Becoming: Autism Style

I am a reader. At three years old I surprised my parents by reading full sentences out of nowhere, and the rest was history. These days, ebooks from the library fuel my need to read. The only downside to library books is that new or popular books can take months to come in.

I waited fifteen weeks for Michelle Obama’s book, Becoming. It took me a while to get through (thank you midterms), but I was really happy about a couple of things. One, although she spells it differently than me, her nickname is Meesh/Miche too. Guys, I’ve got a FLOTUS nickname! Secondly, there’s always the worry when you learn a lot about someone that it will ruin them for you, but I can confidently state that I still want to be Michelle Obama when I grow up.

Towards the end of the book, she was talking about Barack, and she said: “Being president doesn’t change who you are, it reveals who you are.”

I immediately recognized that this doesn’t only apply to presidents. My brain went straight to “diagnosis doesn’t change who you are, it reveals who you are.” And that makes sense, right? I know that when I was diagnosed with Autism, it didn’t turn me into an entirely different Meesh. It didn’t even alter the Meesh that I was. It just showed parts of who I was in a new light.

And I think that this was a fantastic thing. Because I could have looked at some of my personality traits that I now knew to be autistic, and suppressed them. I could have taken that attitude of ‘well, I might not have a choice in having autism, but I have a choice what people see of me.’ I could have. I think it might have killed me.

Instead, I celebrated. I am how I am for a reason. And I am not alone, there are others like me. I put my money behind the fact that the people who cared about me would keep caring about me. I never expected that strangers on the internet might accept me and care about me too.

This is not to say that I don’t get upset or frustrated. Hell, I get frustrated every day. Some days the world seems impossibly unfair, and it seems like everyone else can do things more easily than me. It seems like I’ll never achieve my goals. Some days I’m not sure what my truth is, and that hurts.

In one of the last chapters of Becoming, Michelle writes

“So many of us go through life with our stories hidden, feeling ashamed or afraid when our whole truth doesn’t live up to some established ideal. We grow up with messages that tell us that there’s only one way to be American—that if our skin is dark or our hips are wide, if we don’t experience love in a particular way, if we speak another language or come from another country, then we don’t belong. That is until someone dares to start telling that story differently.”

I don’t particularly care how American I am, but what struck me here was that even if I feel like people can’t see the real me, or that I’m not living up to expectations (usually ones that I’ve set for myself), it’s ok, because there’s one thing that I know I want.

I want to tell the story differently. I want to show people that there are many ways to be autistic and that none of them are tragic. Autism doesn’t mean life is over, it means life is different. And no matter what anyone says, we all still belong.

Skipped

Guys, I did a thing. A big thing (at least I think so!). I signed up for Advocacy Training!

Let me back up a little. 2 years ago, I started volunteering with an organization that does programming for people with developmental disabilities and their families. I’ve really enjoy it, I mostly work with kiddos, both neurodiverse and neurotypical, and it makes my day. Well, week, actually, but that’s semantics. But anyway, what I’m trying to say is that they’re pretty good people

So when I got an email about their advocacy training, I was immediately interested. I’ve been slowing trying to build up the skills I need not only to advocate for myself better but my community too. And this email seemed really promising! They didn’t just advertise the training for families and volunteers, but for self-advocacy too! Do you know how rare that is?  I was looking to sign up for a midwestern region Autism Conference, and they had registration for professionals, for educations, and for parents. Can you see whose registration they’re missing there? I’ll tell you- OURS.

But flyer didn’t do that. It said right there on the top that self-advocates were being included and I’m fairly certain that’s how I managed to momentarily punch through my anxiety and hit the “submit registration” button. It helped that Jess could come too- you know, the buddy system and all.

So here I am Monday night, the anxiety about doing something new and having to out myself has been brewing for a few weeks now. My name isn’t on the sign in sheet, which isn’t a problem, it turns out, they just add me on. Then we go around the circle and do introductions- our names and why we’re here. I was a little preoccupied with worry to really care why anyone else is there. So we go clockwise, which means that Jess is going before me. This isn’t ideal, because it’s a lot easier for me to introduce myself, and then have Jess go “I’m with them”. Or something like that. She usually makes it sound nicer. She’s got mad skills like that.

