Tuesday, April 2, 2019

I Suck As An Advocate


I suck as an advocate. I’m not always patient. I don’t always hold space in my heart for understanding and compassion. I don’t always follow my own advice, and practice what I preach. The truth is, sometimes I’m a hypocrite. Sometimes I get frustrated just as much by my own fellow spectrum dwellers as I do by all the anti-vaxxers and autism warrior moms out there. Sometimes, I’m even impatient with those who need my patience most; my family…several of whom are on the spectrum or otherwise equally as Neurodivergent as I am. I want so badly to help, to speak out, and to make the world a better place, that sometimes, I fail to live up to my own standards.

I’m sorry for that…I really, truly am.

I can’t promise I will never fail – to fail is human after all. What I can promise, however, is to always pick myself back up. I promise to always listen, to always try, and to always learn from my moments of failure. I promise to use them to inform my activism, and to let them show me the way towards being a better human. I promise that I DO in fact understand that each of our struggles are unique, and that I will always be here if you need someone to talk to or support you. I can’t promise I will be able to do so with money…but that’s millennial living for you.

Most importantly, I promise to never give up the fight. To never stop trying to be the best advocate I possibly can be, and to never allow the failure to win.

So yes, I suck as an advocate – but I will never stop learning how to be a better one.

Yours in Diversity,

Adam Michael

Sunday, March 17, 2019

Reflections on ABA


If you've been following this blog for a while, you know that I'm deeply skeptical of ABA therapy, attempts at curing Autism, and anything else that shames autistic people for being who we are and/or tries to change us. Far too often, autism therapies try to curb autistic behaviour, with functioning labels being used to describe the degree to which any given individual is able to pass as neurotypical. Granted, all of these things are typically done and used with the best of intentions - we all want what is best for kids on the spectrum after all - but the fact remains that they don't work the way many believe they do; they don't 'minimize' autism per se, they simply teach the child in question to build a mask they can use to interact with neurotypical society more easily.

But is ABA inherently bad?

The answer is... complicated. On the one hand, it absolutely is! Building a conditioned behavioural mask has the unintended side effect of instilling in an autistic individual that how they naturally are is wrong and broken. All of us on the spectrum have experienced this to some degree - even spectrum dwellers such as myself, who have been historically able to pass more easily as neurotypical. Growing up, I always felt that failure was not an option - I had to succeed like everyone else, because I didn't want anyone to know about my neurodivergence. I wanted to be looked at for my abilities, not because of a label I'd been assigned at age 9. It's led to my greatest source of anxiety - being judged through a preconception instead of for who I am. I never considered this before getting involved in the neurodiversity struggle, but this is most definitely masking. Other spectrum dwellers experience this far more intensely, to the point where masking (and its associated mental health issues) is THE most devastating side effect of Applied Behavioural Analysis. It's why most of us on the spectrum are fiercely opposed to ABA therapy and how it has negatively impacted Autistic individuals throughout history.

On the other hand, the core science ABA is based on - behaviourism - is a sound, proven way to condition behavioural changes in humans of any kind. It's been used for some time to curb deleterious habits such as smoking and drinking, and can be potentially very beneficial in effectively teaching life skills to any person, not just autistic individuals - provided it is properly applied. This last part is key - one of the biggest problems with ABA is the dark history of how it was discovered. Dr. Ole Ivar Lovaas, creator of ABA, is well known to have utilized electroshock torture and other painful methods to curb autistic behaviour, seeing himself as 'building a normal person' out of what he saw as the raw human material that was the autistic child. Ethics are therefore key, as is thoughtful consideration of the application of the core science behind ABA. Utilizing conditioning to teach a child how to brush their teeth step by step is perfectly acceptable, for example, provided only positive reinforcement is ever used (because negativity can be cruel). Utilizing conditioning to shame and teach an autistic person not to stim, or to make eye contact uncomfortably, on the other hand, is problematic. It attempts to fundamentally change who the autistic person is on a base level. By all means, teach your child not to stim in a dangerous or self-injurious way...but stimming in itself is natural for the Autistic brain. It’s an outlet for excess energy and helps us concentrate better. Instead of curbing the behaviour (which only has the effect of making us burn with an uncomfortable amount of internal energy), the focus should instead be on finding a safe outlet for the urge. I for one flap my foot or my toes rapidly!

