When My 6-Foot-Tall Son With Autism Sat on Santa’s Lap This Year


I was a theatre major at the University of Vermont some years ago, and my family and I still live in the area. And every year at Christmastime, the theatre department puts on a show called “The Toys Take Over Christmas.” It’s a children’s show they have performed every year for almost 25 years.

When my boys were little, I always wanted to take them to the theater, my old stomping ground, for this production. Unfortunately, I couldn’t. My older son, TJ, has autism and sensory issues and had a difficult time in crowds. Putting him in the middle of a theater production with lights, music, bright colors and lots of other kids in the audience was a recipe for disaster. So nope, for us, the theater was out.

When TJ was 10, after eight years of working with therapists and teachers on his sensory issues, we thought he might be ready to give it a try. I had recently gotten back in touch with Alan, a costume shop supervisor and friend from my UVM days, who told me that the night before the weekend of performances they open the show up to the special needs community. The tickets are free, lights are partially up and there are signers there for the hearing-impaired. I was scared and excited all at once. The theater, and that theater in particular, was so much a part of me, and I wanted to share it with my family, but could TJ handle it? Alan encouraged me to give it a try, so he set aside for tickets for me, my husband, Sean, TJ and Peter, our younger son.

When we got to our seats, both boys were excited as they checked out the scenery. It was a toy store, and there were brightly wrapped boxes, two soldier actors, a rag doll actor looking asleep and tons of teddy bears. TJ looked at the program as we all got settled into our seats on the aisle just in case we had to make a quick sensory overload escape.

Suddenly TJ yelled, “Mom! Santa — as himself! It’s the real Santa!”

Now Alan had already told me that “Santa” was really my friend, Patrick, the theater department’s technical director. TJ had seen plenty of Santas before and knew they were really helpers of the big man, but he still believed 100 percent that Santa was real, and I didn’t want to burst his bubble.

Lo and behold, both boys loved the show. They laughed during dances and slapstick falls. They sat wide-eyed the entire time, taking in the story. And I noticed as the play went on, TJ sat closer and closer to the edge of his seat, waiting for Santa.

When Santa appeared, I saw a glimmer of my friend, Patrick, but he was head-to-toe immersed in Santa, from the beautiful costume to the rich warm voice. And TJ was hooked. 

After the show, all the kids walk up the aisles to the upstairs lobby area, where all the cast members were handing our candy canes and posing for pictures, and the kids were waiting to sit in Santa’s lap.

Lauren Jordan.2-001

TJ and Peter waited patiently, and when it was TJ’s turn to sit in Santa’s lap, he asked nervously, “Santa, am I on the naughty list?”

Santa chuckled as he looked at me with a small grin and looked back to TJ and said, “No, TJ, you’re not on the naughty list, but I think your mom might be!”

My jaw dropped as I laughed, and Patrick/Santa quickly said he was only joking and we were all on the nice list. Good cover, Patrick.

Anyway, from that moment on, Patrick was TJ’s Santa. 

TJ is 15 now. His younger brother no longer believes in Santa, but TJ still does. 

TJ and I went this past Friday to the play at UVM and to see our old friends, Alan and Santa, again. This time, TJ was the first one in Santa’s lap. He didn’t have time to mess around. He worries every year that he’s on the naughty list and wanted to be reassured that he isn’t. He also wanted to make sure Peter was on the nice list, even though he didn’t go to see Santa himself.

As TJ plopped down into Santa’s lap — all 6 feet of him. Sorry, Patrick! — Santa said, “TJ, you’ve grown about a foot this year!” 

TJ asked if Peter was on the nice list (he was), asked if I was on the nice list (whew! I was, too!) and showed Santa his wish list. After Santa took a quick look, he turned to TJ and said, “TJ, I hear you’ve been walking home by yourself from school this year. That’s great!”

TJ looked stunned as a slow smile lit up his face. I started to tear up, realizing that Patrick had read a previous piece of mine describing the lengthy process of getting TJ ready to walk home from school by himself. It was a huge, proud accomplishment for him, and a big step for me in terms of letting go as TJ grows up.

As we drove home with TJ talking excitedly about Santa (“Mom, he’s my only friend who’s immortal!”), I felt so thankful for this experience and for these people. They welcome us, and the special needs community, every year. They give us the gift of a magical experience, and they keep the magic of Santa and Christmas alive for my 6-foot-tall young man.

