The Autistic Yogi

 I don't love exercise. I know it's good for you but the idea of exerting a ton of energy to get stinky and sweaty is not something I particularly enjoy. I do it begrudgingly and because I have to if I want to maintain some sort of healthy facade. I have a physical trainer I see twice a week. I hike on and off like an Angeleno stereotype. I use the elliptical and machine bike at my local gym. And like any millennial woman worth her salt, I go to yoga.

I've practiced yoga ever since I was a teenager. I was introduced to it by an acting coach when he'd lead my class through the Sun Salutation as warm up before acting exercises and rehearsals. It's a fairly simple set of stretching exercises that don't require that much strength but it would get us physically in tune before we worked. In college I tried a variety of yoga classes and since then I've done yoga at multiple studios and at home. During the pandemic I relied heavily on youtube to get my fix, particularly one channel that has routines for almost any mood and any physical issue that could be addressed. I currently go to a class that combines the Barre Method with yoga. Part of the reason I go to that class is that it's taught by a former coworker of mine, a fact I learned after she commented on a Facebook post I made complaining about how hard Barre was on my flat feet. My calves want to kill me every time I'm in class, but by the end I feel like I've accomplished something that makes me want to die.

Decision 2024 and That Particular Neurodivergent Despair

The last few posts on this blog have been political because I'm a political person. Politics is probably the worst special interest an autistic person can have because it leaves one stressed and depressed all the time. It hurts to know what is going on in the world but feels good to be informed. So naturally I had a lot of hopes and fears riding on the 2024 American election because it felt like a critical choice between keeping the democratic experiment alive and a total destruction of it with the rights I and other Americans pulled out from under our feet. I wanted democracy to prevail and I worked hard to phone bank, write postcards, and voted for it. I was terrified that it wouldn't hold.

Unfortunately, my fears were validated. Americans voted to kill democracy and our rights as we know them.

I'm writing this feeling hollow to my core. My family and friends feel the same and we try to offer condolences to each other as we fear the future. My social media is littered with anger, despair, pointing fingers, and hopelessness. None of this helps my mood, much less my entire being. And all this is compounded by my neurodivergence amplifying every dark thought and feeling that I have.

Voting Is A Spectrum

I may have mentioned this, but I'm a political person. I grew up in a family that regularly discussed politics, encouraged me to form my own opinions and be able to defend them. The idea of politics not being something you don't discuss in polite conversation is foreign to me and something I often have to check myself for. It can be punishing to be so hyper aware of the world around me but I often feel better for being informed. And feeling informed means I really value voting in elections.

As an American, I'm glad I have the right to vote and have a say in how my government works. It's an action not granted around the world and gives people power to dictate how they want their country run. I believe that if someone has the right to vote, it is behooving of them to exercise that right as often as they can. It's no use complaining about the world you live in if you aren't going to the ballot box to make your frustration known. So I want to break down how voting works, how to choose your battles at the ballot, and how to approach voting in general.

Can Genetic Curiosity Kill the Autistic Cat?

NOTE: Eugenics, physical abuse, and depression will be discussed.

Public knowledge of autism is...let's call it a mixed bag. There are people who see autism as a blow to a human development and a burden to those around them that needs "curing". There are people who see autism as a unique gift that gives them a different perspective of the world they can share and shouldn't be "cured". There are people who argue that autism is far more complicated than either of those binaries. I don't want to litigate what perspective is "correct" but needless to say it's a thorny issue. And I personally find the conversation so toxic that I just choose not to talk about it lest I subject myself to people yelling at me at how "wrong" I am. Besides, I've always stated from the outset that this blog is just my own opinion and I don't expect others to be the same but just to respect it.

Then I read about a big initiative that scared me so thoroughly that I need to weigh in.

A collaborative initiative between the University of Cambridge, the Autism Research Center, and University of Los Angeles called Spectrum 10K  launched as the biggest autism research project to examine environmental and biological factors impacting autistic people's well-being. Its stated goals is to look at and address physical and mental health issues autistic people can have to better address their needs and "alleviate unwanted symptoms and co-occurring conditions". It seems like the bulk of the research will be reliant on participants filling out online questionnaires and providing health records and DNA samples via salvia swabs. About 10,000 autistic people were set to participate in this project. The proponents of Spectrum 10K claim that this study will help improve the lives of autistic people and thus further the cause of neurodiversity (a celebration of brain diversity I talked about way long ago).