So Jess goes first, and says something along the lines of her “often acting as my voice”. Which is fairly accurate, given that she handles things like phone calls and making appointments. Plus all the times that I’m having auditory processing issues or am having a low verbal communication day. So it wasn’t that what she was saying was wrong, it was the way it was interpreted.

Because the trainer assumed I was nonverbal

And he skipped me.

Guys, that felt like shit. It felt like he looked right through me, and assumed that I had nothing to contribute.

I froze, and Jess reacted (which is usually the way of things), and the guy said he was sorry, that he was confused about what Jess had said. Except that I’d had a conversation with him before the training started. So either he’s oblivious, or he made a wrong assumption and didn’t want to admit it.

So needless to say, I was pretty angry for the next hour or so. The trainer made sure to ask my opinion regularly, and I’m perfectly willing to admit that I was pretty snarky. And while my snark game is strong, I’m also incredibly non-confrontation, so I snagged Jess’s car keys and hid in the car while she talked to the guy.

She said that he felt bad, that he wanted to include me, that he wanted to hear my opinions. And I’m sure that he does, really.

I guess it’s like this: I’m always so worried about coming out of the autism closet, and usually, it goes. Worst that happens is some overly personal questions, or me having to pretend to be interested in someone’s cousin’s nephew who also has autism. Nothing really bad has ever happened. That’s why being treated like I wasn’t even there was so surprising. Being invisible to the person who’s supposed to teach me how to advocate for myself has dropped a ball full of contradictions in my chest and it’s wriggling with anxiety.

So I bet you could have guessed, but tl:dr I’m going back for the next session. Partially because I already committed to this, partially because I think this information will be really useful, and partially because I learned that neurotypical people aren’t like me when it comes to communication. They don’t plan ahead and sometimes it bites them in the ass, like what happened on Monday. I’ve learned that sometimes I need to give them a second chance because that’s what I’d want them to do for me.

Stay tuned in November to see if the trainer wasted their second chance and had to face my wrath!

 

Just Take Me Back to Who I Was When I Was Younger

“Just take me back to who I was when I was younger” A Great Big World

I turned 30 this year, and I’ve started to notice that people my age are feeling old (in a bad way). And I think that’s pretty standard for your thirties. Your twenties are for making mistakes and finding yourself, and you get through that all of that and come into your thirties only to find that you’re *gasp* old.

It hits some people harder than others, I think. From my observations, people who had really positive teens and twenties have a harder time leaving them. I’m talking about the folks for who the phrase “high school is the best years of your life” applies. And this isn’t a bad thing! I mean, who can judge someone for having a positive experience, right? All I’m saying is that I was definitely not one of those people.

My teens were filled with a chaotic home life, trouble with teachers, coming to terms with my queerness, and the beginning of the mental illness that would define my twenties. My twenties, as you might have guessed from the previous sentence, were filled with breakdowns. I had an Autistic Burnout which left me with a slew of sensory issues. I cycled from being incredibly productive to not leaving the house for weeks (if this sounds familiar, I suggest you check out Bipolar Disorder). I spent two years in higher level care for an eating disorder, and also three psych hospital stays during that time.

I clawed my way out of my twenties, and now that I’m free, I’ve realized something. You couldn’t pay me to be young again. I like being my age, so many good things have happened over the last year or two that makes me so happy to be where I am in life.

The thing that changed my life was my Autism Diagnosis. Guys. Ladies and gentlemen, dudes and dudettes, knowing changes everything, and the number one thing that it changed was how I viewed myself. I had been told (and so I believed) that I was smart but lazy. Feeling that way about yourself does a number on your self-esteem. So when I found out that I was not in fact broken, but Autistic, something changed. Not overnight, obviously, fast than I had expected. My diagnosis also gave me access to services like Occupational Therapy, where I’m learning strategies to help me function as my best self.

So here I am at 30, and how am I spending the first year of my decade? I’m in college, for the first time in many many years. I am active in my church, and I volunteer with an organization that serves children and adults with developmental disabilities. In a few weeks, my wife and I celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary, and our relationship is so strong (partially because we’re awesome, and partially because we’ve had a lot of therapy, individually and together. I’ve been working on my gender identity and had top surgery to help me feel like I fit in my body. Due do a procedure and a new medication for my POTS, I am so far able to do more things (museums, the zoo!), and be so much more active (riding bikes, rock climbing!)

