Knowing Why: Adult-Diagnosed Autistic People on Life and Autism, edited by Elizabeth Bartmess, is a set of nine essays by adult autistic people. It's very much a slice of life piece. Some authors are more philosophical than others, but each incorporates meaningful examples from their lives. I asked for this book for Christmas, and now that I've read it, I'm not at all sorry I did.
I was gratified, while reading this book, to note the diversity in the authors and their chosen subjects. The spectrum is a diverse place, so it behooves books like this to bring that diversity to their pages. This doesn't always happen in many mainstream publishers, but as ASAN published this book, they made a point of including diversity. And they succeeded.
One of the authors is black, and explains the kinds of complications that identity and appearance can add into a person's life. Another is clearly on the lower end in terms of verbal communication skills. Some of the authors are from other countries. Subjects range from burnout to work, and also include personal identity, depression, fighting for quality healthcare, sensory sensitivities, and assistive technology. All the subjects struck me as highly relevant to my life, and the lives of others. And each person had good insight on their chosen subjects.
The book is also diverse in the tone of its essays. Many are hopeful to some degree, but some are more matter-of-fact and neutral, or even tinged with the very depression they're writing about. This, too, is true to life. I think most people experience both hope and despair in life, and the more complications and difficulties you experience, the harder it is to hold onto hope. If you reach adulthood without a diagnosis, the chances are excellent that you struggled quite a bit to get there, and experienced a fair bit of despair. So while I wasn't overly happy reading the sadder accounts, they made perfect sense to me.
Actually, that's perhaps the most interesting thing to me about the essays in this book. While the authors of these essays share my diagnosis, in some cases I have few things in common with them. Yet each and every one of them was able to explain their actions, even ones like "crawling into the ductwork of their church," in such a way that it made perfect sense given their circumstances. We make sense.
We make sense. Maybe we aren't understandable to other people. Maybe our actions don't fit into the accepted norms. But they do make sense.
Growing up, I was often told, directly or indirectly, that I didn't make sense, that I was wrong, and being a pain in the rear, or just being rude. I studied and learned from those experiences, shaping myself and my behavior to be "acceptable," but it was never a perfect camouflage. And reading all these books from frustrated parents of autistic children, it's easy to fall into seeing a behavior, like stimming, in one particular way. Specifically, a very negative way. A way that assumes there's no valid reason to have the behavior, and seeks to stifle it until it dies. And then people wonder why things get worse instead of better.
So, I guess, if weird autistic behaviors ever confused you, this might be a good book to read. It makes stuff like that understandable, if you're willing to learn.
I loved this book. It wasn't the most cheerful read I've ever had, but it was highly meaningful and relevant. It presented information and insights I haven't seen anywhere else, on subjects that are highly relevant to living with or around autism. It's going on my bookshelf where I'll be able to see it and read it again.
I was gratified, while reading this book, to note the diversity in the authors and their chosen subjects. The spectrum is a diverse place, so it behooves books like this to bring that diversity to their pages. This doesn't always happen in many mainstream publishers, but as ASAN published this book, they made a point of including diversity. And they succeeded.
One of the authors is black, and explains the kinds of complications that identity and appearance can add into a person's life. Another is clearly on the lower end in terms of verbal communication skills. Some of the authors are from other countries. Subjects range from burnout to work, and also include personal identity, depression, fighting for quality healthcare, sensory sensitivities, and assistive technology. All the subjects struck me as highly relevant to my life, and the lives of others. And each person had good insight on their chosen subjects.
The book is also diverse in the tone of its essays. Many are hopeful to some degree, but some are more matter-of-fact and neutral, or even tinged with the very depression they're writing about. This, too, is true to life. I think most people experience both hope and despair in life, and the more complications and difficulties you experience, the harder it is to hold onto hope. If you reach adulthood without a diagnosis, the chances are excellent that you struggled quite a bit to get there, and experienced a fair bit of despair. So while I wasn't overly happy reading the sadder accounts, they made perfect sense to me.
Actually, that's perhaps the most interesting thing to me about the essays in this book. While the authors of these essays share my diagnosis, in some cases I have few things in common with them. Yet each and every one of them was able to explain their actions, even ones like "crawling into the ductwork of their church," in such a way that it made perfect sense given their circumstances. We make sense.
We make sense. Maybe we aren't understandable to other people. Maybe our actions don't fit into the accepted norms. But they do make sense.
Growing up, I was often told, directly or indirectly, that I didn't make sense, that I was wrong, and being a pain in the rear, or just being rude. I studied and learned from those experiences, shaping myself and my behavior to be "acceptable," but it was never a perfect camouflage. And reading all these books from frustrated parents of autistic children, it's easy to fall into seeing a behavior, like stimming, in one particular way. Specifically, a very negative way. A way that assumes there's no valid reason to have the behavior, and seeks to stifle it until it dies. And then people wonder why things get worse instead of better.
So, I guess, if weird autistic behaviors ever confused you, this might be a good book to read. It makes stuff like that understandable, if you're willing to learn.
I loved this book. It wasn't the most cheerful read I've ever had, but it was highly meaningful and relevant. It presented information and insights I haven't seen anywhere else, on subjects that are highly relevant to living with or around autism. It's going on my bookshelf where I'll be able to see it and read it again.
Read This Book If
To my great amusement, this book has its own "read this book if" section. It's right in the introduction. It suggests autistic people, people who are wondering if they're autistic, "autistic cousins," and family members.
Personally, I'd suggest almost anyone read this. Researchers, educators, friends and family of autistic people can all likely learn a bit from reading this book. Even I, an autistic advocate, still learned a thing or two from the accounts and thoughts of these authors.
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