So thank you so much, Patrick, Alan and the UVM Theatre for this gift you all give of yourselves each year to our special kids.

It is magic, indeed.




Help Me Navigate the Holidays With Autism


The holidays: an equally wonderful and intense time. There’s so much joy, love and community, but also so much stress, anxiety and chaos. While that’s true for anyone, for some individuals with disabilities it’s overwhelming. Being part of the autism spectrum, I equally love and loathe the holidays.

Every year I have a loosely planned expectation in my head: when I’m shopping, when/what/if I decorate, when/what/if I make treats and what events I want to partake in. It’s the fairytale version of doing it all, seamlessly with my regular schedule while enjoying every moment. And every year I hit a point halfway through December when I start to shut down. Expectations don’t happen. Plans frequently vary. There’s a strain on time and energy. Looking back, there are little signs peeking out a few weeks before I start to shut down. More anger flare-ups, more inflexibility with changes, unable to perform the usual amount or flow of daily activities and feeling blank and zombie-like.

My mom would say I do it every year. For years I’d deny it and try to plow on until I reached a breaking point, but I’ve come to understand myself better to see when it’s happening, and I love and am gentle with myself enough to give myself permission to be that way —  to not have as much control as I’d like. I may have to adjust a lot (which likely includes giving up some of the previously envisioned intentions), but this year I’m OK with that.

As my coping is currently decreasing, here are the biggest things I know are pivotal for me to navigate the holidays with autism and to actively be a part of the festivities with minimal or no repercussions— because I do want to participate.

1. Let me know about finalized and possible plans and functions at least a week in advance.

A good two weeks (or more) is even better. This ensures I can schedule accordingly, and if something is really important, I can include it in how I account for energy and being present. If necessary I’ll find other activities that can be compromised to make room for yours.

2. Recognize and respect my need for extra downtime outside of regular obligations.

A majority of spectrum individuals are energetically sensitive, myself included. We’re naturally more in tune with and involuntarily pick up a lot from our environment. When things are going well it’s usually just our immediate surroundings. During the holidays, however, we can pick up and feel everyone and everything in the house, community and country. We shut down quicker and need extra recuperation than usual to get to a solid base. Please let us have that, especially on stressful days.

3. Even if I rarely show up at events, please continue inviting me to them.

I always feel bad if I don’t actually make it. It’s not because I don’t care or wasn’t interested. Sometimes it’s because of previous obligations or the location. Sometimes it’s because the day or hours before I didn’t have the energy or ability to attend without sacrificing current functioning. Regardless, I am there with you and enjoying it in spirit. Whether I’m absent a few times or a lot, keep including me in opportunities. It lets me know you love, appreciate and care enough that you do want my presence there and I will be warmly welcomed whenever I’m able to attend. It means more than you know.

4. Help me prepare a plan if I become overstimulated or can’t handle any more.

No matter how well functions go, there is almost always a point where we need to leave soon. Or now. If we’re lucky that’s the natural end of the event. Knowing my telltale signs of when I’m starting to withdraw or lose functioning will help both of us, whether it’s from your own observations, specific body cues we’ve agreed upon or me directly saying I’m reaching the end and am pretty much done. We’re trying to avoid becoming so overstimulated that a meltdown or breakdown could occur, and we don’t want that. If we can’t leave, help me find a safe, quiet space where I can collect myself uninterrupted.

5. Be flexible with how things play out; gently support and remind me the “new way” is OK, too.

Extra activities equal higher energy taxation. This might mean more time getting ready, as we’re probably dealing with the anxiety of the impending event or that we’re not able to fully interact or stay as long as intended. By staying calm and flexible, you help us breathe and (start to) let go of rigidity. If we begin to stress out too much, calmly telling us the “new way” is OK lets us know you support us. We need to hear that.

6. Continue to love me, no matter what form I’m in.

We often beat ourselves up for not fully materializing our intentions. There are days we can handle it better, but there can be days where functioning is lower and we’re only able to do self-care. Above all, continue to show and tell us how much you love us, no matter how we look that day. We’ll always take note, appreciate it and give the same love back.

The Mighty is asking the following: Create a list-style story about the holiday season related to disability, disease or mental illness. It can be lighthearted or more serious — whatever inspires you. Be sure to include an intro for your list. If you’d like to participate, please send a blog post to [email protected].com. Please include a photo for the piece, a photo of yourself and 1-2 sentence bio. Check out our Submit a Story page for more about our submission guidelines.