The acceptability of ABA is, therefore, up for intense debate. As an adult on the spectrum, I will always oppose the dangers inherent in it, and seek to promote better, more humane treatments for autistic individuals. After all, making someone feel like they are broken and need to conform with neurotypical society in order to function is deeply problematic and I won't back down from that stance. In reality, however, ABA is often the only type of therapy being offered to those on the spectrum. Typically, it's either that, or nothing, which is in itself a problem. For those kids who do desperately need guidance and assistance in mastering critical life skills, it can be a game changer. Don't get me wrong - in an ideal world, I would prefer any kind of treatment instead of ABA. Given that it is often the only option available, however, the advice I would give parents is this - while it's true that not all ABA therapists are bad, it is IMPERATIVE that you do your homework, critically evaluate how your child's therapy is progressing, and ensure that every step of the way, your child is not being shamed for being autistic, nor is their autistic behaviour being conditioned away. Stay involved, build a rapport with your child's assigned therapist, and make sure everyone involved is acting in accordance with the principles of Neurodiversity: teach us life skills and how to be our best selves, but accept that our brains work differently...and that our normal may not necessarily be yours.

If we all just do that, and accept people for who they are rather than trying to make people who we want them to be, the world will be a far better place.

As always, yours in diversity,

Adam Michael


Thursday, December 6, 2018

'Outing': A Reflection On Why Its Scary


Hey all! I’m sorry I haven’t updated this blog in well over a year – it’s been a really challenging one, filled with ups and downs, and to be honest I’ve needed far more self care and centering time than I thought I would. I have been getting back into this blog and its associated Facebook page more and more though, and I hope you’ll all forgive me for my absence! I promise it was spent on good causes – like finally finishing the second draft of the book I’ve been working on based on both this site and my own life experiences as an Aspie! When I have more information for you about that development, I’ll be sure to pass it along!

With that long-winded and thoroughly Aspie-style apology out of the way, I’d actually like to talk today about something that’s been on my mind a lot lately – coming out. ‘But Adam,’ you might begin, ‘aren’t you already out? I mean, you’re a fierce defender of the neurodivergent in internet land and have met other fellow spectrum-dwelling activists in the process over your years of blogging!’ You wouldn’t be wrong for thinking this, and yet I’m sure I’m not the only one out there who is only ‘out’ in certain aspects of my life. Granted, my friends and family all know about my being an Aspie, and I’m not exactly shy about talking about it in public…but it’s always something I’ve kept out of things like my work life. It’s not that I necessarily think anyone would think less of me, or that I feel I’d be oppressed…its just something that I’ve always sensed shouldn’t be brought in to work. With the aforementioned progress I’ve made towards getting my book published however, I’ve recently had to face the very real fact that if and when it gets published, I’ll be outed in every aspect of my life – including work.

So why does being outed at work like this carry with it so much anxiety? To be honest, it’s a bit of a soup of reasons, but if I were to single out two of them, it would be ‘lack of agency’ and ‘engrained fear of ableism.’ Simply put – while I’ve always wanted to get a book published and I’ve never been shy to speak out about being on the spectrum in my adult life, there’s something simultaneously empowering and agency-depriving about a book being published and suddenly everyone knowing your story…including people you might not want to know. It seems silly to be concerned about this – after all, isn’t this the whole point of publishing something of this nature? Isn’t the ‘consenting moment’ the decision to pursue this, after which any and all outing is to be expected? Maybe, but there’s no denying that an act of supreme agency and self advocacy like this also carries with it the side effect of depriving one of their own agency in day-to-day dealings. Where once one could hide from ableist bigotry behind a perceived veil of neurotypicality, now it’s all out there. It’s like being emotionally naked to the world…and to borrow a term from the younger generation, that makes you feel vulnerable ‘AF.’

This brings me to the next reason this whole process has given me all of the nervousness – my engrained fear of ableism. As an older millennial (what some may call an ‘X-ennial’ because being born in 1988 officially places me closer to the Gen X-ers in mentality than to some of my more stereotypical younger millennial cohorts), I was raised during the 1990s, and for every awesome and rightfully nostalgic element that decade had going for it (Sega vs Nintendo! Pokemon! PlayStation 1, Star Trek and Terminator 2 and…I’ll stop…), it often wasn’t the most progressive and forward thinking when it came to various stigmas – specifically those related to mental health. There was always this undercurrent of not taking anything personal into the public eye and the workplace. Work is about work, or so the logic went, don’t give them any reason to look on you differently or they will find an excuse and fire you! Granted this was never STATED as such, but with the prevailing attitude towards mental health care at the time being ‘avoid the crazy farm at all costs,’ and witnessing first hand how the world treated my mentally ill mother, it wasn’t hard for me to internalize some of this and live in fear of being outed in certain contexts. In fact, this was precisely the reason it took me as long as it did to come to terms with my own place on the spectrum. It doesn’t matter that the world is far more accepting of mental health issues now than it’s ever been, or that I’ve been a part of that change through this blog…old habits and insecurities die hard, and for a time in high school I even didn’t want to be associated with the label ‘Aspergers.’ Coming to terms with this has been and will continue to be a journey, and to anyone reading this who has also experienced similar fears – I get it, and you are not alone. Society has imprinted fucked up attitudes on all of us to some degree, and it’s important we constantly challenge them – not only when we come across them in public, but also when we encounter them within ourselves.

