I don't work in special ed

I don't work in special ed.
I work in education, yes.
I work with disabled children yes.
But I don't work in special ed.

I don't "special teach", I teach.

These aren't "special children", they're children.

There is nothing special about what I do besides the fact that I am actually recognizing the humanity in people and working with them despite what everything around me tells me I'm supposed to do. And their shouldn't be anything special about that.

Because they aren't special others who need some label of differing.

They're people who need it acknowledged that they are disabled. And accommodations rather than methods teaching them to be a way they aren't. And people who will treat them as human rather than subhuman "special" beings.

So, I don't work in any sort of special education, any sort of education which will other their students by it's own name. That's not what I do.

I work with disabled children. I work in education. I work with autistic students.
And that difference in language matters.

Privacy and [not] writing about children

Usually when I'm writing I have something like five different ideas floating around that I want to write about and share. And usually, a limited portion of one of these five ideas makes it through into a form which I will share with other people.

You might say "oh, of course, there are communication difficulties with autism", and I've heard these types of things. I know that I cannot get every thought, every idea that I want to share out of my mind, and into a method which I am comfortable sharing with an audience I know to be primarily allistic. I know some people will try to turn any limitation of communication which I mention into some clinical autistic thing. But, it isn't about not being able to find the words.

It's about privacy, and privacy being more important than having stories I want to share.

People not having their experiences shared online without their consent, is more important than lessons being written using those experiences.

No matter how much there are so many things I want to share in terms of stereotypes about empathy, in terms of stories about what allistic adults think is advocating, in terms of stories of success, privacy is more important.

Even when they are positive stories - there are people on the other side, and I can't predict how they will react.
Even when they are stories about how these people are amazing - I don't know if they'll be uncomfortable being mentioned at all.
Even when everything is anonymous - I don't know whether people will see themselves and have to relive horrors from their past.

Writing about myself - I know the risks. I know what I'm choosing to say, what I'm choosing to leave out. I know how I'm choosing to make there be people who will judge me by being open about impairments, and I know how there are people who will push me away for saying that I am just as much as a person as they are.

But if I'm writing about someone else, they aren't making those decisions. I am. And even anonymously, people can be recognized by patterns.

So instead - I let these thoughts pile up in my head, and there are so many valuable stories left unshared. Stories which could teach. Stories which could help show things that are wrong with the current education practices. Stories which could be amazing examples of stereotypes being just stereotypes and often false. Stories which really could have value

But people's stories are their own to share, not mine, and whose stories there are is more valuable than any value these stories could have. They aren't mine to share. They aren't mine to give out, taking them away from the people who could choose whether or not they want them available. Even if this means so many stories will never be seen by more than a few - other stories will be in their place. Fiction by fiction writers, stories of people who can and do choose to give up their own stories, stories which are already helping us make progress.

And if I can't provide my stories, because my stories are so intertwined with children, then that is okay. My stories can be private, ones which simply help individual teachers learn. Because, once again, the children are more important than the stories.

Real Person

I'm not a person to you if I'm only recognized when you see how much I can do. I'm not a person to you if you deny me my personhood when you only see the autistic spinning rather than the educator. I'm not a person to you unless I'm even a person curled up in the corner, rocking, and unable to communicate in any way that you request.

My personhood is not determined based on whether I'm inspirational, whether I'm successful, or whether I'm managing to be "useful" right now. It doesn't flip-flop on whether I'm seen as disabled or passed into personhood.

My personhood is a non-changing state of being. And if you don't accept it, you are the ones judging me because I'm not an inspirational enough story for your cause.

I'm actually a being here, not a story.

When you suddenly personize me, suddenly give me personhood, you're not suddenly opening up all of what is available to others. You're saying "but, only if you manage to be good enough"; you're putting requirements on my ability to be recognized. You're making statements about how I should be, how I need to be, in order to be accepted into Real People, rather than those fakes that are how I really am. And you're saying at the same time, that I'm not a Real Person, because I cannot keep up those requirements.

When you remove that personhood - it's a reminder again, of how I'm never good enough. How it doesn't matter what I do, I'll always be a lesser being in the minds of so many around me. I'll keep going, but I'll never be in the same class, always lesser, never Real. When you remove that personhood, I'm back with the others like me - those who make due, those who find their way.