Lead photo source: Thinkstock Images


12 Things Parents of a Child With Food Aversions Know to Be True


Food aversions that go beyond being “picky” are real. Texture, smell, color and appearance all can impact someone’s ability to eat what is in front of them. It can be challenging as a parent to manage these aversions and still make everyone happy. But happiness is just a state of mind, right?

Here are 12 things I believe parents (or some parents) of kids with food aversions know to be true.

1. We are sick of chicken nuggets.

2. This is what our menu looks like.

Meme source: Autism Odysseys on Facebook

3. We get really excited when our child tries a new food.

4. We get even more excited when it’s healthy.  

5. We brag about our successes.  

6. We know their Christmas dinner will be chicken nuggets.

7. We will look this when the broccoli comment is voiced by the relative who thinks he’ll eat when he’s hungry.

Photo source: Psych/USA. Meme source: Autism Odysseys on Facebook

8. We know he won’t just “eat when he’s hungry,” because we have tried it and he didn’t eat.

9. There may be times when a meltdown is imminent and your child wants ice cream. You’re going to get them ice cream.

Photo source: Marvel/Deadpool. Meme source: Autism Odysseys on Facebook

10. Your child loves fast food places but doesn’t love eating it there, so you use the drive-thru. The staff might even know you.

11. By the time you get home and get your kids set up, your food is guaranteed to be cold.

12. Your coffee is guaranteed to be cold, too.   

Follow this journey on Autism Odysseys.

The Mighty is asking the following: Create a list-style story of your choice in regards to disability, disease or illness. It can be lighthearted and funny or more serious — whatever inspires you. Be sure to include at least one intro paragraph for your list. 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 Submit a Story page for more about our submission guidelines.

, Contributor list

27 People With Autism Who Are Clearly 'Incapable of Empathy'


The myth that people with autism spectrum disorder (ASD) don’t have empathy is an incorrect and harmful one, and it stems from misinformation. While people with autism may find it difficult at times to interpret others’ feelings based on social cues, that doesn’t mean they’re incapable of being empathetic. And while people with autism may also express their feelings in unconventional ways, that doesn’t mean they don’t have them.

We asked our readers with autism, or those who have loved ones with ASD, to share their favorite photos of some beautifully empathetic moments.

Here are 27 pictures of people with autism (who supposedly are “incapable of empathy”), doing just the opposite of that:

1. “This is my 5-year-old son with autism with his arm around his little sister to comfort her and help her feel safe. We were at a parade, and the loud drums scared her.” — Lauren Casper


2. “This is my son with his kitten. Having a pet has enabled him to show his ability to care about and empathize with another living being in a way he currently cannot show towards other humans except in extremely rare instances.” — Elizabeth Campbell


3. “To give his little sister ‘kisses,’ he just touches his head to hers. If he ever accidentally bumps our little girl or hurts her and she cries, he cries because he feels so bad. If I’m ever upset, he always comes to me to sit with me.” — Mindy Bock


4. “My 11-year-old has autism. From the moment my fourth child was born, the two had an instant bond. She loves him so much. He is now 2 and also has autism. They just get each other.” — Vanessa Robbins


5. “My oldest son has autism. He was not an instant fan of his baby brother when he arrived, but now they are thick as thieves. The little guy likes to sit inside boxes and totes, especially when he is tired or sick. This picture shows my oldest climbing in with him one day and asking, ‘Are you OK?’ His brother gave him a huge smile back, hugs were exchanged, and they played a while longer.” — Valerie Werner


6. “We adopted an older cat last year, and my 5-year-old daughter with autism loved her instantly. When talking about where she came from, my daughter said, ‘I will take good care of her. I will make her happy. I love her so much.'” — Heather Hall


7. “Here’s my daughter ‘lacking empathy’ as she helps her little brother learn to play a new app on the iPad. She kept encouraging him, saying, ‘You just have to keep trying, Monkey. You will learn how if you don’t give up!'” — Wendy Eanes Steadham


8. “In this one, my 4-year-old autism spectrum disorder daughter came, played with and cheered up her little sister, who clearly has her own issues.” — Kendra Hopkins


9. “[My son] was 5 when we fostered a litter of kittens and their surrogate mother. He loved those kittens so much, if they cried he would want to know what was wrong with them.” — Ruth Peterson


