Students Take Action After Learning About Lack of Resources for Peers With Autism


When students at East Hartford High School in Connecticut were given an assignment to create a project to better a community for their Human Rights and Law class, they chose to raise money to purchase new iPads for their peers with autism.

The teens recently learned iPads can assist nonverbal students in developing language and life skills, but they were shocked to learn their school offered just two iPads for 19 students with autism to use.

Every human deserves an education,” student Alina Figueroa told the Hartford Courant. “I was so surprised when I learned they didn’t have enough iPads.”

East Hartford High special education teacher Julie Rowland explained how helpful the devices can be. “[An iPad] promotes language, it promotes behavior, it really helps them with those life skills,” she told the paper. “You can enlarge things for the kids who don’t have an easy time seeing, you can change subjects quickly without having to print things out or plan too much. The possibilities are endless because it’s portable.”

On the project’s Go Fund Me page, the class wrote, “[We] want to make positive change for people in our community.”

So far the class has raised $655 of its $1,500 goal.

Students felt the project connected real world issues, like access to education, to their community in East Hartford and allowed them to do something impactful in their own hallways.

Posted by Hartford Courant on Monday, February 29, 2016




To the Person in a Relationship With Someone on the Autism Spectrum


It’s not that you did anything wrong. It’s not that we’re in a mindless routine in our relationship. It’s not that we haven’t talked much or spent real time together. It’s not that I’m miffed by miscommunication. I’m not falling out of love with you.

It’s my overtaxed and overstimulated nervous system. It’s that the intoxicating newness quietly died away over time. It’s that I am in a shut-down mode and can’t connect myself to reality. It’s that I could use destress downtime and want to fully utilize it. I am having a hard time comprehending and expressing emotions and feelings again.

Emotions are a foreign concept. They’re one of the most confusing, and scary, concepts for me to fathom. That’s not to say I don’t have natural reactions and sensations in my body; I very well do. More so I do not innately understand them. Like autism and anything else in the world, there is a wide extending continuum on which emotions range. The depths, obscurities and forms vary between people, situations and moments. All that makes sense. But emotions are arbitrary and abstract – that’s the baffling part.

If anything I learned emotions contextually. I cannot pinpoint or break down what exact emotion a sensation is in my body sometimes, to say, “yes, that is what this particular sensation is and this is why I’m feeling it.” Frequently the depth is so great that it’s exhausting and terrifying. To let myself truly, fully feel something I don’t understand sometimes seems as though it’s going to break me. Throw in the myriad of everyday occurrences, my and other’s reactions, and various physical and external stimuli, it becomes too much. My autism production line to filter, process and absorb can easily get overworked.

It’s affected all kinds of relationships throughout my life. Emotions have held me back and deprived me, but it has also given me continual opportunities and experiences to learn more, to practice. It has given me both unnerving frustration and deep fulfillment. Most relationships are fairly steady, smooth, and the interaction frequency can be adjusted to some degree. The biggest testing is romantically.

Beginning romance is easily understood. There’s clearer distinction of what you’re feeling, freshness of attention, minimal pressure and a general acceptance of shyness and imperfection. As that wanes and disappears I resort to my default. The infatuation stage loses its hold of being the height of my attention span. I become more “me.”

“Easy” emotions dissolve into ambiguous ones. They don’t have as clear of meaning. I don’t know how to act. Avoidance starts, physical contact gets to be too much. My overall disconnect rises because I’m reaching interpersonal space and stimuli thresholds easily again. For the longest time I didn’t recognize how that affected my interactions with partners. It’s easy to see why most of them never lasted more than a few months. It was hard to give and be in the relationship when there’s equally important things that needed my time, energy, and focus, in school, work and family.

My relationship now is the longest I’ve ever had. And it’s hard, love. It is for anyone. The difference this time around is I decided to stick through those struggles and the foreignness. To share myself wholly with you in all ways. To bare my skin and let all of me, disabilities included, be unreservedly shown. To learn, experience and grow with you. That even though the majority of the time I have no idea what is going on internally and it’s immensely overwhelming, I still deeply feel and love you. I know sometimes you might not see or believe it. There are the moments where it’s tougher because I’m more rigid, or ornery because I don’t know what’s going on inside. I waver between expressing myself and not giving anything. But I do want to be with you. I want to explore the depths of what’s possible in all ways and slowly stretch my constraints, to know that I’m not going to break if I let myself understand and embrace my feelings, simply because they’re alien.