And that is just this year. For the first time in forever, I’m looking forward to what’s coming. And I’m not one of those blissfully optimistic types that assume everything will always be perfect. I have Autism, and sometimes, that sucks. I have mental illnesses, and sometimes that sucks. I have a chronic illness, and that almost always sucks. But when these things are well controller, I can work around them. When I am a stable human being, I’m better prepared for issues that may come.

I definitely don’t want to go back to who I was when I was younger, but I do wish I could leave past me a note saying “don’t worry, it won’t always be like this.”

 

An Educational Miracle

Jess and I have always joked that me getting through high school was a God damn miracle. Mostly because I don’t talk to people and I have trouble following directions and I don’t tend to participate.

When we began to prep for me being back on a college campus for the first time in 12 years, it started to become less of a joke, as we struggled with accommodations and my inability to follow written directions (aka, I get lost a lot), and yet again, the fact that I don’t talk to people. Even important people, like the ones at Disability Services, or my professors.

Now that school has started, there are no jokes to be made- the fact that I even made it out of middle school was the miracle, and there are no words to describe how unlikely it was that I graduated high school, much less that I graduated in 3 years.

Smart, but lazy, my teachers said. And those were the ones that like me.

I am started my third week of school, and some things have become very clear. 1: I can’t understand professors when they talk. I can hear them, but it’s all garbled. 2: I can’t read most of my textbooks. The words are too closed together and I can’t make my eyes move between lines. The words just won’t cooperate. 3: I was not built for group work. I struggle to communicate and to figure out what people want from me. And worst of all, there is constant talking and texting and emails- way more than I can handle.

I have some accommodations through the University, thank goodness, but only ones that apply to Autism. To get help hearing my professors, I’d need an Auditory Processing Disorder diagnosis (I have an appointment with an Audiologist in October). In order to get software that would help me read my textbooks, I’d need a Dyslexia diagnosis (which I’m not certain I even have). And no amount of diagnosis’s could get me out of group work.

So I’m not here to complain, I’m just really frustrated. On one hand, it’s nice to know why I had so much trouble the first time I tried college. On the other hand, I did everything right this time (registered with the Disability Office, took classes I had a good chance at succeeding in, etc), but things are Still. So. Hard.

Going back to school was a big decision for me. It would be so easy to stay home all day and only talk to Jess and my therapist and my OT. But I think I want more.

I’m just so afraid that I won’t be one of those Inspirational Autistic Success Stories (IASS’s for short). Instead of pushing through adversity and finding my special wings to fly off into the sunset with, I might *gasp* fail.

Sometimes no amount of trying can make you succeed. Sometimes instead of rising up, you burn out. Sometimes thing don’t get better, they only get worse.

So, either I will find help and get my shit together, or in a few months, you might be reading a post here about what to do when your plans fail, and how to set realistic expectations.

I hope it’s the first one, don’t you?

Adventures in Snacking

Two years ago, at age 28, I was diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder, and one thing they do as part of testing is that they interview you, and they interview your family. It was after they interviewed Jess that I heard a term that had never been applied to me before.

Picky Eater.

I was offended. I was more than offended. I was an adventurous eater for goodness sakes! I ate soft shelled crab! Garlic ice cream! Peppers so hot they’d melt your face off!

I was offended. Until certain truths were brought up to me. I had a long list of food that I wouldn’t eat because of texture issues (ricotta cheese, bananas, anything with a grainy texture). I would eat the same foods over and over for months or even years at a time (Honey Nut Cheerios for as many meals as I could get away with being a good example.) And most significantly, I had an aversion all things new.

Shortly after this, I learned two new words: ARFID and Samefood. ARFID is an eating disorder- one where the disordered behaviors having nothing to do with weight or shape, and more to do with food phobias or sensory issues. I have ARFID, and it’s something that takes a lot of management. I heard of samefoods from the Autism Community, and they perfectly described my experience with Honey Nut Cheerios, of having specific foods that were some sensory friends and comforting, you wanted to eat them all the time!

All of this brings me to today and my Adventures in Snacking. With classes starting and my mealtimes being more irregular, I needed to find some new more portable snacks. And that was a big problem.

We learned when I was in treatment that it takes about a week to acclimate to a new food and to be entirely honest, I don’t have time for that.

