><br />
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<br />geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-9079894819463315032015-03-15T04:25:00.000-07:002015-03-15T04:25:34.940-07:00Mothers. Pfffft.<span style="font-size: small;">Today is Mothers' Day in the UK so I was looking up images to find one I could post for my friends over there. Holy reverence, Batman! Apparently there are people who think moms deserve credit for 'all they do'. <i>*blankstare*</i><br />'All they do'?! But everyone knows that mothers do nothing! Well, I'm sure that technically eating bon bons and watching TV all day is doing <i>something</i> but it's certainly not something important.<br />Yeah, that was sarcasm. <i>*sigh*</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">Oh, I don't believe that just popping out a kid makes one deserving of a pedestal on high but it never ceases to amaze me how little respect women get when actually trying their best at raising kids. If the kids are less than perfect it's the mother's fault but when they turn out to be decent human beings it's 'luck'. Like Spiderman taught us, with great power comes great responsibility...and apparently zero credit for any of the good results.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I had a dream last night that a stranger told me I was doing a 'good job' with my kids and I cried. Why should that have to feel like such a big thing? Yes, I was 'lucky' enough to be too disabled to hold a job so I stayed home with my kids. I guess it's also 'luck' that I actually pay attention to the anklebiters and try to teach them stuff. Important stuff like quoting Psycho, appreciating bad 80's music and, I dunno, being good people or something.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">Many of us willingly choose to become mothers. Some of us choose to put our children first but few of us knew we were choosing a position where we would be constantly picked apart and disrespected.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">So who are the people creating all these reverent images of motherhood?!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Um...probably other mothers.</span>geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-2831817011301286372015-03-13T03:23:00.000-07:002015-03-13T03:23:32.264-07:00I Can Dish It Out But I Can't Take It<span style="font-size: small;">Advice.<br />It's a thorny subject for me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">My childhood was less than stellar and I was The Crazy One of the family but, amazingly enough, no one ever acted like they thought I was stupid. My whole life I had adults telling me I was intelligent. They might have complained about my lack of motivation but they treated me like I was smart.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">And then I moved into the world of romantic relationships. Specifically, romantic relationships with much older partners. Suddenly it was a miracle that I was even smart enough to remember to breathe. I used to think it was a guy thing but even my girlfriend treated me like I was incompetent and couldn't be trusted to make decisions more important than choosing what cereal I wanted for breakfast. My personal favorite was the Let Me Verify What You Said By Checking With Someone Else game.<br /><br />Me: "The weather report said it's supposed to hit 65 today."<br />Them: "Really?"<br />*later*<br />Them: "You were right. I ran into Random Person and they said the weather report said the same thing."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Me: <i>*headdesk*</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>I couldn't even be trusted with something as simple as repeating a weather report. Silly, stupid girl. </i></span> <br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I think. A lot. Generally several steps ahead. Very little of what I do can be considered random. My internal dialog contains some variation of 'If I do <i>this</i> then <i>that </i>will happen' pretty much all the time. Even something as simple as going to the bathroom has a process. <i>Coffee cup, phone and ecig put up out of reach? If I forget and leave them down she could get into them. Door chained? I don't want her taking off. Oh, the door is chained and it's almost time for the teen to come home? Better wait a few minutes so he's not stuck unable to come in. </i>I used to assume that everyone did this but was often frustrated by what seemed to be other people's illogical behavior. Why do <i>this </i>if you know that <i>that</i> will happen? And then act surprised by the consequences?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">What does all of this have to do with advice? I know that most people offer advice out of a genuine desire to help but in my life it has often been used as a tool to insult my intelligence. The line between the two can get blurry, especially if I'm having a Bad Self Esteem day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">I don't usually bitch about a problem unless I've already run through the possible solutions in my head so an obvious suggestion always strikes me as a bit insulting. Just yesterday I was sputtering about my new chair being too high and had several people throughout the day suggest that I try lowering it.