When you change my personhood based on the eyes you view me with, you aren't making it easier, you aren't making it friendlier to face the world. Please, unless you can always recognize me as a Person, all of what that means - not in the way that makes you your own inspirational story for befriending "one of those", then realize that I'm not Real, our society disallows for that.

Burnout [aka Expectations]

Autism is expectations. And trying too hard. And people thinking they know more than you do, whether they are parents, or professionals, siblings, or friends. People being convinced that they know more about how your life is than your life is.

Autism is expectations about what you can do, and can't do. Whether its because you are supposed to do things because clearly you can, or supposed to do them differently, or supposed to not be able to, its people declaring what your life is able to be, whether they are sharing the statements explicitly or not.

It's expectations, and them being forced upon you. You need to be able to work a normal shift. You need to be able to cook. You need to be verbal always if you are verbal ever. You need to be verbal never if you have the label attached to you.

It's expectations, and them seeping through your life, people claiming to support, when they're not listening to you, but to what they think you should be like. People planning out their view of what someone like you looks like. People planning out what someone with your skills will do, creating inspiration porn of you before you've even gone and done anything for them to be "inspired" by besides be born.

It's expectations, and them making you try to hard, because its exhausting to have people telling you how much you let them down all the time. Exhausting to know how much they're building expectations, and then you're breaking them. Exhausting to know that you're failing them, over and over again. Because you've been taught you need to be normal. You need to meet these expectations. You need to do what they think of you.

It's expectations, and you failing them. Because you can't do it. You can't go out there and do what others have created - a perfect neurotypical life, for an autistic person. You can't go out and do it - a life where you don't run out of spoons, don't get sensory overload, don't lose speech, don't, don't, don't.

And then. You break.

Again.

And you fall.

fall.

fall.

Needing help, and unable to get it.

Because the expectation is that you're just fine.

Don't you know, you aren't really impaired.

The student you have; the person they are

When you put someone in a classroom and don't pay attention to who they are and their needs, you aren't including them, you're erasing them. This is not to say that you should separate; it isn't to say that "separate but equal", is superior. Separation, segregation, refusal to teach some students while you teach others, causes an enormous number of problems. But, taking someone and sticking them in a classroom and ignoring who they are ignores their existence. It causes problems, while only solving some of the problems of access.

It causes people to break, as they become pushed, further and further, through the inconveniences of their existence, aware of the "problems" they cause to others. It causes people to fail, lacking assumed background, assumed cultural reference points, assumed ways of being; because "everyone knows those things", even when "everyone" means "people like me".

When ignoring the students you have, rather than the students you want, the students you expect, or the student you were, you're preventing these kids from getting educated. You're denying education, just as if you'd denied them entrance to the classroom. You're allowing them to be there, but denying them the ability to access the material. Refusal to acknowledge differing needs, differing backgrounds, differing experiences, means refusal to allow these students the possibility of getting the same education the students you expected are being provided.

Instead, we must recognize the differences in our students. And we must do better than recognize these differences, we must do better than praise ourselves for allowing students to enter our classrooms when they are different. We must do better than praise ourselves for being "aware" of these differences.

We must recognize the differences in our students - and what these differences mean. We must take these into account, and interact with people how people should be interacted with. We must respect people, listen, and not assume that there is only one way to approach any given situation. We must challenge ourselves to do better.

Because, when we only teach one way, we aren't helping any student. We're not approaching education as a way to teach individuals; we're approaching it as a way to spread a message. Kids get hurt. Those who are already at a higher risk get hurt more, as they're already farther from the "average student" the lessons are built for. And the more people learn that they aren't learning in school, the more they don't learn in school.

No, we need to do better than that.

We need to listen, and learn, and teach, and pay attention to the kids we have. The kids that are there. Their baggage and silly behaviors; their backgrounds and methods of thought. Whoever it is that shows up, that's who we have, and that's who we teach.

Reality is more extreme than Fiction

I played a game where curing autism was a major plot point. I won't describe all the details, because spoilers, but it is pretty obvious that anything that includes this would include some pretty horrible people.

I kept getting "I hope you're okay with this game"

And I kept thinking "I'm wondering what the problem is. I can't figure it out"

Because the truth is, whenever I've seen people try to emulate horrible people around autism, around cure, around how inaccurately autism is viewed. They don't make it, it's always understated compared to the truth of the reality we live in.

