Watercolor illustration of woman walking on road through forest

Ten years ago, I was filmed for a documentary about autistic adults shown on the ABC, along with three other autistic adults. In one scene I was talking about my difficulties feeling love with a partner. I said, “I think I would only go out with an autistic partner because at least we would understand one another.”

That statement was a difficult thing for me to say at the time. I had never felt much love for human beings. In the few sexual relationships I had, I usually just found my partners confusing and slightly irritating. I certainly didn’t feel anything like love. I believed I must be a broken human being to be devoid of this characteristic that has inspired poets and artists for generations. I believed that, because of my autism, I was deficient at something other people seemed to find second-nature.

I imagined I would live my entire life not ever feeling love. I thought about what a horrible person I must be. I really wanted to be able to experience love, but when I tried to understand what love felt like, I couldn’t get it. As far as I saw it, my autism stripped love from me and meant I was incapable of the feeling. While I no longer feel that way, I felt less than human. I related my experience to the android character Mr. Data in “Star Trek: The Next Generation” — a machine, and functional as a human in all aspects except that he the lacked emotions the human crew members took for granted.

Thankfully, I have the wisdom of 10 years’ experience to challenge some of my own unhelpful thinking around the issue of autism and love. I discovered I am asexual and aromantic a while back. This means that having a partner for me was more based on my wish to do what other people expected me to. I had no desire for love or closeness, which I never got from sex or romantic intimacy anyway. The reason I didn’t feel love for my few partners was simple — I didn’t love them. You can’t really manufacture love.

Another thing I discovered quite unexpectedly was that I had immense love when my first niece was born. I was overwhelmed by it. I felt like it filled the room and went out the door and out into the world, probably making people smile in the next suburb! It was like nothing I had experienced before. And then a couple of years later, my second niece came into the world, and a while after that, my nephew. I felt great love for those three beautiful little people. I also feel love for my mum — lots of it — and my dad. I love some of my friends, too. And I’m sure my naughty, beautiful little black cat Mr. Kitty occupies a large part of that bit of my brain that feels love and closeness. There really is nothing like the bond between an Aspie and her pet.

My love for people is not some kind of overwhelming thing I feel all the time. There really aren’t any metaphorical fireworks. It is a sensible emotion, sitting somewhere between joy and care. It is reliable and and gentle. I suspect that most people’s love might be like that. What we see in movies is probably an exaggeration, but a lot of us see that as the benchmark. In fact, I think for autistic people, seeing those sweeping emotional portrayals of love in films and books can be really confusing, Like me, they may worry they are cold emotionally because they don’t feel the need to lay down their life for someone or write “I love you!” in the sky.

Another thing I have realized over the years is that I am filled with love. I know this because I care so very much about all the people who come into my life through my autism advocacy. I put in thousands of hours of time in mostly unpaid writing, public speaking and representation. Those hours and my willing work have come from a place of love. There can be no other reason to it. I want to make a kinder world for autistic young people and for them to avoid all the misery I went through in my youth.

So yes, I don’t have a partner or a bunch of my own kids to love, but I have lots of love in my life.

I think the stereotypes around autistic people lacking love come from a place where the experience of love for an autistic person is not understood and is thus dismissed. Like all stereotypes, it has come from place of misunderstanding and unwillingness to listen to the autistic view.

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When a child is diagnosed with autism, well-known therapies like speech, occupational and physical therapy can be introduced. One therapy that tends to get overlooked in my work, though, is “theater therapy.”

When I was diagnosed with autism at 4, I was already a huge fan of Disney films. Even though I hadn’t started to talk in complete sentences yet, I’d say a few of the words and then hum the rest of the time. That fascination only grew with being a fan of shows like “Thomas The Tank Engine,” “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” and “Power Rangers.” My love of these shows made me want to mimic the characters at times.

Months later, after my diagnosis was confirmed, my parents would take notice of this when trying to find new and innovative ways to help me overcome some of my social and communication challenges. This led to the start of my journey in theater therapy. For the next 15 year,s from pre-K through graduating high school, I would act in over 20 plays. My love of film and television would only continue to blossom. Even though I would stop acting to focus on school and disability advocacy, I was still truly happy with being a fan of the TV and film industry.

Then something unexpected happened.

A few years later, I was starting an internship and received a call from a movie director named Todd Graff. He had heard about my work in the autism community and wanted to ask if I could help with his new film, “Joyful Noise,” in which one of the characters had Asperger’s syndrome. I immediately thought I was being “Punk’d.” But after a short conversation, he sent me the script of his play. A week later, we had lunch in New York, and after that conversation, he asked me to be a consultant on the film to make sure the character in his film was as realistic a portrayal of a person on the autism spectrum as possible. After a year and a half of being a consultant, the film was released, and I was able to go to the world premiere at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre in Hollywood, California. Then after the film was over, I saw my name at the end of the credits. I had finally seen my name, after years of being a fan of film, in an actual film.