<br /><i>*sigh*</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I'm having a Bad Self Esteem week which is pretty much why I bothered to write about this in the first place. It feels like so much of what I say and do lately is drawing commentary that makes me feel worse and does nothing to help solve my problems. Most of them <i>can't</i> be solved but having it perpetually implied that it's because I'm not smart enough just compounds the issues.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />All that being said, I do try to be careful with the way I dispense advice to others. I know some of the things I do are a bit outside the box and may not be obvious to others. Kid freaking out and being miserable? Try drawing a face on your belly or some other ridiculous thing you probably don't feel like doing because you're worn out from your kid being miserable but sometimes ridiculousness snaps them out of it and then you're both happy. I try to keep my advice limited to those things that were probably not included in the first 15 solutions you thought of yourself already.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />So, um, yeah. That's my rant for this week. It was hard to pick just one cranky topic since I had so many to choose from this week. Besides, if I had written about any of the others, folks would have been inclined to give me advice on how to deal with them.</span><br />
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<br />geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-15551745212612572322015-02-25T05:02:00.000-08:002015-02-25T05:02:52.720-08:00Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys.<span style="font-size: small;">I've been struggling with social stuff lately. I've never really fit in and, frankly, I often find it hard to like people.</span><br /><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Nobody panic. If you're reading this through a link I've posted, you've made the cut.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">I find it difficult to understand why people do the things they do and if their behavior strikes me as illogical my brain can't handle it. My immediate reaction is,"MAKE IT GO AWAY!" Sometimes I can suppress the urge but it inevitably wins out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">In the past week or two I have tried to make many people go away. Turns out it's harder than it should be. When someone unfriends me on social media I might wonder briefly what I may have said to offend them but it passes quickly. I understand that not everyone will like me which is no big deal.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Apparently others don't feel that way. They want me to tell them 'why'. My problem is that I really don't like to be mean and any lies I come up with just sound wishy washy. They're all people I have minimal to no contact with in the real world and it stresses me out that they think sharing a network is so damned important. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">I'm feeling a bit like Claire in The Breakfast Club but we really have nothing in common. Why <i>would</i> we hang out, even just electronically? Yes, we all have children but if you think 'the only thing wrong with kids today is that we're no longer allowed to beat them', we're not even occupying the same universe. Or you refuse to vaccinate your kids but spend your evenings with them too drunk and/or stoned to properly care for them. Or I only ever see you bitch about your kids. I like my kids and I like being a mom. All your postings do is make me feel sorry for your children.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">And then there's the drama. I just can't do it. I understand that we all make choices that can result in unwanted consequences but when it becomes a lifestyle my brain simply can't process it. The instant I hear things like,"My husband/exhusband/boyfriend/exboyfriend has been in prison for years and will be getting out soon.", alarms start going off in my head. You could be the nicest person in the world who made one bad relationship choice but it's not worth risking my (or my kids') mental or physical health to stick around and find out. My experience with people has been that bad choices tend to be a habit. Most of us learn with time but I don't have the spoons to deal with the process. Ditto with alcoholics and drug addicts. You may be a great person but I really can't add that to my plate. Been there, done that, have the dead best friend to show for it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"> I have dozens of people in my social networks whom I will never meet in person. The thing is, I would be happy to. From now on my 'imaginary friends' will only be people I would be willing to sit and have a cup of coffee with.</span><br />
