I don’t like to speak in absolutes. No two Autistic people are alike. There are no blanket statements that can apply to all of us. There is but one thing, one small thing, that every Autistic person I’ve met has wanted non-Autistic people to do. And that is… listen to us.

LISTEN

When we say that Applied Behavioral Analysis, the therapy of choice for fixing us, hurts
When we say that our flapping hands doesn’t.
When we say that your grabbing, corrective hands do.
It doesn’t bruise the skin when the mothers grab their child’s heads to turn their gaze towards someone, to force eye contact. But it leaves a mark. It leaves a dark, dark mark on my heart every time I see  a parent force their child to engage in neurotypical ways with people. I can’t even imagine how it feels to be that kid.
It hurt me, when I was a little kid, to know that I’d done wrong. The mere thought that I was being corrected was punishment and a half, and I did my best to never need correcting.
Now as an Autistic I am hyperempathetic. We aren’t all, but those of you who are like me… you’ll get it. I can apply my own experience of hating correction and see how it must feel to those autistic kids, those poor babies, always being corrected. They can’t even change their behavior because it’s core to their being.
So imagine that. Imagine if at every turn, the way you are is corrected. And imagine if at every correction, you hurt with a passion. If you’re autistic, you probably have felt that at some time or another. We go through our lives being told that we’re wrong. It kills us, it really does.
Imagine something else. Maybe you’re strong. Maybe you’re a little Autistic kiddo and you have the strength to look someone in the eye, or speak consistently with your mouth, or keep your hands and feet still. Maybe you pour every ounce of your energy into putting on that persona, that neurotypical persona.
Maybe you get corrected less. Maybe you’re happy, because people aren’t yelling at you for how you just are, anymore.
Maybe you can just skate by on life, expending this secret energy while everyone calls you a success story, an example of a recovered Autistic. Maybe you can get decent grades and look normal and do a good job at that. And then, maybe things change.
Maybe you’re going to college. Everyone’s so proud of you. It’s a lot of stress. Wow, actually, a LOT of stress. Things are a lot harder now.
Boom. That’s it. Suddenly you’re rocking in a corner, you’re flapping your hands to say you’re scared and distressed because your mouth can’t do the same. You don’t know what happened. You thought you had it together. And, well, you did. But the thin veneer of normalcy you wore could only stretch so much, and as all your monumental strength turned towards the increased demands of life, things kinda… popped.
It’s called Autistic Burnout. It happens a lot to college age Autistics as we take off the training wheels of primary education and move on to harder things. You see, it takes effort to not look like you naturally do. It takes effort and energy and causes extra stress when you have to hold yourself still, look someone in the eye, or talk vocally. That means we have less energy for important things, like school and work… or conversely, when we need to spend more on school and work, the Neurotypical Mask we wear gets thinner, thinner, until it snaps.
There’s a reason I’m telling you this. So much of Autism discussion by professionals and parents is focused on looking normal, focused on looking less Autistic. It’s all about fixing us, curing us, like there’s  something intrinsically wrong with the “us” in this equation. There’s so little dedicated to helping us navigate the world on our terms, and so much on making us meet everyone else on their terms. Autistic burnout is the result, with a generous helping of Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder on the side.
So to the parents at this rally, if there is one thing you take away from this speech, this event in general, it’s that we are beautiful as we are, each and every Autistic. Yes, every Autistic person, every Autistic child, those who can’t talk with their mouth and those who can’t stop talking. Those who have wild moodswings that require heavy medication… and the Autistic people who aren’t me! A lot of us struggle. And, yeah, some of those struggles come from Autism. But most of those struggles can be alleviated with love and acceptance, and the rest do not negate the intrinsic beauty of Autistic life and culture.
So please. Listen. There’s an organization out there that has this name… “Autism Speaks.” Well, I’ll be frank. I hate Autism Speaks and all of the curing, fixing, ending rhetoric they stand for. But while Autism doesn’t speak, Autistics do. This Autistic is speaking, and she’s saying: For your child, for your nieces and nephews, your aunts and uncles, for all the Autistic women and girls, men and boys, and for your own Autistic selves, listen. Listen to us, because there’s a lot we’d like say.