Welcome back to Reading the Research, where I trawl the Internet to find noteworthy research on autism and related subjects, then discuss it in brief with bits from my own life, research, and observations.
Today's article is one of those divisive pieces that elicits a different response depending on your definition of autism. Upon reading this article, some parents might say, "oh... that's disappointing..." because they were hoping that someday their children might be cured/recover from autism. Meanwhile, people in the neurodiversity community would instead scream "well DUH." Why such a difference?
Well, it's in how you understand autism. To parents, autism is often a thing that encroaches "over" their idea of what their child should be. It's the gut problems, the depression, the social anxiety, the failure to read social cues, everything "abnormal or bad" about the child. This can be represented by those pictures of children or people behind clouded glass, such as this one:
The idea is that the "normal" child is trapped behind the clouded glass, which represents autism, and you have to try to get through the glass to recover and reach the child. Reading this article, then, to some parents would be both encouraging (because the child can cease qualifying for the autism diagnosis) but also disappointing (because problems often remain).
Autistic adults and people in the neurodiversity community reject this view of autism, often rather vehemently. The reason is a fundamental difference in definitions. Autism is not everything abnormal and/or bad about them, to these people, but part of their identity, and as such, declaring it a disease to be wiped out is rather insulting. Autism instead is the differences in the brain and perspectives that we often have. It's what makes us such interesting people, and lets us solve problems in such unusual and creative ways.
So, such a person, reading this article, would say "Well DUH," because to them, merely being disqualified from the formal autism definition doesn't make you not autistic. Your unique perspective and unusual ways of thinking, and perhaps difficulties reading social cues, sensory processing differences, and other differences, remain. So sure, some kids might cease to qualify for the formal diagnosis, but they don't stop being autistic to neurodiversity proponents. They just stop being as disabled. Which is great! But not exactly what many parents want.
As an autistic adult who has many supports and has had much help in the adult years, I can safely say that I am much less disabled than I used to be. I'm doubtful I would still qualify for my autism diagnosis, though I have no real desire to find out. The key with the formal diagnosis is that there has to be a certain level of impairment, and the fact that I manage a small social life and a spouse suggests strongly to me that I wouldn't count any more.
That does not, to my experience, magically make me neurotypical. I am not "cured." I am still autistic, still an alien in a world not made for me or people like me. I still think in strange ways and do things differently than other people. I still phrase ideas in ways that confuse most people.
I am, however, coping with that reality far better than I have in the past. I have much better self-care skills and social perception skills. I have a small but perceptually adequate support network. My nutrition and exercise habits are much better than they were in my childhood. As a result, I am healthier and my overall mood is better than it has ever been in the last 15 years. Maybe even 20 years.
I don't entirely identify as a proponent of the neurodiversity movement, because I recognize some validity in the typical parental outlook on autism, as well as the scientific/professional outlook on it. But I think it's fair to say I share some views with the neurodiversity ideals. This is one. I am, and always will be, autistic. Autism is not merely a diagnosis code in the psychological manual of diagnoses, it is a difference in brain connectivity, outlook and personality, and general behavior and understanding of things. It is an identity, not a disease. I am not cured, I never will be, and I do not want to be.
(Pst! If you like seeing the latest autism-relevant research, visit my Twitter, which has links and brief comments on studies that were interesting, but didn't get a whole Reading the Research article about them.)
Well, it's in how you understand autism. To parents, autism is often a thing that encroaches "over" their idea of what their child should be. It's the gut problems, the depression, the social anxiety, the failure to read social cues, everything "abnormal or bad" about the child. This can be represented by those pictures of children or people behind clouded glass, such as this one:
Autistic adults and people in the neurodiversity community reject this view of autism, often rather vehemently. The reason is a fundamental difference in definitions. Autism is not everything abnormal and/or bad about them, to these people, but part of their identity, and as such, declaring it a disease to be wiped out is rather insulting. Autism instead is the differences in the brain and perspectives that we often have. It's what makes us such interesting people, and lets us solve problems in such unusual and creative ways.
So, such a person, reading this article, would say "Well DUH," because to them, merely being disqualified from the formal autism definition doesn't make you not autistic. Your unique perspective and unusual ways of thinking, and perhaps difficulties reading social cues, sensory processing differences, and other differences, remain. So sure, some kids might cease to qualify for the formal diagnosis, but they don't stop being autistic to neurodiversity proponents. They just stop being as disabled. Which is great! But not exactly what many parents want.
As an autistic adult who has many supports and has had much help in the adult years, I can safely say that I am much less disabled than I used to be. I'm doubtful I would still qualify for my autism diagnosis, though I have no real desire to find out. The key with the formal diagnosis is that there has to be a certain level of impairment, and the fact that I manage a small social life and a spouse suggests strongly to me that I wouldn't count any more.
That does not, to my experience, magically make me neurotypical. I am not "cured." I am still autistic, still an alien in a world not made for me or people like me. I still think in strange ways and do things differently than other people. I still phrase ideas in ways that confuse most people.
I am, however, coping with that reality far better than I have in the past. I have much better self-care skills and social perception skills. I have a small but perceptually adequate support network. My nutrition and exercise habits are much better than they were in my childhood. As a result, I am healthier and my overall mood is better than it has ever been in the last 15 years. Maybe even 20 years.
I don't entirely identify as a proponent of the neurodiversity movement, because I recognize some validity in the typical parental outlook on autism, as well as the scientific/professional outlook on it. But I think it's fair to say I share some views with the neurodiversity ideals. This is one. I am, and always will be, autistic. Autism is not merely a diagnosis code in the psychological manual of diagnoses, it is a difference in brain connectivity, outlook and personality, and general behavior and understanding of things. It is an identity, not a disease. I am not cured, I never will be, and I do not want to be.
(Pst! If you like seeing the latest autism-relevant research, visit my Twitter, which has links and brief comments on studies that were interesting, but didn't get a whole Reading the Research article about them.)
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