10. “My 3-year-old son has autism and has so much empathy! He is very affectionate to everyone, especially his new baby sister. Anytime she fusses or cries he runs over to comfort her.” — Kel Billings


11. “This was me during my freshman year. The reason I look so sad there is because this was the day my cat (the one in my arms) was diagnosed with feline leukemia virus (FeLV). I wept for hours and hours because I knew this poor kitty (who had acted as my service animal without even being asked to) had just been given a death sentence. This picture truly shows how even with autism, I’m able to experience a full range of emotions — I just experience it differently than neurotypical people do. Maybe I can’t read between the lines while communicating with others, but that does not at all inhibit me from caring about others and sharing feelings and desiring to help others.” — Emma Wozny


12. “When he thinks someone isn’t feeling well he will love on them until he nearly smothers them. I took this picture when both he and his puppy were not feeling great. Puppy had some shots and my son had a tummy flu. He still wanted to love on his puppy… I know what people see when they see my son, but I also know what they do not see, what cannot be shown through a single simple picture.” — Holly Hartranft


13. “Here’s my daughter, with autism, 7, snuggling Mommy during my last hospitalization. Out of all four of our children, she is actually the most empathetic and sensitive of them all. She hates to see others in pain and will cry immediately if she thinks she has done anything to hurt your feelings. Autism does not equal no empathy.” — Kate Sytsma


14. “My 5-year-old twins who are both on the spectrum show empathy every day, especially to each other. When one was afraid to slide the other said, ‘Let’s go together, I’ll protect you.’ When one was very sick the other made her cards and read to her. When one had to go to the doctor without her, the other asked to make her sister ‘boo boo cookies.’ They hug and snuggle all the time. And the time they found an abandoned baby squirrel in their play house they begged me to save ‘Dave,’ so I found someone who would help him, and we gathered him up on warm towels in a box they made up for him and off we went to save Dave… If they don’t know and show empathy, then I don’t know who does.” — Erin Tusar


15. “My son has nothing but love in him, especially for his brother. He gets upset when someone is sad or crying and wants to comfort them. Don’t tell me that autistic kids are not empathetic or affectionate. Maybe they are just picky about who they want to share themselves with.” — Karyn Hebbaz


16. “My son, who’s almost 5 and is diagnosed with autism, loves his little sister no matter how much she drives him crazy. I’m so glad I caught this moment — when her hat fell off, he put it back on for her.” — Kristy Nickerson


17. “This is my 4-year-old ASD son giving his 8-month-old sister a kiss, completely unprompted. He brings her toys, shares his favorite comforter with her, picks up things she has dropped and copies things that she does and noises she makes. She adores him and the feeling is 100 percent mutual.” — Anna Rona


18. “I walk just about everywhere. On my travels, I come across all sorts of beasties that have found their way onto the sidewalk or road where they could be injured by people who can’t see them. I have escorted earthworms, slugs, snakes, caterpillars, newts and any number of beetles to a safe place. I am 32 and have done this my entire life. I also have Asperger’s.” — Grace Gungadee


19. “My son feels empathy often for people, animals and movie/book characters. He’s my biggest comfort. In this photo he’s bringing his sister a dandelion because she was too tired to keep playing and needed a rest.” — Allison Urbanczyk


20. “This is my 25-year-old son with autism with his great grandmother last year. She passed away this April after battling Alzheimer’s. He was her baby, the light of her life, and the only one she seemed to remember towards the end. He would always sit close with her and love on her like this. I will treasure these memories forever.” — Kelly Renee Smith


21. “My sister passed away in June. I have days where I struggle. My sweet boy made me a ‘book of positive for grieving days’ which I stapled together and carry in my pocket. He will also stop whatever he is doing and cuddle with me if he sees that I’m having a hard day. He’s been one of the most empathetic people through this process.” — Dawn Human Nicholas


22. “This was the first time our son really acknowledged his new sister. She had only been home for a short time and he walked up and gently laid his hand on her. It was so sweet and tender. He doesn’t always know how to express himself but he does love and care deeply. He has shown us that over and over again.” — Christa Brower


23. “My 2-and-a-half-year-old wanted to make cupcakes for his sister because she was sad that morning and he missed her while she was at school.” — Lexie Nooyen