I've never seen something as ridiculous as "dolphin-people" in any parody when discussing a cause of autism. And none of the emulations include a treatment as on-the-surface horrific and yet still being used as forcing children to drink bleach. The reality of normalizing behaviors through forced eye contact, stim suppression, and other methods, are removed, or hidden - speaking about how much people care about the children even in the situations where such methods would be used.

Even when the focus is cure, obsessions with cure are played down! It is played as if "we want to find one that works", rather than "we'll do anything at all, no cost is too high, in order to get a cure". Children aren't traumatized from the search, attempt after attempt, forcing "treatment" after "treatment" on them, not letting them be kids; trauma beyond the trauma of knowing they're wrong in their parents eyes.

People are seen as disposable, and that's supposed to prove a point, making it more extreme than reality. But, how is it, when it murders are played off as mercy killings; when accommodations are seen as too much work; when the ability to be autistic and accepted is based on how easily you can be seen as neurotypical.

No matter how extreme people have tried to make these, the furthest they've gotten, is displaying how reality is. They've not gone into the land of satire. Reality is too extreme for that. People are really, just that ableist in real life.

Dear Hubway

Dear Hubway,

I know that there are reasons to have rentable bicycles around Boston. It's a great concept! People should be encouraged to bike around the city instead of use cars. I also know that you talk about the importance of safety while bicycling, including providing more affordable helmets. Safety is important, and certainly overlooked by too many.

However, the bikes you provide are absolutely in no way safe.

It is not safe to cause people seizures for doing something as simple as walking down a street where someone has chosen a to ride. Your bicycles do such things. Flashing lights, your flickering lights, cause risk of death for many with photosensitive epilepsy.

It is not safe for people like me who don't have epilepsy, but have other photosensitive disabilities. If my brain stops being able to process things properly because of the flashing lights of people riding your bikes by me, I might not know where I am, what I'm doing, how to walk. It is not safe to be trapped, because you have decided that flashing lights are what to provide.

It is not safe for those riding these bikes either, as studies have shown that drivers struggle with identifying distances when the lights are flashing. Solid lights are much less disorienting even for those without disabilities. Solid lights people are capable of recognizing what they're seeing.

But even if it were fine for the riders, even if it were safer for them, it is necessary that people with disorders such as epilepsy be capable of doing things like grocery shopping. It is necessary that you take them into account for your business model, instead of doing things which are easily fixed, and known to be problems for the most famous trigger for a well known disability.

It's not reasonable to ask someone with epilepsy to not leave their house, because they might meet a flashing light if they exit. The fact that this is the approach many people take does not make it acceptable.

It'd be a lot safer, more straightforward, and more reasonable to simply have you make a small alteration. Swapping your bicycles to use safer lights, non-flashing ones, would make things safer for everyone.

Lights which let people see, know where each other are, and those of us who are walking, be capable of having our brains not backfire into whatever our disability has been triggered into today. Lights which let us be members of the community, rather than prevent us from taking part. Lights which don't cause people to know, that leaving their home is a roll of the die of what they're risking today.

Please, make the changes to make your bicycles safer. What you have isn't safe. A small change can make a big difference.

Acknowledging Me

How my body moves determines how much I know.

I mean, I know this to be the case, because of how I interact with you. The same person, the same people, but completely different interactions. How my body moves determines if my words are worth hearing, or if they're only to be discarded, into the abyss of "we're trying to fix the autism".

If I rock, or sway, or so much as tap my fingers, then how can I make decisions? I don't know that much. How could I? You decide so. You know this about me. You know that people who move like me do not know how to do such difficult tasks.

Yet if I'm still, I can lead. I can provide new information that none of you have seen before. I can teach, and share, and you listen to me!

You. The same people. Depending on my movement that day.

Because how my body moves must determine how much I know. Not the words I speak, not the thoughts I think.

It must be how autistic I look.

Ironic, it is, that these movements regulate me. These movements organize me. These movements help my thoughts fit their pieces together into these words that you hear.

Ironic, that while they don't determine how much I know, they determine how well I can use what I know. And yet, if I am in a state where I am using this self-regulation, then I am deemed not capable of knowing this information. Not capable of knowing about autism.

