The Importance of Found Family

 As a child of divorce, I’ve always known that family is a strange thing. Society teaches us that its the most important bond we can have with other people, while also reserving it almost exclusively for those we’re biologically related to. “Blood is thicker than water,” some say, while others espouse that “family is forever” or some similarly contrived platitude. Certainly, those connections can be important. I’m very close to my biological family, in my own way. We’re the very definition of a tight-knit clan, and even though I’m caught squarely in the middle of two families that don’t really exist to the other because of divorce shenanigans, I like to think of myself as having a good relationship with both halves of my genetic material.

That’s not what I want to talk about today though. Because the thing of it is? There’s another kind of family that I’ve come to cherish as much as – if not more than – my biological one. Found family. It’s a concept that has its roots in the LGBTQ community, where oppression and stigma would often push unrelated people together for mutual support and connection in a world where their biological relations wanted nothing to do with them (or at best, didn’t understand them).

I may not be gay, but I do understand this super well in my own way. And I think that’s true for a lot of people. My parents, bless their hearts, are upper-middle class, and my family as a whole cares a lot more about keeping up appearances than I ever have. They also don’t tend to understand my intense interest in nerdy things, my love of the simple life, and my tendency to not care about clothing and fashion. I’m almost certain that these things all stem from the fact that I’m multiply neurodivergent, but even still, I’ve always felt that there’s a whole side of me that my bio fam just doesn’t get. That’s not to say they don’t get me in their own way – of course they do – its just…different?

My found family understands me in a way no one else does. Part of that is because life circumstances have brought us together and made our bonds stronger through countless trials and tribulations (in some cases stretching back decades). I suspect in some other way, though, its because we’re all outcasts in our own ways. My favourite people in the world are poly, LGBTQ, neurodivergent, hippy, witchy, or otherwise exist outside the bounds of what society considers ‘normal.’ And you know what? I LOVE that. Because normal is a setting on a dishwasher, not a metric of validity for human life experiences. There’s just something beautiful to me about people with intersecting identities from all of these groups coming together and realizing that they WANT to be family. Making that intentional choice to love and support each other. It makes my heart happy that I get to experience that in this world, and not a day goes by that I don’t reflect on how lucky I am.

My found family includes (but is not limited to) my gay best friend of over 20 years, my poly, witchy, pot-smoking, LGBTQ, neurodivergent sisters from other parental units, their partners, and the various offspring they’ve produced (to whom I get to be Uncle Adam, which is so cool!). It’s a diverse, eclectic group of weirdos I’ve collected over my many years on this planet. They’ve all helped me find my place in this world in ways I can’t even begin to fully express.

And I can’t imagine my life without any of them.

As always, yours in diversity,

Adam Michael

"Don't Judge Me On How I Talk": The Curse of Verbal Clumsiness

I had something happen to me the other day at work that I just knew had to be made into a blog post. I was in the washroom of all places, finishing up my business when I started making small talk with another gentleman who was washing his hands. After the usual "you're working late" and "another day, another dollar," cliches had been exchanged, I found myself suddenly feeling awkward and struggling to string together a logical sentence. It was as though my brain knew it wanted to be smooth and casual, but my words wouldn't co-operate. I rambled slightly, grinned awkwardly, washed my own hands and promptly escaped from the scene and back to my desk. 

From talking to some fellow Aspies and reading testimonials online, I know I'm not the only spectrum-dweller who experiences this. It's as though my thought processes move too fast for my speech to adequately explain them. When I try, I fumble, struggle or have to calm myself down and try again. My friend Nancy has taken to calling her ability to understand me in these situations "speaking Adam fluently," but as giggle-worthy as that is, it highlights a problem many of us Aspies and Autistics face. The fact is, verbal communication is often too sluggish and limited for the thoughts that go through our brains. 

I've often had the experience that I write far better than I speak. My old manager at Blockbuster Video (remember that place?) used to say that I was slightly awkward, and I certainly felt that way when speaking face to face with someone. When given either a pen and paper or a computer with a word processor, however, I've often amazed others with the eloquence of my communicative ability. I've built worlds, created entire species, argued for political change and expressed the deepest, darkest parts of myself through the written word in ways that I could only dream of doing with my mouth and verbal communication. In short, writing sets my mind free from the constraints of my physical body and its limited communication abilities. After all, words, gestures and the unconscious interpretation of pheromones and facial features (in non-autistics at least) are so limited compared to the soaring imagination of a mind freed from these things and allowed to explore. 

For this reason, I think it's silly that many psychological professionals judge the intelligence of Neurodiverse individuals on their ability to speak and their speaking patterns. There are, after all, countless tales of savants who can't speak a word but who are capable of great works of music, culture, art, and even philosophical insight. Speech is not the only means of communication available to humans, and on the flip side, to quote Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, "the ability to speak does not make one intelligent." We need to move beyond thinking of verbal speech as the only way people can talk to each other and express themselves when it simply isn't. Only a more open-minded approach to human communication will allow all those of us who are neurodiverse to participate fully in our society and truly share our gifts with the world. 

As always, yours in diversity. 

Adam Michael.