24. “Here’s my beautiful 5-year-old nonverbal autistic son giving his dad a kiss. A bond and a love that only actions can express.” — The Funny Side of Chaos Facebook page


25. “Here are my twins, both ASD, holding hands supporting each other.” — Miriam Gwynne


26. “This is my son showing his love to his dad.” — Sonya Green


27. “Our son is not only empathetic, he is overly empathetic. If someone else gets hurt and cries, it’s almost as if he feels it and he cries real tears too. We can no longer watch live TV because if there is a commercial in which someone gets upset or sad it upsets him greatly and can cause him to meltdown…. When he reaches in to hug a sibling when they are hurt he still uses his body and head rather than his arms, but they know it’s his way of hugging.” — From the Bowels of Motherhood Facebook page


*Answers have been edited and shortened. 




To the Special Needs Parent Who Feels Like You Can’t Face Another Day


I feel alone.

My husband was right: There are bad storms out tonight. I can hear the wind and rain slamming against the house as I lay next to my oldest son — my 10-year-old for whom I had to write a note to his teacher so he could be excused from late homework assignments. My 10-year-old who was up past 11 p.m. and still couldn’t finish it all because he had to help me take care of his two brothers and father. My 10-year-old who is more of a man at his young age than most are at 40.

For those of you who can relate, you are not alone.

The skin around my eyes is sticky from tears and panic attack sweats,  from guilt and exhaustion and frustration. Remember, you aren’t alone.

When your insurance changes again and the one doctor you so desperately need doesn’t accept your new insurance — you aren’t alone.

You dealt with your child’s school again today because your child with autism (or any diagnosis) told the teacher to shut up again or made a fist to hit his teaching assistant. You cried again because you can’t make him learn multiplication. You know he’ll learn it on his own or he won’t — but you can’t get people to understand it’s his frustration and inability to communicate that leads to these behaviors. You aren’t alone.

When you try to explain again to your autistic child that he or she is not stupid or the “bad angel,” when they repeat over and over they want to be dead or disappear, or worse yet, “I don’t have autism anymore” — you aren’t alone.

Your child breaks out in hives for the 72nd time and you still can’t figure out what is causing it, but it’s getting worse and worse and close to anaphylaxis. You are desperate to figure it out before it gets to that point or before he or she dies. You panic. You get sick over the worry. Insomnia takes over. You aren’t alone.

When your medically complicated husband has been in the hospital four times in three weeks and the issues just keep coming and you think, What else?! — you aren’t alone. 


When you cancel your own necessary doctor appointments to take care of everyone else and suffer in pain, severe sickness and fatigue with an immune system that no longer exists, in part because of your overwhelming life — remember you aren’t alone.

After that headache continues for three or 10 days because you feel like you are drowning under all the crap your family has to deal with every day — every single day — you aren’t alone.

You are afraid to leave your partner’s side because his health is bad and it’s panic-inducing, but you have to and wonder the whole time if he or the kids with him are all right. You aren’t alone.

When you get that note from your disabled child’s teacher, again, that says, “We need to talk” about A, B or C and you roll your eyes and kick the cabinet door because you just don’t give a sh*t due to the rest of your life falling down around you — you aren’t alone.

When you burst into tears in the middle of the living room in front of your children because your cup overfloweth and you just can’t take any more — you aren’t alone!

Your medically fragile partner takes longer than normal to come home from a doctor appointment and you worry he is in the hospital again or got in a car accident. You aren’t alone.

When the baby won’t stop crying or climbing on things or escaping your makeshift barricade, and the school is calling again, and your partner is admitted to the hospital for observation, and you want to explode because you’re sick, too — you aren’t alone.

When everyone is finally asleep before midnight and you can’t sleep even though you are desperate, your mind is racing and you just don’t know how to face another day — remember, we are not alone.

I am not alone. I am not alone. I am not alone.

I am mighty.

The Mighty is asking the following: What’s one thing people might not know about your experience with disability and/or disease, and what would you say to teach them? 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.


To the Person Just Diagnosed as Autistic


So you were just diagnosed as autistic. Or you just figured out you may be on the spectrum. Or you’re just now accepting and embracing your diagnosis. Maybe you were diagnosed in childhood. Maybe you’ve always known. Maybe you never even thought until this very second that you could be autistic. That’s OK. There are so many different variables to autism.

But they are all OK.

