I’m autistic…and that’s okay.

I am autistic, and that’s okay.

Some times it’s hard. Like today I had to tell someone what I wanted to eat and I went over and over what I needed to say in my head. Even though it was a very simple task, even though it was something so many people do, I just couldn’t do it without repeating things in my head to make sure that I said the right things. I suppose part of that is social anxiety and shyness, too,

Sometimes I flap my hands in public. I noticed recently that I flap one hand when scared or anxious, and the other hand I use to stim when I’m more relaxed. Kinda a funny quirk, but it’s okay. I wear coil bracelets on my wrist to twist and play with. Sometimes I get out my stuffed monkey. Sometimes I play with a bouncy ball. There’s nothing wrong with it, and I hate that society deems it so.

I proudly wear glittery things and tutus in public. I don’t care if it isn’t socially acceptable for a nearly 29 year old. Socially acceptable is relative and if I’m happy and comfortable, that’s all that matters to me. I’m tired of being fit into a box because I am divergent from the world. Why does your comfort come at my expense?

I’m Autistic. I am not a person with autism. I cling to my identity-first language and anyone who says I should say differently can shove off. Also, anyone who thinks I should support Autism Speaks can bugger right off, too.

Just because I’m autistic doesn’t mean I lack empathy. I’m kind and compassionate, and I’m the most loyal Hufflepuff you’ll ever meet. I don’t want to be cured, nor should I be.

I’m Autistic.

And I’m Nora.

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