Autism Positivity - Tumblr Posts

Autism positivity isn't about "romanticising" autism.

It's refusing to feel guilty any longer for who we are.

Mobility aids and sensory aids aren’t a “worst case scenario”

Stop acting like it’s a tragedy when someone starts using a cane or wheelchair, and stop acting like it’s someone admitting defeat if they need ear defenders or stim toys.

Aids are a good thing. They allow us to live better than we could before, and that’s something to celebrate, not demean and be doom and gloom about.

Rock Lee, in canon:

Sometimes has trouble with regulating his tone, some things he says genuinely will accidentally come off as sarcastic

Speaks very properly, avoids contractions completely in order to be well understood

Happy stims by dancing, fist-pumping, and kicking

Severely averse to things that smell and taste bitter

This man is autistic there's no denying it!!!

Solve Autism? Fuck you, there is nothing wrong with being autistic! Sure, I may not like being autistic all the time, but it is what makes me...well, ME. So yeah, Mr. Musk, go sit on a cactus, step on Legos, and sneeze so hard you shit your pants.

Oh so he’s doing eugenics now

Autism people are valid in my blog no matter what! 😄

Fun fact: I’m autistic I’m gonna do a thing inspired by another person

Reblog if your blog is safe for autistic people or is ran by an autistic person!

oh and

Reblog if you stand against Autism Speaks!

For anyone who is semi verbal, nonverbal, or otherwise struggles with speech, please know that there are people who will accept your methods of communication. There are people who won't infantilize you for using AAC, communication cards, making noises instead of words, etc. There are people who won't expect you to pick the mask up again when you stop being so 'talkative'. There are people who don't mind waiting for you to sort your thoughts, and are happy to include you in the conversation.

There are people who accept you as yourself, and I don't just mean toleration.

Here’s a story about changelings: 

Mary was a beautiful baby, sweet and affectionate, but by the time she’s three she’s turned difficult and strange, with fey moods and a stubborn mouth that screams and bites but never says mama. But her mother’s well-used to hard work with little thanks, and when the village gossips wag their tongues she just shrugs, and pulls her difficult child away from their precious, perfect blossoms, before the bites draw blood. Mary’s mother doesn’t drown her in a bucket of saltwater, and she doesn’t take up the silver knife the wife of the village priest leaves out for her one Sunday brunch. 

She gives her daughter yarn, instead, and instead of a rowan stake through her inhuman heart she gives her a child’s first loom, oak and ash. She lets her vicious, uncooperative fairy daughter entertain herself with games of her own devising, in as much peace and comfort as either of them can manage.

Mary grows up strangely, as a strange child would, learning everything in all the wrong order, and biting a great deal more than she should. But she also learns to weave, and takes to it with a grand passion. Soon enough she knows more than her mother–which isn’t all that much–and is striking out into unknown territory, turning out odd new knots and weaves, patterns as complex as spiderwebs and spellrings. 

“Aren’t you clever,” her mother says, of her work, and leaves her to her wool and flax and whatnot. Mary’s not biting anymore, and she smiles more than she frowns, and that’s about as much, her mother figures, as anyone should hope for from their child. 

Mary still cries sometimes, when the other girls reject her for her strange graces, her odd slow way of talking, her restless reaching fluttering hands that have learned to spin but never to settle. The other girls call her freak, witchblood, hobgoblin.

“I don’t remember girls being quite so stupid when I was that age,” her mother says, brushing Mary’s hair smooth and steady like they’ve both learned to enjoy, smooth as a skein of silk. “Time was, you knew not to insult anyone you might need to flatter later. ‘Specially when you don’t know if they’re going to grow wings or horns or whatnot. Serve ‘em all right if you ever figure out curses.”

“I want to go back,” Mary says. “I want to go home, to where I came from, where there’s people like me. If I’m a fairy’s child I should be in fairyland, and no one would call me a freak.”

“Aye, well, I’d miss you though,” her mother says. “And I expect there’s stupid folk everywhere, even in fairyland. Cruel folk, too. You just have to make the best of things where you are, being my child instead.”

Mary learns to read well enough, in between the weaving, especially when her mother tracks down the traveling booktraders and comes home with slim, precious manuals on dyes and stains and mordants, on pigments and patterns, diagrams too arcane for her own eyes but which make her daughter’s eyes shine.

“We need an herb garden,” her daughter says, hands busy, flipping from page to page, pulling on her hair, twisting in her skirt, itching for a project. “Yarrow, and madder, and woad and weld…”

“Well, start digging,” her mother says. “Won’t do you a harm to get out of the house now’n then.”