Despite all of this fear and anxiety, however, I do remain committed to getting my book published and continuing this blog. It has the potential to do so much good for so many people, and isn’t it my responsibility as someone on the spectrum who is able to communicate to put my voice out there and advocate for both myself and those that can’t? Isn’t every non-cis-het-neurotypical perspective valuable in this day-and-age of opposing oppression wherever it rears its ugly head? The answer to each of these questions is a resounding ‘yes!’ I will always keep fighting for what I believe in, no matter the cost! After all, bravery isn’t defined by the absence of fear, but rather by the overcoming of it. So I may continue to shit bricks about certain aspects of this fight, but that doesn’t mean I won’t keep stepping forward into the fray.

After all, there’s a reason the Pottermore sorting hat placed me in Gryffindor… 😊

As always, yours in diversity,

Adam Michael




Wednesday, October 4, 2017

I Believe in 'Curing' Autism - A Slam Poem Against 'Cureism' By Yours Truly

As I was browsing one of the Neurodiversity pages I follow on Facebook recently, I stumbled across a post about the harm caused by promoting the disability and cure narrative about Autism. Naturally, I jumped in and commented in support, but a funny thing happened as I was writing my response; it started to sound like a slam poem! Realizing this, I decided to run with it. I mean, if other oppressed and marginalized groups can have their own slam poetry, I figured it was high time we did too! So without further ado, I present my poem - the purposely-titled 'I Believe in 'Curing' Autism! Read it and enjoy!

I Believe in 'Curing' Autism - By Adam Michael

I believe in 'curing' autism:
I believe in curing it through acceptance of Neurodiversity.
I believe in curing it by recognizing that there is no such thing as a 'normal' human brain.
I believe in curing it by stripping it of the stigma and the label 'disorder.'
I believe in curing it by helping Neurotypicals and Autistics better understand each other and their needs.
I believe in curing it by teaching kids and adults both that it is okay to be different.
I believe in curing it by healing the damage caused to many by a health care system that oppresses and tries to change people away from being who they are.
I believe in curing it by helping society see our gifts and unique abilities.
Most of all, I believe in curing us of the conformity and disease narrative that harms all of our attempts to simply be valued as people in this crazy world.

But tell me you believe in curing us of our very natures?

That we are broken somehow because we work and think differently? 
That we clearly don't understand the 'severity' of our own situations?
That our concerns clearly aren't valid, and that our anger is 'typical Aspergers/Autistic behaviour?'
That we are clearly in need of being talked down to and cared for because we are incapable of this ourselves?
That you'd like to see pre-natal screening for the fabled 'autism' gene so that we could spare future generations the existence of people like us?
That you'd rather your child get smallpox, measles or any number of vaccine-preventable diseases rather than be born with autism?
That you'd rather rewire you child's entire personality and way of being, and in so doing destroy and rebuild them, rather than live in a world where they have autism?

That is not okay.

If this is your concept of a cure? Then this is where our problems will begin.
For I am Aspie, I am proud, and on behalf of all my fellow spectrum dwellers, hear us ROAR!


As always, yours in diversity,

Adam Michael

Friday, September 29, 2017

'About A Girl' - The Orville, Allegory and the Social Construction of Disability

Like most Star Trek fans, I’ve been looking forward to the release of Star Trek: Discovery with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Will it be good? Will it tank? Indeed tensions have run high in the fan community, and it really has been an emotional rollercoaster. Thankfully we’ve at least had Seth Macfarlane’s off-brand Trek clone The Orville to keep us entertained. And while the first episode was nothing spectacular to write home about, the subsequent episode really began to find its footing as a dramedy. It was becoming a show that strove to find a perfect balance between humor and Star Trek-style storytelling, but that still sometimes missed the mark. A loveable rogue in the world of grimdark 2017 science fiction shows.

Which is why the third episode threw me for such a loop in the best possible way.