That moment was something I will never forget. Since that time, I’ve continued to consult for several films, including “Jane Wants a Boyfriend,” “Don’t Foil My Plans,” and “Big Daddy Autism” to keep that portrayal of those with autism and disabilities as realistic as possible.

Looking back as the kid who used to be nonverbal and have so many challenges, I’ve been blessed with an opportunity to help an industry I have a passion for. I can only hope more projects will continue to give me these opportunities to follow one of my true passions for years to come.

A version of this post originally appeared on Kerrymagro.com.

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Last week, Toys “R” Us locations throughout the U.K. announced they would be hosting an hour-long quiet holiday shopping event for customers on the autism spectrum. Now, U.S. Toys “R” Us stores are following suit with the first sensory-friendly holiday shopping event scheduled in Lafayette, Louisiana.

“We’re working on a plan to test these types of opportunities on a local level – pairing our stores with local organizations to create an event for kids with special needs and their families,” a representative for Toys “R” Us told The Mighty. “The Lafayette event is a great example of the localized opportunities we’re testing to make it more convenient and comfortable for families and children with special needs to shop our stores. And, as we continue to plan these types of events on a local level, we are assessing the best way to scale them nationally.”

Unlike the shopping events in the U.K., the Lafayette shopping event will run for two hours on Sunday, November 13, from 7 a.m. to 9 a.m. According to KLFY News, lights will be dimmed, fluorescent lighting will be limited, in-store music will play at a low volume and no announcements will be made.

For those parents who want their children’s holiday presents to remain a surprise, employees will be available to walk children around the store while parents shop or sit with children while they color in a sectioned-off quiet zone. Snacks and photo sessions with Geoffrey the Giraffe, Toy’s “R” Us’s mascot, will be also be provided.

The event is being held in partnership with the Autism Society of Acadiana at the Toys “R” Us on 5700 Johnston Street, Lafayette, Louisiana.

The Lafayette Toys “R” Us is asking people to RSVP by emailing the Autism Society of Acadiana or calling 337-235-4425 before Wednesday, November 9. You do not have to RSVP to attend.

The Mighty will update this article when more shopping events and dates are announced. 

Photo credit: Mike Mozart

My son Jacob has always loved the water. As an infant, he played in the tub until the bath turned cold. In preschool, he built boats out of the blocks and commandeered the faux fishing boat at the local children’s museum. Gordon Lightfoot’s Grammy-nominated 1976 song “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” set off a two-year-long obsession with shipwrecks that culminated in a trip to the heralded Whitefish Point.

Jacob’s deep love of shipwrecks opened up a keen interest in underwater worlds. When he was 8 years old, we signed him up for an introduction to scuba course at our local pool. He floated in the pool, blew bubbles and breathed underwater with the use of scuba gear. Jacob left his class enamored and determined to become scuba certified when he turned 10, the legal age for junior open-water certification. For the next two years, we heard all about his quest to become scuba certified so he could visit the many sunken ships he had read about. He was a voracious reader and lover of documentaries, spending hours upon hours learning about the many sunken ships in the Great Lakes, near where we live, in hopes of one day diving to the bottom of Lake Michigan and exploring them in real life.

It was no surprise that on Jacob’s 10th birthday he didn’t want a party or a bunch of presents. He just wanted to become scuba certified. I brought him to our local scuba shop to sign him up, along with my water-loving husband. While parents were not required to get certified with their child, I was worried about Jacob’s autism and ADHD and how he would handle the water — and the requirements for certification. Being the overprotective parent I am, I wanted his father to become certified with him, helping to quell my own concerns about the safety of scuba diving. I was sure my husband would take to scuba diving like the fish-to-water he is, while I could sit on the beach and hold down the fort.

I am the sand dweller in our family; I had trepidations when it came to water after an undertow sucked me out past the water break as a child. Even 30 years later, I still became panicked in the open water; my heart rate would quicken and my teeth clenched every time I went near a large body of water. So imagine my surprise when my husband informed me he was not signing up to get scuba certified with Jacob. My eyes cut to our 10-year-old son, who was witnessing this discussion unfold. Fear washed over his face as he realized if one of his parents didn’t decide to participate in the class, then he could not become scuba certified.

I smiled at my son, my heart in my throat. “I’ll do the course with you!” I exclaimed. I still don’t know how I put aside my fear of the water for my child, but seeing his expression, I knew I had to step up and take one for the team. What I didn’t realize at the time was the extensive benefits scuba diving would have for Jacob. For a child who is quiet and can lack self-esteem, scuba diving has given him confidence to speak about his trips with not only his classmates, but also with adults. Diving has also provided therapy benefits for some of the challenges Jacob faces with his autism spectrum disorder. The equipment is like a giant hug, providing deep proprioceptive feedback to his system. Scuba diving has given so much to my son; I never could have dreamed it would be so beneficial.

