A new app is helping people who are unable to speak during an emergency to quickly and effectively get help from those around them.

Jeroen De Busser, a computer science student at the University of Antwerp in Belgium, recently developed “Emergency Chat,” an app that makes it possible for people to communicate quickly when they are unable to speak. De Busser, who has autism, told Upworthy he came up with the idea for the app after having a meltdown during which he was unable to verbally communicate to others what was happening to him.

Emergency Chat allows people to pull up a preprogrammed message on their phones in the midst of an emergency. Users can hand their phone displaying one of the screens below. Display options include “Aspie meltdown” (referring to someone on the autism spectrum), “Trach Meltdown” and “Asthma Attack” — two other emergencies during which the person affected may be unable to speak.

EC App2
Photo via the Emergency Chat Facebook page
EC App
Photo via the Emergency Chat Facebook page
EC App1
Photo via the Emergency Chat Facebook page

After hitting the “continue” button, users can send their own messages to others using a basic chat interface. The user can then explain specifically and quickly how the person or people they’re with can help.

Emergency Chat currently has more than 500 users and counting, according to The Huffington Post. In addition to helping people communicate when speaking is not an option, the app could also help well-meaning bystanders know exactly what they can do to be helpful so they don’t unintentionally cause more harm than good.

The Emergency Chat app is available for download for Android devices here. An iOS version of the app is currently in the works.

h/t HuffPost Media


Today was a day in which I felt I’d failed 136 times. I have days like this often. You see, I have Asperger syndrome, and I have three small children, the eldest two of whom are also diagnosed on the autism spectrum.

So I messed up — royally. And then I messed up again. I felt so awful about messing up that I had a meltdown and cried. And then I messed up yet again.

By the end of the day, when I picked up Juliette (my 4-year-old daughter who has autism) from therapy, I wasn’t really in the mood to venture into a crowded public place.

But the kids were starving, and I had found two rumpled coupons for free custard crammed into my wallet. And I thought maybe, just maybe, I could redeem myself of my failures by being the “cool mom” and taking them out for a treat.

“Big mistake,” I thought, as I entered and saw a long line of people and every table full. But I couldn’t turn back now. I had to push on through.

There was a woman in an adjacent booth staring at us the entire time we were there. She watched as Baby Roland refused to sit and jumped up and down in the booth. He ate his custard with his hands instead of his spoon and dropped some onto the sticky tabletop and tried to lick it up. She also watched as Juliette got out of her seat and hid under a chair. I attempted to transition them to leave by saying, “Let’s go home and play hide and seek!”

On our way out, I stopped to refill my soda. Caffeine was much needed today! I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was the woman. I was immediately filled with dread and self-loathing shame. I braced myself for the “hands full” comment that was surely coming. “Yes,” I thought. “I do have my hands full. In fact, I can’t handle all of these kids — or any aspect of my life whatsoever — today.”

But all she did was smile fondly at Baby Roland, who was making my left arm quite tired with his almost 2-year-old big boy physique.

She said, “I’m sure you feel overwhelmed, but I just want to tell you that you’re doing an amazing job with your beautiful children. I remember those days with mine, and it can be so hard raising little ones. You are doing great. Keep up the good work, mama.”

I stood there for a second, mouth agape, and then I think I managed to stammer a thank you. With one last smile and a wink, she walked away.

Later, as I was in bed, relishing the rare but beautiful quiet in my house, I began to replay that interaction over and over in my head. I imagined what I would have said had I not been so caught off guard by her sweet words.

“Thank you. This means so much to me. I’ve been having a rough day and this was just what I needed to hear. The world needs more kind people like you in it.”

Except I hadn’t said any of that.

I sure hope the tears in my eyes showed her.

Amber Appleton the mighty.2-001

Follow this journey on One Big Aspie Family.

The Mighty is asking the following: Tell a story about a time someone helped you and/or your child when you needed it most. If you’d like to participate, please send a blog post to [email protected] Please include a photo for the piece, a photo of yourself and 1-2 sentence bio. Check out our “Share Your Story” page for more about our submission guidelines.

Last weekend at San Diego’s Mission Beach Jetty, the magic number was 22 — a 22 km walk with 22 kg of gear for the estimated 22 veterans who die by suicide each day.

