Tag: autism

We received Rondel’s clinical report today, with his official diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder. It was definitely not unexpected, and in many ways it is a huge relief to finally have it on paper with a physician’s signature and notes.

But it is also very hard to read through the report and take in the medical assessment of my child, who I see in all his brilliance and originality and intelligence, and who is being evaluated in light of his struggles and deficits. It is the very embodiment of the pathology paradigm, particularly given the list of recommendations at the end of the report that includes ABA, a therapy that is consistently attacked by autistic adults who experienced it as children. It reminded me of why we used the NODA app for diagnosis in the first place: so that Rondel wouldn’t need to be exposed to the pathology mindset, but would still be able to obtain a diagnosis for support, self-advocacy, and understanding. I just forgot that I as the parent would still have to deal with all of that negativity on his behalf, and buffer him against it.

In an ideal world, doctors could still assign the autism label without calling it a disorder. There are definite differences between the way the autistic mind functions – in the way it perceives the world, in the way it processes information, and in the way it prefers to interact with other people and objects – and the way the majority of minds (neurotypical minds) function. What people often miss, including doctors and therapists, is that the autistic wiring comes with its own unique strengths as well as its own unique weaknesses. A diagnostic process that sought to exist within the neurodiversity paradigm rather than the pathology paradigm could look for examples of both these strengths and these weaknesses, to generate a complete picture of the individual, and to help develop specific plans of support for the individual. In other words, for example: you have autism, and so you struggle with sarcasm and implied humor, you have difficulty reading facial expressions, social interactions and small talk take a lot of energy because of how hard you have to work to keep up and fit in, and certain noises and smells make you want to curl up into a ball or run away – but you also have a mind like a steel trap, the ability to make connections between information and ideas, unique ways of solving problems, and intense loyalty towards the people you are attached to. How can we craft your daily routine to take advantage of your strengths without putting too much pressure on you in your areas of weakness? That would be useful and practical support, without pathologizing the condition.

The pathology paradigm shows up in other places than the medical profession, though. Even a shift in the diagnostic process would take a while to seep through the culture – and until the culture changes, a diagnosis of autism is still going to be met by attempts to sympathize over the tragedy of it, doubt (because your child doesn’t look like he has autism), pseudoscientific “cures”, and even blatant disbelief.

What I wish I could tell everyone I know is that I am not sad or upset at all by Rondel’s diagnosis. His mind is different, and it is different in a beautiful and wonderful way. Will he struggle in a neurotypical society because of those differences? Probably so. But with love and practical support, he can also flourish and give to the world using his unique gifts and talents. He has the focus and the interest to immerse himself deeply in a topic and absorb everything there is to know about it. He has the imagination to see past the status quo and envision new ways of being and doing. And he has support around him to help develop his emotional awareness and executive functioning (two things that were a struggle for me well into adulthood).

What I wish everyone knew is that autism doesn’t just look like one thing. It might look like a mostly non-verbal ten year old communicating in one or two word phrases, dumping out every toy box and taking apart every Duplo tower, standing with the outdoor curtains blowing against his cheek to calm his body down, dancing to his favorite music videos, wanting to be part of the social action around him even as it overwhelms him. It might look like a very verbal twelve year old swinging endlessly because the sensation is so enjoyable, singing the same made-up song over and over again because the repetitive loop is comfortable and fun and transitioning to something else is hard, identifying what day of the week any date falls on, and communicating the love of God in profound and beautiful words. It might look like a four year old melting down because the color he used on his picture doesn’t look the way he expected, talking nonstop to manage auditory input, mimicking the meter and pattern of books and songs in his own games with new characters and situations, wanting a parent to snuggle with him every night at bedtime, or demanding animal documentaries at every possible moment. It might look like an adult struggling to focus on assigned tasks at work because their mind is stuck on other less-prioritized projects, getting into arguments with their spouse because of missed non-verbal cues, falling apart at movies because the emotions and sensations are just too strong and overwhelming, crying because they are running fifteen minutes later than they wanted, or developing a new system of project tracking for their lab from scratch and becoming a source of expertise without formal training because of their analytical skills and desire to learn.

Labeling all of those individuals as autistic helps them to obtain the support they need for the shared weaknesses that accompany the condition (weaknesses partially but not entirely due to living in a neurotypical society), but it doesn’t predict what they will do with their strengths and how their lives will play out. We are just as unique as neurotypical individuals in that regard! I believe – and this is why I think the neurodiversity paradigm is so critical – that if we can stop thinking of neurodivergence as disordered we can create better conditions for autistic and other neurodivergent individuals, a culture where all people can receive support in their areas of weakness and be given the opportunity to explore, develop, and contribute in their areas of strength.

What I wish everyone could see is that the autistic way of seeing and perceiving the world is also beautiful. That a person’s thoughts and feelings are equally valid whether they prefer to speak them, write them down, sign them, or use an assisted communication device. That the same processing circuits that cause us to flap our hands or scratch our arms or chew on our clothes to stay regulated are the same ones that allow us to retain incredibly detailed information and connect seemingly unrelated data in relevant and insightful ways. That the honesty and authenticity that keeps us from betraying or lying to the people we love makes up for our tendency to laugh at the wrong moments in a conversation or our inability to pick up on all your sarcasm or implied humor. That while we may experience and exist in a different way than you do, our differences do not make us less than you.

As an autistic adult (without an official diagnosis yet) raising an autistic child (now with an official diagnosis, hooray!), my plan for “treatment” consists mostly of helping Rondel to understand himself and to understand the world around him, cope with the things that are difficult and embrace the things that give him passion and fulfillment; and of prizing the wonderful individual that he is, and giving him the support he needs (right now, practically, speech therapy and mindfulness practice) to keep his areas of weakness from overshadowing and hindering his talents and strengths. It does not and will never include considering him to be disordered because his mind doesn’t function within that narrow range deemed “normal” or “typical” by the DSM.