Why do I feel like this isn't so much championing for bettering the lives of autistic people but a sneaky way to "cure" people like me?

Gus Walz and Neurodivergent Emotional Response

As a political junkie, I watched the Democratic National Convention this week. A lot has happened in the past few months from a disastrous first presidential debate, an attempted assassination attempt on Republican nominee Donald Trump, a chaotic Republican National Convention, and President Biden dropping out of the race in favor of Vice President Kamala Harris. I watched as Democrats gave their speeches in support of Harris and on Wednesday night, her pick for Vice President Tim Walz spoke. In the middle of his speech, Walz gave a shout out to his family after speaking about his and his wife's struggles to start one and cameras cut to his supportive family. A close up of his son, Gus, particularly stood out with tears in his eyes he appeared to say, "That's my dad."

What was clearly a moment of joy and support from Walz's son gained traction as right wing social media (including conservative media pundit Ann Coulter) mocked him for his especially emotional display. They made fun of his tears as signaling male weakness and fodder for online meme culture. This ridicule of Gus felt especially cruel as people pointed out that Gus has a non-verbal learning disorder and the contempt could very well be ableist.

There's so much in this moment to unpack. I think there's a larger conversation to be had about conservatives embracing a particular brand of toxic masculinity that devalues expressions of love, support, and collaboration. Tim Walz himself is a popular subject for writers in talking about how he's an antithesis towards the right's idea of manhood. But for me, Gus' unabashed (and frankly warranted) emotional response hits home for me as notable because it felt bigger than what people are used to. As a neurodivergent person myself, I know what it feels like to have big emotions. And that's what I want to talk about.

Elsa, "Into the Unknown" Power of Not Being Normal

When Disney released Frozen in 2013, it was more than just a family-friendly box office hit. It created a firestorm about the stories we tell and the characters we value. And Elsa, the central character, became an instant icon of the Disney canon. While the Snow Queen of the original Hans Christen Anderson tale was a villain, Elsa in Frozen makes a powerful journey from shutting people out because she feared how she affected them to opening up to those she loves and accepting her inner nature. Even in the conception of the film, “Let It Go” transformed from a villain song to an empowerment anthem worthy of celebration. (Not to mention the go-to song for so many toddlers it created feelings of overkill on James Cameron’s Titanic-levels.) And in the end, the true villains were the fear and demonization of the different.

A lot has been said about Elsa as a character. A rare Disney female character without a love interest. A rare Disney female character who is defined by her relationship with family, particularly the women. An even rarer Disney female queen who isn’t some kind of evil. Many people have taken Elsa to heart as a personal heroine and power media figure. Google “Elsa Frozen thinkpieces” and there will be a bazillion articles about her being a stand in for the LGBTQ experience. I understand and respect that take, although the original didn’t affect me in some profound way upon its release.

The 2019 sequel though? That hit me to the core of my very being.

The last time a film did that to me was the 2016 Pixar movie Finding Dory. Like Finding Dory, I spent the entirety of Frozen 2 with tears streaking my face. Like Finding Dory, it spoke to my experience as an autistic person. And like Finding Dory, I felt the immediate urge to write about the millions of feels I had about what this movie meant to me.

So like Elsa, let us journey “Into the Unknown” together. (And of course, spoilers here on out.)

An Ode to Mentors - How A Compassionate LCSW Changed My Life

A lot has been said about the importance of mentors. Mentors are meant to guide you through life in personal, professional, and other means by setting an example and giving advice and a leg up on where you need to go. There are plenty of mentors who can get you through the basics, but the best mentors take you for who you are and help nurture and enhance you to become a better person to make an impact on the world.

I can't think of a better example of this than my own mentor through the social work and disability world than my first social work supervisor and boss, Linda. Linda's guidance and advocacy has not only given me professional consul and direction, she proved to be an amazing example of what a disability ally can be.