accepting autistic

I am autistic. It’s as much a part of me as anything else is. It’s the Instagram filter I use to view the world, it’s the very way I interact with the world. By accepting autistic, I am accepting who I am.  I don’t know what it’s like to not be autistic – even when I didn’t have words for it, it’s who I’ve always been. To me, being autistic is as natural as existing – for I cannot exist without it.

Accepting being autistic doesn’t mean I glorify it. I mean, I’m happily autistic. I’m glad there is a name for why I am the way I am and a way I can explain it in terms others can understand and relate to. But it also doesn’t mean there aren’t things that are hard and aren’t things that I would change if I could. Because there are things I wish were easier. I wish that I could have a job. I wish that I could complete college. But it just isn’t feasible.

Accepting autistic doesn’t mean I think that I’m better than other autistics or people who aren’t. That’s silly. It does mean I accept myself how I am. It does mean that I don’t hide who I am. It means I accept myself, autism and all.

For me, coming to terms with being autistic has been important. Because I wouldn’t be -me- if I wasn’t autistic, I would be someone else entirely. But would I be happier? Sadder? Would I still be a loyal Hufflepuff? What is autism, what is my PTSD, what is anxiety..what is what? But the thing is, wishing I wasn’t autistic doesn’t change anything. I can’t change being autistic. So why NOT accept it? Why NOT make the best of it? It’s better than wishing I was something I’m not, right?

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