The event, “22, with 22, for the 22, in silkies,” co-sponsored by two veteran support groups, Irreverent Warriors and VETality Corp, had Marines walking a little more than 13 miles dressed in practically nothing but boots and “silkies” (short shorts). The 22 kg (nearly 50 pounds) of gear they carried served as a reminder of the alarming suicide statistic, making the event a light-hearted way of addressing a serious issue.

Retired Marine Capt. Donny O’Malley, who organized the event, told USA Today he hopes the event will extend the camaraderie veterans enjoyed while deployed — a connection that can help those who are struggling after returning to civilian life.




After the Marines walked down the coast line, the event ended with a party at La Jolla Cove.

If you or someone you know needs help, please visit the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. You can also reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741. Head here for a list of crisis centers around the world.

In the spring of 2000, our doctors told us that my son, Jared, has autism.

Until that moment, I didn’t know anyone who had been diagnosed with autism. The only thing I knew about autism was from a 1988 movie called “Rain Man.”

We had a child who wasn’t talking, who had behaviors that made it almost impossible to be out in public and who doctors told us “would never _____.” And that blank was full of so many things.

Autism entered our family’s world that day.

I was determined to do all I could to have Jared be a part of his community. I involved him in all sorts of things. Sometimes it’s worked and sometimes it didn’t. Autism can be like that.

I held fast to a decision that Jared belonged in his neighborhood school and to his community. It wasn’t easy. There were many days when I wanted to give up. But there are days when I smile and say to myself all of this work has been so worth it.

May 23, 2015, was one of those days.

This past year in high school, Jared had the opportunity to be one of the managers for the Cosby High School varsity football team and the varsity girls’ basketball team.

He loved every minute of it. Well, except for the beginning. New things tend to cause anxiety for Jared, a huge amount of anxiety. This was no different.

As a matter of fact, the first weeks of these new experiences had both Jared and myself in tears. But we chose to push forward and hoped the school community would accept someone with differences.

This school did just that. They have shown over and over again they understand belonging, they understand community and they’re accepting of differences.

Tammy Burns the mighty.3-002

We saw that in the high school football players who accepted Jared as part of the team. They encouraged and talked with him as he cheered them on and filled their water bottles. They also locked arms with him as they marched onto the playing field.

We saw that in the high school basketball players, who weren’t concerned in the least about having a manager who may do an odd dance on the sideline or hold his hand over his ear as his sensory issues took over and who saw him as a part of their team.

On May 23, 2015, the school held an assembly to award the girls’ basketball team their state championship rings. The student body assembled in the auditorium. The team and the coaches sat on the stage, and Jared sat right there on the stage with them. One by one, the players and managers (including Jared) were called up to receive their state championship ring.   

I was overwhelmed with emotion to see how the team, the coaches and the school as a whole exhibited complete acceptance and belonging.   

At the end of the assembly, it was announced that a special award was being given. I listened as the most incredible words were spoken about my son. I watched his face grow more and more curious. Then I cried as they called him up and gave him a varsity letterman’s jacket. I could hardly breathe as I watched the players, coaches and the entire student body rise to their feet and cheer and clap for Jared. He proudly slipped on the jacket and stood on the stage with a smile that said more than any words can say.

It was one of those moments in life you live for. The local news ran a story.  I watch the news clip often and I’m always filled with gratitude, humility and pride. Not just pride in all that Jared accomplished, but pride in humanity as well.

Follow this journey at Our Life With Autism.

The Mighty is asking the following: Tell us about a time someone went out of his or her way to make you and/or your child feel included or not included. If you’d like to participate, please send a blog post to [email protected] Please include a photo for the piece, a photo of yourself and 1-2 sentence bio. Check out our “Share Your Story” page for more about our submission guidelines.

When WNBA All-Star player Elena Delle Donne first heard about Matthew Walzer, the teen who challenged Nike to design sneakers for people with disabilities, she took a particular interest in his story.

Delle Donne, who is the shooting guard and small forward for the Chicago Sky, has been vocal about her younger sister, Lizzie, who was born blind, deaf, with autism and — like Walzer — lives with cerebral palsy, according to Delle Donne’s website.

