Autism’s Love

I am a hoarder. I should probably write a self-help book, but I'd just hoard that too. My parents were hoarders before me, so I can't just blame my neurotype. I was lucky enough to hear the wonderful Susan Kruse speak recently about her ideas on Autistics and Love. I'm going to paraphrase clumsily, but … Continue reading Autism’s Love

Children and Adulting and Autisming

There is a freedom that comes with having children around. It starts with their lack of expectations. Those big, round eyes don't have an idea of who I should be, they haven't developed those advanced skills of pre-conceptions and pigeonholing. Children love it when you listen. They love it when you try to answer their … Continue reading Children and Adulting and Autisming

Autism Poetry

I always struggle to write poetry specifically about autism. How do you write about a process? You end up bogged down in the behaviours that result from it, instead of the thing you were trying to focus on.  These are last night's headscribbles.  I hope you enjoy them.  When I try to write About the … Continue reading Autism Poetry

An Autistic Anniversary 

I know I'm supposed to be ashamed. I know that. I know autism is supposed to be a loaded term, spoken in hushed whispers, a reassuring hand on a shoulder, a pitying frown. It's supposed to be "risk of" and "suffers from" and "unfortunately". I can't quite decide if it's my autism that keeps those … Continue reading An Autistic Anniversary 

Autistic Voices: An Echo

I've been reading. That's not news really. I'm always reading. I used to read voraciously and quickly, but ten years ago I changed my style. Why would I rush through words that I love, when I can pause and savour them? Where's the logic in that. Sometimes my autism makes me repeat lines over and … Continue reading Autistic Voices: An Echo

Tomorrow the World

My hands smell of soil, they are stained and scratched, dirt embedded under my fingernails. I like to call it a gardener's manicure. I usually hate anything under my nails, sand grates and teases me terribly, but not mud. Not the evidence of a job well done. I am quiet now. After a week of … Continue reading Tomorrow the World