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<br />geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-9528951716080807152015-02-23T03:24:00.000-08:002015-02-23T03:24:11.071-08:00You Say 'Obsession' Like It's a Bad Thing<span style="font-size: small;">One of the first things we were told when Evie was diagnosed was,"You should discourage her obsessions."<br /><br />Pfffft.<br /><br />Of course I did the opposite.<br />She gets on a kick and we indulge her to her heart's content. Sunglasses? Check. Bracelets? Check. Rings? Lipstick? Nail polish, phones, watches, music? Check.<br />These are her happy and her calm. I just don't have it in me to say,"You're autistic so you love things wrong."<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">And don't forget limiting 'screen time'. 'Screen time' is The Biggest of the Bads. Her OT was disgusted that we ordered her a Kindle. You know, the Kindle that she goes weeks at a time without touching. She loves herself a phone (and how!) but even that comes down to music. Spotify and YouTube are her two best friends.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">Now, my neurotypical son? He's the King of Screen Time. He was 3 years old the first time he sat down at a computer and it was as if he had been born with a mouse in his hand. Talk about obsessed. I never limited his 'screen time'. I was too busy being proud of his mad skills. And video games? He had every major gaming console for years, even when it required numerous family members chipping in to help purchase them. "But violence blah blah blah!" That was never a big thing. When he was 8 or 9 I rented Grand Theft Auto for him. I then sat down with him while he played it and provided a running commentary of things like,"Do you see how stupid this is?", or,"Does this seem 'cool' or 'right' to you?" So when the rest of his friends were obsessed with the series because their parents <i>wouldn't</i> let them play it he was all,"Meh. It's stupid." <i>*poof*</i> No interest in killing hookers. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">His 'obsession' with technology has earned him several college credits already (he's only a Junior in high school) and landed him The World's Greatest First Job Ever. He gets to do tech support and is making a higher hourly wage than most of the jobs I ever had. And, hey, it's not a soul crushing grind.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">Will Evie's interest in accessorizing ever land her a rewarding career? I don't know and, frankly, I don't care. I'm just not going to sit here and say,"It's not normal to want to wear so many watches so I'm not going to let you do it." I wouldn't discourage my neurotypical kid's interests and I refuse to discourage hers just because she's autistic.</span><br />
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<br />geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-69428563911458071562015-02-22T05:45:00.000-08:002017-12-28T20:14:41.343-08:00There's a Freedom to Being a Middle Aged Fat Chick<span style="font-size: small;">A friend posted an article this morning that discussed feeling 'invisible' due to men only giving attention to women half their age. My immediate response was to point out that those men weren't worth pursuing but then I got to thinking about the 'invisible' part.<br /><br />Invisibility rocks for those of us who have lived our lives with social anxiety. No one pays any attention to the tired looking, overweight woman with graying hair. It's not just men, either. Women see that you've 'let yourself go' and they pay you no mind. You're not different enough to draw contempt and you're not good looking enough to be a threat.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">INVISIBILITY! w00t!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">I spent most of my life wanting to blend but always managed to stand out nonetheless. It wasn't that I was such a looker. I just happened to be unusually small. 5' with an average weight of 95-100lbs draws attention whether you want it to or not. Women were the worst, though. I can't even count the number of times I would enter a situation only to be met with a stinkeye before I could even open my mouth to speak. Nowadays their eyes just slide right past me. I'm clearly not gonna be taking their menfolk.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Do I have moments when I wish I could fit into one of the old dresses still hanging in my closet because I've been too lazy to get rid of them? Or have the urge to pick up a box of hair dye when I'm in Walmart? Of course, but the feelings pass quickly when I remember all the baggage that came along with my 30 year old self's body. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Plus, I have two daughters. They have the entire world telling that they have to be perfect. They need a mom in their corner saying,"Hey. You be you. Don't worry about them." More importantly, they need a mom <i>showing</i> them that.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">I love me some good 'beauty' products but they're all about smelling good and not having alligator skin. Scaly and itchy isn't a good time for anyone. Ten years ago I was sucked in by the products trumpeting 'REDUCE THE APPEARANCE OF FINE LINES' but now I'm immune to that nonsense. I have wrinkles and saggy skin and I'm totally okay with that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I'll happily continue to rock my not-even-remotely-styled graying hair while wearing my XL jeggings paired with a shapeless Doctor Who tee. After all, no one can see me anyway.</span>geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-52045043870731595272015-02-20T05:35:00.000-08:002015-02-20T05:35:53.514-08:00I'm Not Always Angry.Lulz. Just kidding.<br />
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I'm angry a lot. I think it's the result of being a control freak. I get overwhelmingly frustrated with the world around me. Sometimes I can just let it go but other times I run out of patience completely. A couple times a year I snap and start deleting people from my social networks because I just can't take it any more.<br />