I may never fully understand emotions, mine included. But now I know that’s OK. It doesn’t limit or make my experiences any less. It doesn’t make who I am or my connections and interactions with you or others any less. I know I have and always had strong, immense natural energy that flows in my body and I might not be able to put a name or label to them, but I do feel.

So believe me when I say I love you. Sometimes it’s hard to.


5 Things I Would Like to Hear About My Twin Brother With Autism


her brother dan on a swing Every day, people ask me what it’s like to have a twin brother on the autism spectrum. I understand many people are just curious, but sometimes the questions and comments can be a little too much to hear; I don’t always mind hearing them myself, but it bothers me when people make insensitive comments in front of my twin brother, as if he isn’t there. He is more than capable of paying attention to conversations and then thinking about them later.

Here are five questions or comments people have asked or made in the past:

1. What was said: “Wow, you’re twins? You must feel lucky you weren’t the one who ended up having autism.”

What I would rather hear: “That’s really fascinating that you are twins! You must teach each other a lot of things.”

People have actually made the first comment in front of him, as if he wouldn’t understand. I know this would be hurtful to hear. By instead saying we could learn a lot from each other, that would remind him he is important and has a lot to offer. After hearing this, I would obviously be bragging about how good he is at swimming and his iPad games, as well as his knowledge of movies, Disney and art. I would also make that person be aware of how silly and sweet my brother is.

2. What was said: “He doesn’t even look like he has autism.”

What I would rather hear: “He looks like a handsome and sweet guy with an awesome smile!”

This is better to hear because, first of all, what does having autism look like? If you have met one person with autism, you have met one person with autism. No child or adult is exactly alike. Hearing positive things, rather than a random stigma, about a family member is a terrific feeling.

3. What was said: “What is his specific savant skill? Kids with autism are all really good at at least one thing, right?”

What I would rather hear: “What types of things is he interested in? What does he enjoy doing?”

This is better to hear because not every person with autism has a savant-like skill, and that can be tricky, as a family member, to have to explain. By asking what his interests are, it shows you want to know more about him and understand autism is different for everyone on the spectrum.

4. What was said: “Do you think he will ever drive a car, have a girlfriend or be independent in any way?”

What I would rather hear: “I bet he will have a bright future, full of many independent tasks and good people.”

This is better to hear because no one knows what the future holds. Trying to guess what it will be like from today’s moments is not an accurate depiction of what it will be like, nor is it fair to Dan or anyone else. When I’m asked about it, I usually just respond with, “I really hope so.” It’s a nice feeling when others are hopeful along with me and they feel confidence that he will do well.

5. What was said: “Does he melt down a lot?”

What I would rather hear: “When he is upset, in what ways does he personally try and cope with that feeling? What can we do to help?”

This is better to hear because even those of us who do not have autism have our own individual ways of coping with anger, sadness or frustration. My brother would probably feel embarrassed if I went into details about his meltdowns and stimulatory behaviors to people who don’t really know him well enough to have seen them for themselves. This question also shows the person is trying to understand how an individual with autism may react to certain situations or try to make himself or herself comfortable. This concern can be discussed in a way that will educate the curious person on what makes an individual with autism feel more comfortable in a situation where they are feeling sensory overload, without completely belittling the person.

The Mighty is asking the following: Tell us one thing your loved ones might not know about your experience with disability, disease or mental illness. What would you say to teach them? If you’d like to participate, please send a blog post [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.
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If I Could Take It Away...


If I could take it away…

If I could take it away, maybe your life would be easier.

If I could take it away, maybe you wouldn’t have to struggle so much.

If I could take it away, maybe you could be able to talk.

If I could take it away, maybe you could say, “I love you, mama.”

If I could take it away, maybe you wouldn’t be so frustrated.

If I could take it away, maybe you would make friends easier.

If I could take it away, maybe you would sleep more than a couple of hours a night.

If I could take it away, maybe you wouldn’t have your sensory issues.

If I could take it away, maybe you wouldn’t get so overwhelmed by your surroundings.

If I could take it away, maybe you wouldn’t have food issues.

If I could take it away, you wouldn’t be you.

If I could take it away, I wouldn’t.