Mary doesn’t like dirt but she’s learned determination well enough from her mother. She digs and digs, and plants what she’s given, and the first year doesn’t turn out so well but the second’s better, and by the third a cauldron’s always simmering something over the fire, and Mary’s taking in orders from girls five years older or more, turning out vivid bolts and spools and skeins of red and gold and blue, restless fingers dancing like they’ve summoned down the rainbow. Her mother figures she probably has.

“Just as well you never got the hang of curses,” she says, admiring her bright new skirts. “I like this sort of trick a lot better.”

Mary smiles, rocking back and forth on her heels, fingers already fluttering to find the next project.

She finally grows up tall and fair, if a bit stooped and squinty, and time and age seem to calm her unhappy mouth about as well as it does for human children. Word gets around she never lies or breaks a bargain, and if the first seems odd for a fairy’s child then the second one seems fit enough. The undyed stacks of taken orders grow taller, the dyed lots of filled orders grow brighter, the loom in the corner for Mary’s own creations grows stranger and more complex. Mary’s hands callus just like her mother’s, become as strong and tough and smooth as the oak and ash of her needles and frames, though they never fall still.

“Do you ever wonder what your real daughter would be like?” the priest’s wife asks, once.

Mary’s mother snorts. “She wouldn’t be worth a damn at weaving,” she says. “Lord knows I never was. No, I’ll keep what I’ve been given and thank the givers kindly. It was a fair enough trade for me. Good day, ma’am.”

Mary brings her mother sweet chamomile tea, that night, and a warm shawl in all the colors of a garden, and a hairbrush. In the morning, the priest’s son comes round, with payment for his mother’s pretty new dress and a shy smile just for Mary. He thinks her hair is nice, and her hands are even nicer, vibrant in their strength and skill and endless motion.  

They all live happily ever after.

*

Here’s another story: 

Keep reading

We are in the midst of autism acceptance and pride month, so here are some friendly reminders…

To Neurotypicals/Allistics:

-We are not children unless were are literally under 16. Don’t treat a 40 year old as a child unless and until it’s shown that they need that as an accommodation.

-“Autistic Person” is usually preferable to “Person with autism”. The latter was introduced to autistic folk by NTs. Also the sentence structure is fucked up.

-Autistic people don’t need cures!!!! We are very very cool and nice. Do not attempt to defend eugenics or ABA or anything of that variety.

-ND (especially autistic and ADHD) people do something called stimming. It’s any sort of action performed as an outlet for energy and/or a form of mental and physical stimulation.

-We are very swaggy, just acknowledge and celebrate our differences :)

To my fellow autistic peeps:

-Do not feel guilty for needing accommodations.

-Your special interest is awesome, love what you love.

-It’s okay to tell a person that your social battery runs out. If they get mad, then they probably don’t respect your boundaries.

-Your experiences are valid, nobody dictates whether you’re “really” autistic.

-You are not a burden.

Happy autism acceptance!

Autism Acceptance Month is soon !!! It’s normally flooded with misinformation from neurotypicals, so here’s a basic run through on what you should know-

Do NOT-

-Support Autism Speaks

-Use the puzzle piece symbol

-‘Light it up blue”

-Refer to autism as something that needs to be cured

-Listen to allistics over autistics

-Support ABA therapy

-Use words like “high-functioning,” “low-functioning,” “Aspergers,” and “differently abled”

DO-

-Support autistic run organizations (awn, aim, a4a)

-‘Light it up red’ (supporting autism acceptance) or ‘Light it up gold’ (supporting women and nb autistics)

-Use the rainbow or golden infinity symbol !!

-Be open minded !!!

-Recognize autism as a spectrum, not a line !!

-Support autistic people, not just mothers of autistic people

AUTISTIC WORDS TO KNOW-

Neurodiverse- multiple neurotypes

Neurodivergent- a neurotype that is not neurotypical (ADHD, autism, etc. etc.)

Neurotypical- the most common neurotype

Allistic- not autistic (can still be neurodivergent)

Ableist- prejudice against disabled peoples

That moment you are Rocking in place vv happy and you read this

neurotypical people will never know the simple joy of rocking back and forth in place

are you autistic and gay?

lesbian and autistic perhaps?

an autistic pan or bisexual?

asexual and autistic?

trans or non binary and autistic?

any autistic member of the LGBTQ+ community?

well guess what...

you're fucken great and I love you