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I know some people enjoy my rants but I get tired of being so damned pissy all the time. <br /><br />
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<br />I reach the point where even minor things set me off. Does it really matter that someone believes Obama is having Big Pharma drop Ebola carrying nanobots through 'chemtrails' to implant us all with microchips that will trigger an immune response that will leave us all sterile?<br />Of course not but the ignorance still makes me want to throatpunch them through my monitor. There is enough in our world to get upset about without having to fabricate ridiculous shit like that.<br />
<br />Well, off to read my newsfeed. I'm sure there won't be anything there that could trigger me.<br /><br /><br />
<br /><br /><br />geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-21427332097659511722015-02-13T04:26:00.000-08:002015-02-13T04:26:54.629-08:00Because My Day Wouldn't Be Complete Without Pissing Someone Off...<span style="font-size: large;">I was sitting here thinking,"Thank God it's the last day of school before Winter Break!", and it got me to thinking about some posts I see on a regular basis that bother me.<br /><br />You know the ones I mean. The incessant posts bitching about kids being out of school or, on the flip side, celebrating kids going back to school. Now, I completely understand if it's a work conflict/need to find a sitter situation but I never see the posts framed that way. They all come across as,"Why do I actually have to spend time with these small humans I chose to create?!"<br /><br />I always loved weekends and breaks. <i>Especially</i> summer vacation. Not only did I get to spend more time with my kids but the stress of following a schedule was removed. I <i>like</i> my kids. They're good peoples and, more often than not, wildly entertaining. Frankly I always resented having to hand them over to someone else and am thrilled that we will be home schooling Evie. MINE! ALL MINE! Mwahahahahahahaha!!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> You can't have her!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And speaking of autistic children, the majority of 'autism mom' pages spend entirely too much time bitching about the 'struggle' of being around their children. I can recall one rather spectacular public meltdown because a woman's after school respite worker was quitting. Initially I thought she meant an actual babysitter, like it was interfering with her ability to work, but nope. She was home but she needed respite <i>after her child was gone at school all day</i>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">If I sound judgy it's because I hella am. What does it do to a child's self esteem to hear their mothers piss and moan every time they have to actually spend time with them? All I can think is that the world is populated with people who somehow never managed to notice the parents and kids around them so they had no idea it would entail, you know, <i>work</i>. It's not always easy and sometimes I would prefer to hear something other than the Wiggles Christmas DVD or be able to relax without a loud crashing sound coming from the other room or prepare yet more food that will go uneaten. It's a tough gig but the rewards are immense. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I dunno. I guess I just think people should appreciate their kids more. 'They won't be little forever' is such a cliche but it's true. </span>geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-48596886528151842262015-02-11T03:34:00.000-08:002015-02-11T03:34:51.962-08:00Don't Feel That Way.I've spent the better part of the last 42 years wondering if my feelings and experiences are so damned invalid because I'm a woman or because I'm 'crazy'. Is it sexism, ableism or just a fun combination of the two?<br /><br />If I had a dime for every time someone told me I had 'nothing to be depressed about' or that I should 'just stop worrying' I would be too rich to qualify for disability for my, you know, clinical depression and anxiety. <i>*headdesk*</i><br />
<br />A friend posted a graphic this morning that was a response for all those who tell the chronically ill 'at least it's not cancer'. No doubt the people who say that are the same people who tell women devastated by miscarriage that 'at least it wasn't a real baby'. According to the graphic, the proper response is to punch the offending person and say,"At least it wasn't a gunshot." <br />
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Seriously, though. Why do people feel so compelled to minimize and invalidate the experiences of others? What exactly do they gain from it? Is it simply that they might feel obliged to empathize if they acknowledged that there was a problem so it's easier to pretend the person is just overreacting?<br />
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We see it all the time with people's reaction to the poor. That person over there can't afford to feed himself? He must not be working hard enough. That homeless person over there must have done something to deserve where they ended up. <i>My</i> situation is legitimate. <i>That</i> person's isn't. Everything is their own fault and if they'd just decide not to be that way their situation would improve.<br />
