Neurodiversity and Stigmatization: Random Thoughts

The other day, I went to the dentist for a routine check-up. As the technician called me into the exam area, I lied down in the intimidating dental chair. After what seemed like an eternity, the doctor, a petite woman with light brown hair tied back in a ponytail in her 40’s, came by to take a look at my mouth, and after reclining me back, remarked “I noticed on your medical records you noted that you were autistic; talking to you right now, you don’t ‘present’ as a ‘typical’ autistic person.”

“But you don’t look autistic!”

Wanting to remain tactful despite the ignorant (yet well-intentioned) nature of her observations, I replied “Yeah, I don’t think many people realize that autism can be considered a largely ‘faceless’ condition in that way.”

She then mentioned “My son is more on the “lower” end of the spectrum; he never looks at me in the eye and doesn’t respond much or shows concerns for others; you’re the opposite; I would have never guessed you were autistic.”

Reflecting on my initial diagnosis as a toddler, I said “My mom works in the medical industry as a nurse so she was on top of things when it came to me receiving intervention and therapies.”

The whole interaction stuck in my mind and opened my eyes to the stigmatization and lack of knowledge that still unfortunately persists despite societal progress.

For me, existing in the world as a neurodivergent person is incredibly alienating, like I’m another being from another dimension entirely, trying to make sense of human life. In my K-12 education especially (still reckoning with trauma from this in my 30’s), out of sync from my peers, it was difficult forming long-last friendships with others, because they often ditched me for greener pastures when they grew tired of tolerating my lack of social skills. Later down the line, it led to me feeling “defective,” causing me to question: was something inherently wrong with me and how I functioned?

I realize now that I’m in a position where I can empower and help others; something I never thought was possible. Looking back at my elementary school days attending intensive speech and physical therapy and attending special education classes, to me currently: a college professor being able to educate the next generation.

Wild.

I, unfortunately, have borne witness to so many other neurodivergent folks that are struggling in one way or another. I hold an enormous amount of privilege and I am incredibly lucky to be where I am at today. This motivates me to not just be kind and empathetic toward others (something that is EXTREMELY lacking in today’s world), but truly understand more of their experiences.

“Irregular,” “abnormal,” “low-functioning…” these labels are harmful and don’t act as a full measure of a person’s intellgence and who they are as human beings. We are constantly ebbing and flowing works in progress; like many things; autism is on a spectrum to reflect that notion. Moreover, the use of these categorieses can lead to prejudice and a weaponization of language puts value judgement on their worth and creates further divison.

Jodie Hare, author of Autism is Not a Disease: The Politcs of Neurodiversity (interview with her forthcoming), states that to establish a true social model of understanding disability, “acceptance, understanding, and destigmatisation stand out as the most important.”

I coudn’t agree more, and I try to remember that every day. especially when I work with my students, many of whom are neurodivergent. They already feel out of place and anxious over acclimating to a wholly new acacademic environment. Looking down upon others for not fitting within your narrow mold of “normality,” just discourages others and perpeuates further behavior that “others'“ the individual.

As the great bell hooks said “Love is an act of will–namely, both an intention and an action.”

Let’s do better.