The premise of ‘About A Girl’ is a simple one; the USS Orville’s chief tactical officer is a man named Bortus, who hails from the all-male Moclan race. Among Moclans, being born female is exceedingly rare, and is often considered a disability, which is why it is all the more shocking to learn that Bortus and his mate have given birth to a female baby. What follows is a debate among all crew members and Bortus himself that eventually leads to a tribunal held on the Moclan homeworld to determine the baby’s fate. Admittedly, this plot is fairly standard fare for a sci fi, and it does come across rather simplistic with regards to the transgender issues it overtly tries to tackle by using gender as the allegory (namely, the assumption that biological sex is linked to gender comes to mind…though then again maybe for Moclans it is? We never really find out). That being said, while the metaphor is about gender identity, it succeeds far better as a commentary on pre-natal disability screening…especially as it relates to autism. You see, Bortus has his change of heart on whether to perform the procedure on his daughter while watching the 1960s Claymation Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer movie with two other crew mates, and it was the story of Rudolph’s assumed deformity actually saving the day that, rather humorously, makes him reconsider his entire stance.

Putting aside the occasionally weird humor for a moment, the episode does raise the very real question of a what a disability actually is. After all, biologically, there was nothing wrong with Bortus’ daughter – she was a perfectly healthy baby girl. The ‘disability’ in the minds of the Moclans was her potential inability to partake in society as an adult, along with a host of perceived stereotypes about people with her ‘condition.’ This should ring a bell for any one of us who are familiar with the neurodiversity movement, as well as the push to cure autism through in utero screening. Bortus himself says it best when he wonders how he could possibly dare to make a decision about the future capabilities of a being he only just brought into this world. It all serves to highlight a very real fact – that disability is as much a social construct based on what is arbitrarily considered ‘normal’ as it is based on biological realities. Had Moclans been a typical race with two biological sexes and a range of internal genders, the question of Bortus’ child’s sex would never have even been an issue. Circumstances, and prejudice, determined her fate more than anything else. That ultimately, even the best arguments by Orville XO Kelly Grayson failed to persuade the court to respect the baby’s birth sex also points to a harsh reality – that true social change is hard, and often requires far more work than one trial in one courtroom can accomplish.

In the end, ‘About A Girl’ is an overly simplistic and somewhat problematic allegory when taken on face value as being about the struggle for transgender rights. It still succeeds in that respect mind you, but not nearly as well as it does when considered as a metaphor for disability and autism rights. The fact that, at the end, the court still forced the baby to go through with the procedure was painful to watch, and it damn near brought a tear to my eye, but it did so in the best tradition of Star Trek shows of yore. When one considers the arrogant pride with which some countries have recently proclaimed to have ‘eliminated’ Down Syndrome through selective abortions and in-utero testing, the profound, powerful message of this episode is all the more needed. After all, there really is NO way to know what kind of value someone will have, or what kind of contribution they will be able to make until they’re given a chance to develop and grow. So is The Orville the best science fiction show I’ve ever seen? Definitely not…and in fact I very nearly stopped watching it after the horrible writing of the pilot episode. But had I done that I’d have missed out on a show that, while often ham-fisted, also manages to  write decent allegories of important issues like these.


And you know what? Any show that can make a commentary about in-utero genetic screening and the social model of disability while also showing a gelatinous alien flirting with a human doctor within the same 45 minute run time is a-okay with me!

As always, yours in diversity,

Adam Michael

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

'Atypical' - When Having One's Heart In The Right Place Just Isn't Enough

As any long-time reader of this blog will know, media representations of Autism are a tricky thing. Everyone wants to be progressive it seems, and they all want a piece of the neurodiversity pie – which, I should say, is awesome because more allies are always welcome! The problem is, however, that such people are often not fully aware of exactly what ASD really is. Because of this, many (not all – I’ve already mentioned in the past how awesome both Pidge Gunderson and Billy Cranston are as positive representations of autistics and aspies in media) shows that try to present a nuanced, positive view of life on the Spectrum fall flat on their faces while passing through stereotype land…as though they were Sideshow Bob stepping on a thousand rakes one at a time yet still not learning from the experience. This is exactly where Netflix’s new series ‘Atypical’ finds itself, and if I’m being honest, it is a show that has conflicted me to the core.