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I know there really isn't a point to this post. People without empathy will continue to belittle others and their experiences. Writing a blog post about it won't change anything. But, hey! People can choose to be All The Good Things and Never Have Problems Again, they're just clearly not trying hard enough. <br />Well, except for me. <i>My</i> problems are real.geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-60370172229630639962015-02-05T10:29:00.000-08:002015-02-05T10:29:07.486-08:00Verbal or Nonverbal?<span style="font-size: large;">When Evie was first diagnosed I thought she must be 'verbal'. I mean, she said words here and there and I was seeing all these parents complaining about how they never heard their child's voice so clearly their children were 'nonverbal'.<br /><i>'Thank goodness my child can talk'</i>, I thought,<i>'She must not be very autistic'</i>.<br /><br />Go ahead and laugh. It's okay.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">She couldn't use words to tell us what she needed but she could sing. She could say things like 'Daddy' and 'yogurt' and 'Elmo'. One day I was curious and asked her speech therapist if Evie would be considered verbal or nonverbal. She looked uncomfortable and changed the subject but it answered my question.<br /><br />Now it's two years later. She chatters up a storm but still isn't conversational. Mostly it's one or two word requests, scripts of things we've said to her or song lyrics. Today something different happened, though. She was stomping loudly when I asked her,"If you want to stomp, where should you do it? Where should you stomp your sillies out?"<br />She took a minute to think about it (and, honestly I thought she wasn't paying attention to what I said) and then replied,"A trampoline."<br /><br />I had told her countless times in the past that she should do her stomping on the trampoline but I was shocked by her response. I believe in presuming competence, which is why I asked the question in the first place, but I was still taken by surprise. Part of me knows she will progress and develop skills as time goes by. She already has so much. It's just so easy to fall into the trap of the day to day stuff and assuming it is where we will always be. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It may seem like a silly thing to get so excited over and it may not happen again for a while but it's a glimmer of things to come. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJgyJswHK_Iia-c-jdsPqTJfUIJppTPNFNjcvKx9FRhYP5OntclSiT0vvSKKSDUQjdn36Es4TohAssGustA-mRirua0YXxDNZjeV42oTYtbhgBnwWtiCX69g4bAXD-fS2YaqnTmMWVaoU/s1600/eviewink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJgyJswHK_Iia-c-jdsPqTJfUIJppTPNFNjcvKx9FRhYP5OntclSiT0vvSKKSDUQjdn36Es4TohAssGustA-mRirua0YXxDNZjeV42oTYtbhgBnwWtiCX69g4bAXD-fS2YaqnTmMWVaoU/s1600/eviewink.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Image credit: Brooke Goodwin<br />Image description: Adorable little girl with short dark blond hair, wearing a Little Mermaid tee shirt. She's trying to smile while winking at the camera.</span><br />geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2639726471009152031.post-72012750923653678822015-02-02T11:09:00.000-08:002015-02-02T11:09:05.404-08:00Dear Kid With the Crappy Mother...<span style="font-size: small;">I see you.</span><br />
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I see you being treated like shit and neglected and there's nothing I can do about it but let you know that I see. <br />
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Sometimes it feels like she has the whole world fooled, doesn't it? After all, she has all her friends around cheering her on and patting her on the back when she disrespects you right in front of them. The thing is, their opinion doesn't matter. They're all peas in a pod treating their own children the way she treats you. Doesn't mean they're right. It just means that the people, like myself, who are horrified by that behavior are out here where you can't see us.<br />
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I remember when I was around twenty I had a woman approach me and tell me how sorry she felt for me when I was little. I thanked her and told her I wished someone had told me that when I was going through it because it might have made life more bearable to know there were people who saw the truth.<br />
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<i>I see the truth</i> and I do feel sorry for you. It's not fair to be treated badly by the person who brought you into this world. All children deserve to be loved and nurtured and it sucks that you can't have that but do you want to know a secret?<br />
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It will make you a better person. Yes, you <i>could</i> lash out at the world or turn to drugs or gravitate towards those who will treat you as badly as you've grown accustomed to... <br />
<i>Or</i><br />
Or you can take everything you've experienced and turn it into a template of what <i>not</i> to be, of how <i>not</i> to treat people. It can make you strong and empathetic and kind and if you ever decide to become a parent you can be the mother you always wished you had. <br />
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I see you because I've been you. <br />
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<br />geekmakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07971520984656497376noreply@blogger.com2