Unashamed

April is coming, and my Facebook feed is full of articles. Autistic friends, begging their connections not to “light it up blue” this coming month. And this cover of a huge step forward in autism acceptance from BBC, welcoming Julia onto Sesame Street. A muppet with autism.

Julia isn’t “a muppet with autism”, though. Julia is autistic.

For the first time, today, I mind.

A little background. It’s been a turbulent couple of years. When I first crashed into the autistic community, bruised, alone and frightened, the “person-first” debate didn’t much interest me. Why would I care what people called me? I was still grappling with the monumental implications of this diagnosis for my life, my future, my prospects for growth and happiness in this world. What did it matter whether I “had Aspergers” or “was autistic”? The earth-shattering, devastating reality was the same. Words, gone with a careless breath, were less than wind.

But now. Now I am more than I was. Now I know what autism means, for me. Now I know that my autism does not limit what I can achieve – only influences the methods by which I can progress. That it is not the characteristics of autism itself that stand between me and what I want from my life. What stands in my way, as an autistic person, is so often the attitudes of other people. Always intimidating, and sometimes insurmountable, I know now that these barriers are not of my own making. I have weaknesses, and I have strengths; not because I am autistic. But because I am human.

Autism describes me. Autism is a part of me. Autism is my strength and my sensitivity, my empathy, and the strange inability to express those feelings. Autism is the laughter and the tears that bubble up inside me when I need to show my love. Autism is why I spin and why I sing and why it gives me joy. Why would I want to disown that? Why would I want to separate that from me?

I am autistic. Unashamed.