The thing about a show like ‘Atypical’ is that – contrary to what you might read on several Neurodiversity blogs – it’s not ALL bad. If it was, this would be far easier. The fact is, I actually found quite a bit to like about this show. As autistic main characters go, Sam may be problematic, but he’s far from unlikeable. He’s an awkward, nerdy, isolated teenager lost in his own rich inner world, and who connects with real life through the lens of his own intense special interests – an approach to life which is intimately familiar to me, and to which all of those on the Spectrum should be able to relate in some form. When we first get to hear Sam’s internal monologue and realize that he makes sense of his dating life through his understanding of the mating life of penguins? I was smiling ear to ear, remembering all the times I’d done that myself with video games, computers, Star Trek and Star Wars. The fact that he has such a supportive and accepting best friend throughout the run of the show – one who never once makes a big deal of or points out Sam’s autism as a failing – adds to the list of things I found impossible not to like about this show. On some level, it’s charming and you can’t help but smile.

On the other hand, there’s a far uglier side to all of this. Shockingly, I don’t even necessarily mean Sam’s mom – a character who built her entire existence around Sam’s autism and protecting him from the world. In her case, I was surprised to realize after the first few episodes that she was essential as both a commentary on the excesses of parents’ groups and as a foil for Sam – a barrier he could overcome and grow because of it. Even his father – despite some ball-dropping on his part – manages to be extremely likeable. He pushes Sam to try things even when his mother doesn’t believe him capable, and despite his many personal failings, he always tries to bond with his son as a human being – something I really appreciated seeing. The problem isn’t with either of Sam’s parents individually; it’s with when they come together as a familial whole. Taken as a group, the show definitely communicates that Sam’s Autism is somehow a burden to his family – his mother is driven to an affair because of his autism and how invested she became, his father laments the son he never had, and his sister feels as though she can’t live her own life because of him. While true to life in that this is a sad reality that impacts many  families, it is also an unfortunate message to be sending in a show that is supposed to be about raising consciousness around the lived experience of neurodiverse individuals. If Atypical truly wanted to make a statement, it would present a family that didn’t consider Sam to be a burden, and instead focussed on all of the hilarious misadventures and challenges that affect those on the Spectrum. Trust me, there’s enough material there alone to write a compelling and funny series about.

On that note, Sam’s characterization is also slightly problematic…mainly due both to how inconsistently he’s written and how one dimensional he sometimes comes across. As I’ve mentioned above, when Sam is written right, he’s a loveable, awkward weirdo and dork who I couldn’t help but find endearing and relatable as one spectrum-dweller to another. When he’s written wrong, however, a whole host of unfortunate implications ensue. He displays sexist behaviour towards women, treating them more like objects than people, and has creepy tendencies (like breaking into his therapist’s house to proclaim his undying love for her). Many would make the case that there are in fact autistics who display these traits, but I would counter with the fact that – yes, there may be – but they are learned behaviours not intrinsic of people on the spectrum. Including them in a character that is supposed to represent the human side of autism, if anything, just makes the rest of us look like disabled monsters. I also question the intensity with which Sam manifests autistic traits. While yes, there are many autistics who do have Sam’s experience of the world, that is not true of everyone’s lived autism experience. Sam is overly stereotypical, which is understandable in a way since the show is trying to help people grasp autism better, but I can’t help but feel this would have been served better with greater nuance. The fact that Sam’s girlfriend tries to shut him up about his interests and makes him feel badly about them rather than letting him explore them is also problematic. We all need to learn the lessons of the world, and I distinctly recall being taught not to talk too much about the same thing socially myself, but that doesn’t make it any less cringe-worthy to hear her talk about him having three pass cards after which he can’t talk about penguins any more that day. I mean – what is he? A well trained monkey?

At the end of the day, I’m willing to concede that shows like ‘Atypical’ are part of the very early consciousness-raising efforts surrounding neurodiversity. In that sense – as an early ‘alpha’ if you will – it is essential. It naturally will make lots of mistakes and fall flat despite it’s best efforts because, quite frankly, people still don’t know a lot about Autism outside of the stereotypes. That, however, is where show needs to do its most growing. I can’t deny that the showrunners mean well with how they’ve put things together, but if anything, I think they themselves would benefit from immersing themselves in the Neurodiversity scene. The lack of any autistic writers on the staff, the fact that the only source consulted in the project was a medical autism researcher, and the fact that the lead wasn’t played by an autistic actor, combined with the problematic portrayals of Sam’s family and his own character make this a deeply flawed show. It has heart, a loveable (if problematic) main character, and genuinely tries – things I can’t take from it – but in this case, simply having one’s heart in the right place isn’t enough.

I have no doubt that ‘Atypical’ will help raise acceptance and awareness of the real human stories on the spectrum for many viewers. For that it should rightly receive praise. I WANT to love it, even. But the fact remains, for a show about promoting Neurodiversity, it needs A LOT of work.

As always, yours in diversity,


Adam Michael