Over the next few months, Jacob studied for his course, did the confined pool dives with no issue, mastered the underwater skills, and then successfully passed his open-water certification while we were on vacation in St. Thomas. And I was there every step of the way, learning with him. ADHD and autism can sometimes make studying challenging for Jacob, but he hunkered down, focused his attention on the materials, and he passed the written test.

Now, three years later, he and I travel the world, just the two of us, exploring underwater reefs and shipwrecks. This past summer, Jacob, now 13 years old, did his first shipwreck dive, the USS Kittiwake in Grand Cayman, and he was a natural. I sat back and allowed him to lead, watching him skirt through the various room openings as he guided up the exterior of the bow and over the helm, playing with the machine gun turrets and grabbing hold of the wheel. He was in heaven, and so was I witnessing his excitement and pleasure.

It is amazing how my son’s love of shipwrecks has opened the world up for me. Scuba diving has given me the gift of overcoming my fear of the water, an opportunity to travel the world, but most importantly, it has brought my son and I together. Witnessing your child’s excitement and joy is something any parent can treasure. I just get to do it 60 feet underwater.

Image via Contributor.

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Whenever I go to speak at a new venue about my life on the autism spectrum, parents often tell me about their frustration over people saying “I’m sorry” when they tell them their child is on the autism spectrum.

This is something I continue to hear again and again…

When I hear those words in regards to my autism diagnosis, I often link it to sadness or that I “lost something” due to having autism spectrum disorder. I’ve been told I’m sorry by strangers, peers and even on several dates.

I’m not often upset when someone says these words, but I want them to know that I’m OK and I’m living my dreams today. Life was tougher when I was a kid, but because I stuck to my therapies and my interests, I’m able to thrive as an adult today.

Because of this, every time I hear these two words, I respond by saying this:

“Don’t be sorry. Autism is a part of who I am.”

I say this because when people learn more about my story, and my key interests in things like films, public speaking and basketball, they are able to understand my experience of being on the autism spectrum. Sure, it was a long road to get to this point, but I can truly say I’m happy today. Isn’t that what so many of us want?

I advocate because I want people to be accepting of those with autism while also providing supports to help each of our loved ones progress.

Please don’t say “I’m sorry.” Instead, get to know us and who we are.

Just like you would anyone else.

A version of this post originally appeared on Kerrymagro.com.

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I was diagnosed as being on the autism spectrum when I was 15 years old. By that time, I’d been through so much already. I had to learn how to develop most of my coping skills on my own. But even as a 27-year-old adult, I’m still struggling to get by in the world. So when I say I’m having a hard time and need extra help, it’s important to respect that as the truth.

When I say that, for right now, I can’t take more than one college class at a time because it’s so overwhelming, I’m not using my diagnosis as an excuse. I’m being realistic. Yes, I may be getting wonderful grades, but I’m working hard for them. I’m spending extra time just trying to understand the assignments and the material, because I know I tend to misinterpret things. One class is enough for now to nearly send me into a panic.

When I try to tell people that I don’t know how to do something that seems obvious, it’s not because I’m being “lazy” or “difficult.” I’m asking for help because I don’t have the ability to apply what I’ve learned in past situations to new ones. When others do things such as socializing or learning a new skill, they seem to know how to go about it. And even if they really don’t know what they are supposed to be doing, they at least know what not to do based on past experiences. I’m not always able to apply these ideas to new situations, so I really struggle and usually find myself just freezing up.

When I say I’m having a meltdown, I’m not just taking a break to relax. I’m really upset and don’t know how to handle it at the moment. I’m crying and self-stimming, barely able to regulate my body. My mind is so overwhelmed and my thoughts are so jumbled that I’m not able to calm down and work through the problems. I wouldn’t wish a meltdown on anyone. It’s exhausting and debilitating.

And when I ask how to word an email to someone, it’s not because I don’t know how to write. It’s because I’m worried about how it will be interpreted by others. There seem to be unspoken rules about what is appropriate and what’s not appropriate in different situations. And the rules always seem to be changing. I am so anxious about making sure that what I say is understood correctly, and that I understand others. I honestly can’t imagine how people will respond.

It may seem like I’m “neurotypical,” but that’s only because I’ve learned so many ways to cope with the world around me. There are still so many reasons for why I need extra help. Please don’t brush off my struggles, no matter how “typical” they might seem. I may be old enough to be an adult, but I’m definitely still learning how to handle “adulting.”

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