being autistic

i am autistic. it is who i am. it is as much of a part of who i am as my blue eyes, as my pale skin, as my love for orange. it doesn’t change. my sense of humor, my fierce sense of loyalty, it’s all a part of who i am.

i don’t glamorize being autistic. there are aspects that are hard. aspects that suck. but it’s all a part of who i am. do i wish i didn’t have meltdowns? do i wish i didn’t shut down and couldn’t speak? hell yes. but, it’s all me. i just wouldn’t be me without being autistic.

accepting that has been a big part of accepting me. yes, i am disabled. yes, i am autistic. and accepting it? has allowed me to be the person i’ve always known i could be.

for years, i’ve been told things like “you’re too smart to be this dumb”, “you’re a smart girl, you can figure it out”, “i have confidence in you”, “i know you can do this”. but accepting being autistic means accepting there are things i just can’t do, and that’s okay! there is nothing wrong with the fact i am neurodivergent. there is nothing wrong with the fact that my brain is wired differently.

accepting being autistic means accepting there are things that are impossible for me. accepting being autistic means accepting that i have limits. accepting being autistic means accepting something that everyone wants me to reject.

accepting it doesn’t mean that i use it as an excuse. it means that i use it to help explain things. it means that there is a reason why i react the way i do. it means that i’m just me, plain and simple. i’m nora. i’m autistic.

i don’t always like being autistic.

but dammit, i’ve accepted it.

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