Delle Donne understands how difficult it can be for someone with a disability, like her sister, to comfortably wear sneakers. So, to show solidarity with her sister and everyone else who will benefit from Nike’s new shoes for people with disabilities, Delle Donne proudly sported Nike’s FlyEase Zoom Soldier 8 shoes at the WNBA All-Star game on Saturday, July 25, ESPN reported.

Delle Donne also invited Walzer to the game, and the two were able to meet and share their stories beforehand. Delle Donne tweeted a photo of the two of them following the game:

“This moment, meeting Matthew, looking at these shoes and knowing that I get to wear them tomorrow and someday see them on my sister is by far the best part of All-Star,” Delle Donne told ESPN in the video below. “This is life-changing for so many people, and to be a small part of it is so special.”

Learn more about Walzer, Delle Donne and the story behind Nike’s new sneakers in the video below.

Dear Sir,

I’m sure you don’t remember us, but we certainly remember you.

You most likely began your day expecting it would be just another day at work, one which might not contain any moments of great importance. 

I’m sure when you first saw us enter your building, you had no idea I was already dreading the next few minutes.

You see, my son, a sweet boy with a huge heart and a body that makes him look older than he actually is, doesn’t comprehend the social niceties you and I can. 

He doesn’t realize some people don’t want to be hugged by a perfect stranger, even if that stranger is a child. He doesn’t understand people don’t necessarily want to be his friend, despite his constant requests of every person with whom he comes in contact to be his friend. 

He doesn’t comprehend the curt and often cruel comments spoken in response to his requests and gestures of friendship — unfortunately, the kind of comments he might continue to receive throughout the rest of his life.

He has no idea that every time we’re in public, I constantly expect my heart will break, yet again, for the rejection relentlessly experienced by my sweet boy.

For the cruel words spoken by ignorant people.

For the grace-lacking comments about his obvious difference from everyone else.

For the looks of derision constantly sent his way.

For the looks of pity I regularly receive.

These strangers don’t understand that my son doesn’t yet have the capacity to understand he’s being rejected. 

While I should feel relieved that my son will not have to — at least for now — experience the feeling of rejection, it does not. It is at once infuriating and heartbreaking. So when we entered your building, I was expecting you to react in the same way that the vast majority of people have, rejecting my son.

I have to apologize for judging you — an ironic statement because I was expecting you to do the same to us. When my son wrenched his hand out of mine so he could run over to you, introduce himself and ask if you would be his friend, I braced myself for the rejection I knew was coming.

Instead, you knelt down so you were at his level, eye-to-eye with my son, held out your hand to him, and said you would be honored to be the friend of such a fine young man.

I burst into tears at that moment, something which I initially felt embarrassed about. The feeling quickly morphed into gratitude when you looked at me with a kind expression and asked me if it would be all right if my son helped you with your work.

You had no way of knowing that ever since my son first found out we were going to visit the village, the one thing he was most excited about was the blacksmith shop. For a reason I still don’t understand, he had become obsessed with the idea of becoming a blacksmith. I waited until the end of the day to visit your building because I knew any rejection experienced at your building would not only cause my son’s hopes to be destroyed, but would also completely ruin the entire day for him.

Your request made his face light up with a joy I’d never seen before on his precious face.

I’m still in awe of the patient way in which you allowed him to “help” you, answering his incessant questions while making sure his body, always awkwardly and constantly in motion, remained safe. 

You took a full hour out of your day to spend time with my son, giving him the greatest gifts that anyone had given him before. Kindness. Acceptance. Value.

You not only gave my son the ability to experience something for which he had longed to experience, but also gave him the gift of actually seeing him as a person. Someone of worth.

When we left your building that day, my son proudly clutched the piece of metal he had “helped” you forge and walked away with his head held high.

My heart was full, not only because of all that you did for my son, but also because for the first time, someone actually saw my son as a person of significance.

So thank you from the bottom of this grateful Mama’s heart. 

With eternal gratitude,

Will’s Mom

The Mighty is asking its readers the following: Describe the moment a stranger — or someone you don’t know very well — showed you or a loved one incredible kindness. If you’d like to participate, please send a blog post to [email protected] Please include a photo for the piece, a photo of yourself and 1-2 sentence bio. Check out our “Share Your Story” page for more about our submission guidelines.

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