Ironic, that making it easier to think, easier to share, easier to know what I'm saying, what I'm doing, how to exist in a world not meant for people like me, makes me know so much less in your eyes, that I should not be listened to, even about people such as myself.

But, how my body moves, doesn't actually determine how much I know, and you can't see that. You only see the stigma of a diagnosis, not the person in front of you. You don't see the same me every day, only that who you want to see.

I'm autistic every one of these days, moving or not moving. I'm the same person, with the same strengths and same impairments; same job and same college community; same interests and same need to teach and share and improve myself and what is around me.

I'm always Tuttle.
The same Tuttle.

I'm just actually autistic, and it's sometimes harder for you to pretend that I'm not.

I type to communicate

I type to communicate.

Look!
Here is communication.

Or when I type directly to people on the other side of the world, that's still communication.

What's different when we're next to each other? What's different if we're in the same room, and typing - computer to computer - rather than dealing with the challenges of spoken language? What's different if some are speaking and others are typing?

I type to communicate. Sometimes, it is the only way to get ideas across.

My tongue ties, and I try to speak. Words come out, but they're not what I mean. Confusion. Maybe it's good enough? But I want to do better, and I can when I type.

My brain revolts, and I try to speak. Nothing, I do not understand how the words go to speech. The migraine has stolen the key to that part of my brain. But I type, and can get what I need.

My body overloads, and I try to speak. Words come out, but it's hard. It steals capability. I cannot see. I cannot understand. I forget what I'm doing in the middle of my sentence. I type, and it's easy, it's understandable. My fingers understand what my vocal cords do not.

I type to communicate because it makes sense. Because it gives me more power to share with the world, thoughts I want to share, ideas I think others need to know.

I type to communicate because I can get more thoughts to more people. More ideas out of my mind. More stories where they need to be.

I type to communicate because communication isn't the same as speech and speech isn't the same as communication.

When it makes sense for me to speak, I speak.
And when it makes sense for me to type, I type.
And I can be someone who does both.

I can be someone who is verbal and someone who types to communicate.

I can be someone who is verbal and keep multiple AAC apps on my phone, turning to them at appropriate times.

I can be someone who is verbal and still think better in text. Just because I am verbal doesn't mean that my speaking voice is all of my communication.
Just because I am verbal doesn't mean I need to speak at all times.

I type to communicate. My words. My methods. My way of being.

Getting used to it

"They have to get used to it"

Whether it is the touch, or being "okay" with someone doing something they don't want sometimes is hard to tell. These words are repeated; it doesn't matter how many times, or ways, a child says no, you still should put your hands on them.

"It doesn't really hurt anyone"

It doesn't matter as you grow older, you are still told, "you can't really say no", and even "your experiences are wrong. You are wrong. You don't really have a reason for thinking that, for saying that."

Both of these things are things I've been told recently. I've been told touch doesn't hurt. I've been told that people just need to get used to touch. I've been told that it doesn't matter if people say no, you should still put a hand on their arm. I've been told it doesn't matter if I say no, stop touching me.

I wonder if people are even thinking about what they're saying; if they're even aware of the implications of their words and actions, or if they are just blissfully ignorant. They must be ignorant it seems, people wouldn't take away that much autonomy, would they? Would people knowingly say "you aren't allowed to say no" or "someone touching you in case you are touched later is more important than your ability to choose what is done to your own body"?

How do people have these thoughts- where the ability to say no, the ability to choose what is happening to yourself, the ability to decide whether or not someone else is in your body's space - is less important than something someone else chooses - someone who's body it is not.

How are these things justified? "They have to get used to it"? As if someone is not capable of saying to keep hands away from their body as they get older. "It doesn't really hurt"? As if someone who is disabled is incapable of identifying their body's own sensations.

Getting used to it.

Getting used to doing what others tell us to do. Getting used to hearing "no, your experiences are a lie". Getting used to being told what to do by others, because they have power over us. Getting used to our senses not being paid attention to, even when it involves getting physically into our space, touching us, pushing us around.

Getting used to it.

Being afraid to speak up. Being afraid to say when there's a problem, because you've always been told that you're wrong, that your feelings are wrong, that your body is wrong. Getting used to it. Not knowing how to say something, or when to say something. It's always wrong you know. You're always wrong.

Getting used to it. Because it's never your choice. It's only the choice of the others.