It is OK to be autistic. There is nothing wrong with it. You are not broken. You do not need to be fixed. You are more than a puzzle piece. You are not a burden on your family. The world would absolutely not be better off without you, whatever the media may try to tell you.

Your voice deserves to be heard. It doesn’t matter if you are verbal or nonverbal. You have a voice — it’s just a matter of people choosing to listen to it. It doesn’t matter if you talk with your hands, with your vocal cords or with augmentative and alternative communication (AAC). No matter how you talk, your voice is beautiful and has value. Don’t let the world silence you because you don’t meet their cookie-cutter mold of how you should be.

It’s OK if you need to stim. It’s OK to flap your hands. It’s fine to take your stuffed animals places with you. It’s OK to comfort yourself in public. Whatever you do, it’s a part of what makes you you, and it is beautiful.

It’s OK to meltdown, be it at home or be it in public. You can’t control it. You aren’t lesser of a person or have less worth because you are simply overwhelmed. The world is scary — sometimes there are too many sounds and smells and things touching you and it completely overwhelms you.

It’s OK to take care of yourself. To pull away from the world and take care of yourself. Don’t let it get too extreme where you are damaging your mental health; but taking care of yourself is OK. Letting people know you have autism is OK as long as it doesn’t put you in acute danger.

There is nothing wrong with having texture aversions to food. There is nothing wrong with eating the same thing. As autistics, our routine is valuable. It’s OK if you want your routine. It’s OK if you don’t want a routine and it makes you feel more on edge. It’s OK to have a loose routine. And it’s fine if you are involved in something and your routine gets thrown off if it changes.

It’s OK to have your own comforting routines, like listening to the same song over and over, watching the same movies over and over, playing the same video game over and over and reading the same book over and over. These things are always the same, no matter what we try to do to change them, and in a world that always changes, it’s OK to have something consistent.

It’s OK to have scripts. To have quotes. To have things that make you calm and help you communicate. It’s OK to have your interests — the things you fully throw yourself into, whatever they may be. It’s OK to know obscure facts about them. (I know obscure facts about “Sesame Street” and that’s OK.) It’s OK to like things that are deemed childish and too young for you. I refuse to be ashamed of my love for things that are supposed to be too young for me. I fully believe that while there may be a minimum age for some movies, shows, books and games, there is no maximum age, and as long as you enjoy it, who is anyone to judge you?

It’s OK to have your own sensory needs. Be comfortable. Don’t force yourself to dress a certain way because it’s what the world expects you to be like. If you’re the most comfortable in yoga pants and a T-shirt, rock it! Most comfortable in tunics and leggings? You do you!

You may be socially awkward. You may not know how to start or stop talking with someone. You may just wander off awkwardly online or in real life. You may not know how to make friends. Believe me when I say that someday, you will find those friends. It may take some time and it may be a difficult road, but it will happen, I promise. And I’m willing to be that first friend if you need.

It’s fine if you don’t like to make eye contact. People will understand. And if they don’t understand and force you to make eye contact, they aren’t people you need in your life to begin with. It’s OK if you need a safe person, be it a friend, a family member or a care person, to go places with you. It’s OK to be scared. It’s OK to do whatever you need to do.

I don’t need to be cured. I don’t need you to be aware of me. I don’t need you to tell me that the world would be better off without me because I am on the spectrum because guess what? You’re wrong. I don’t lack empathy, and anyone who says we lack empathy has truly never known one of us. In fact, I’ve found my autistic friends to be far more empathic than the ones who say we lack it. In my case, I feel empathy so deeply that I often need to just shut myself off. It’s not that I don’t feel it. It’s that I feel it too much.

Autism is beautiful. Autism is unique. Autism is a part of what makes you you. There is nothing in this world wrong with being autistic. Choose to use first-person language, if that is what you wish to embrace. Choose to be proud of your diagnosis (self or professional). Be open and honest with your friends. Let them know how to be your friend.

And above all, be your own friend and relish in the beauty of your autism.

Follow this journey on A Heart Made Fullmetal.

The Mighty is asking the following: Write a letter to anyone you wish had a better understanding of your experience with disability and/or disease. If you’d like to participate, please send a blog post to [email protected]hty.com. Please include a photo for the piece, a photo of yourself and 1-2 sentence bio. Check out our Submit a Story page for more about our submission guidelines.


Real People. Real Stories.

150 Million

We face disability, disease and mental illness together.