If I could take it away, I really wouldn’t because I love you for who you are. Autism is a part of you, a part of your personality, a part of your character, and I’d never change you.

Baby boy, you are perfect.

Boy in striped blue and white hoodie standing outdoors

Follow this journey on Gym Bunny Mummy.

The Mighty is asking the following: What’s one thing people might not know about your experience with disability, disease or mental illness, 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 Submit a Story page for more about our submission guidelines.


To the Mom Who Was Right About Your Child’s Autism Diagnosis


Dear Elizabeth,

Well, you were right — it was an autism spectrum diagnosis.

You know what else you were right about? That everything is going to be OK; that this is the first step on a path that is going to good places for your son; and that the struggles he has experienced were neither your fault nor his.

The lightness you feel? That is the weight of guilt and worry off your shoulders.

There is more, too. Once you and your husband figure out what your son, the Navigator, needs, you are going to work as a better team than you ever have.

There will be curveballs. That job you love? You will quit it; you love your son more. Those plans you made? You will put them on hold or even make new ones, some of them better and more fulfilling ones.

Yes, there will be a sense of loss, but really only the sense of loss that comes with the learning curve of taking on new challenges — losing the feeling that you knew what you were doing and the comfort of the rote.

Honestly, though, how was thinking you knew what you were doing really working for you? Not so well. With this re-learning, things will work better.

But not perfectly — don’t expect a diagnosis to solve everything. It won’t. There will still be challenges, difficult ones that will last for years. There will be things you will have to let go of as you accept who he is.

There will be fights you will fight for him — and you will find you will be more able to fight for him than anything you’ve fought for.

You will gain important new perspectives and make friends you have never met. You will broaden your compassion and understanding.

Your life will become rich and full in a way you never dreamed, much different than you ever imagined. For now, take it one day at a time. Things will be a little chaotic until you settle into the new reality.

Be kind to your husband, your son and yourself. Be patient with family who may be confused or dismayed by the diagnosis — they will come around and be supportive.

You will feel like you need to learn everything at once. Do the best you can and follow the school’s lead. They have a lot of knowledge and will guide you as they work with your son.

Because you were right: everything is going to be OK.


Follow this journey on Autism Mom.

The Mighty is asking the following: Write a letter to yourself on the day of the diagnosis. 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.

Lead photo source: Thinkstock Images


To the 12-Year-Old Reading Her Autism Diagnosis


A letter to myself, as I learned who I was.

Hello, Abby!

I know you are feeling scared right now, but believe me, you are going to be OK. I know you just found out we have autism. It’s probably scary. But we are going to make it.

Right now, you probably don’t even know what this means. You’ll go home and research it. I would say not to, but it won’t stop you so, don’t take in too much. The information you read is an overview of autistic people. It is not who you are. You don’t have to try to fit or mold yourself into a box or shape you don’t feel like you fit into.

I’m not going to say people aren’t going to push you, because they will. They always will. People don’t understand that you may not want to fit yourself into their molds. They want you to want to be the same as them. Even now, as I sit here, I have read and heard several things in the last few days about how we need to cure autism, and it just makes me pause and thing, why? And I know that is how you feel right now. Why is this happening to you. Why can’t you be normal, as you always fought to pass as. As you push your tears away to allow yourself to keep up the mask that keeps you hidden from them, their eyes sliding through you like you aren’t even there. As if you are just part of the illusion they see every day.

And I know you make yourself part of that illusion. You hide yourself in their taunts and whispers so you can look as “normal” as possible. You don’t have to do that. And yes, I know you aren’t going to listen to me, because what 12-year-old listens to anyone? But hey, might as well try.

I have one more thing to tell you. Your parents, our parents, are not exactly going to be able to give you the support you need. They try, they do. But they aren’t going to understand you very well. Nobody is. You are going to have friends who drift away, who can’t understand who you are, and yeah, it’s going to hurt. And what people call you is going to hurt. I know you don’t understand why they are cruel to you. I know you don’t know how to make it stop. And I still don’t know. Because the human species is confusing. People are hard to read, and they change so constantly that it is difficult to keep up. And it hurts.

You’re going to feel like everything in the world is painful for you. And it might just be. But it’s not forever. You are going to be OK. I promise.

Who we are now

The Mighty is asking the following: Write a letter to yourself on the day of the diagnosis. 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.

Lead photo source: Thinkstock Images


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