Clearly, drastic measured needed to be taken. So we designed a challenge. A game even.

We took a long walk through the grocery store and picked out some things I was willing to try. Mostly things with a lot of protein, because my blood sugar appreciates it. Normally trying all the options would take forever, but not today my friends!

We portioned them out so that Jess and I each had one bites worth, that’s it, only one bite, and after the bite was consumed, it got rated, then sorted, into three categories: ‘I’ll never eat this’, ‘I’ll eat this if I’m in the moods’ and ‘I want to eat this all the time’.

And I found a few new snacks, including a yogurt that has a tolerable texture, and chicken chips with 7 grams of protein!

This was definitely better for me than taking weeks being miserable because I’m constantly trying new stuff

Sometimes with Autism, you have to get creative, and it doesn’t always work. That’s why I’m so relieved that this one did, especially because I’ve got so many other changes on.

I’d love to hear any creative solutions you guys have come up with!

Top Surgery Recovery: A Month in Pictures

My god does it feel like forever since I’ve been here. It hasn’t really though, it’s been almost exactly a month, and do you know how I know that? It’s been 4 weeks since my surgery!

Now between the recovery and the pain meds and the inevitable POTS flare, blogging has been low on my priories list. I have, however, been taking a lot of pictures.

*warning* Some of these are of my bandages and incisions, so if you’re squeamish or avoid NSFW stuff, I’d stop here.

Are we all ok from here out? Excellent! Here we go!

This is 24 hours after my surgery. The bundles on my grafts stayed on for another 6 days!

We have a tradition that I get a new stuffed animal after a surgery. This is Shel the Unicorn, who is very soft, with a super stimmy horn!

Not to be outdone by Shel, Angel checked in on me whenever he was allowed. The cats had to live in our office for a few weeks, so they wouldn’t accidentally disturb my grafts or my incisions. 

You may not be able to tell from my face, but I so excited because my drains are coming out- and that means that for the first time in 9 days, I can shower!

Here I am discovering one of the best parts of Top Surgery: being able to look down and see my feet without boobs in the way!

After this type of surgery, you have to wear a surgical compression garment, which is sensory hell (especially knowing now that they gave me the wrong size!). This picture was taken when I was finally able to wear an athletic compression shirt instead, and what a relief it was!

Chronic illness doesn’t care about gender or surgery, so this is my modified Physical Therapy set up, so hopefully, my POTS will continue to improve!

I hate to end on a depressing note, but the reality is what it is. One of my grafts failed, and that is both painful and upsetting. The healing is slow, and we won’t know what it will look like until it’s totally done.

That was quite a ride, eh? And it’s still going.

My sad, rejected graft still has a lot of healing to do. I’ll also have to decide how I want to deal with it if the damage is super obvious.

I also start classes next week, I’m finally finishing my Bachelor’s! It’s been 12 years since I’ve been on a campus or in a classroom, so this should be interesting.

Look forward to ‘Autistic Adult Student’ posts coming soon to a blog near you!

Great Expectations?

I feel like I’ve hit a bit of a wall lately when it comes to contributing to my community. It’s not that I don’t want to participate. It’s more like every time I try to, I freeze. This isn’t exactly surprising for me, and I’ll tell you why. We all know about the Fight or Flight response. What they don’t tell you until you hit Advanced Mental Health Status is that there’s a third ‘F’ and that ‘F’ is Freeze. I am a freezer. Not the kind that keeps your popsicles solid, no, I am that gazelle in the African Savannah who hears the lion coming and decides that the best course of action is to stand perfectly still and hope that the lion thinks they’re dead. Let me tell you right now, as a gazelle, it doesn’t usually work.

I love being an active part of my communities- and there are a lot. My friends used to refer to me as the Uber Minority, which makes me sound like some sort of awesome Transformer type robot. Unfortunately, that is not the case, and it more means that people kind of tilt their heads when they first meet me. They know that there’s something different about me, but they can’t tell what it is. Sometimes they try and guess, which depending on my mood, can be a lot of fun. Given my combination of identities, no one ever guesses perfectly right, and honestly, if they did, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. I’d probably off up some sort of prize. Probably a Tangle, as I have a bunch, and always have one on my person. Not my fuzzy Tangle though. Hopefully, they’d appreciate their prize.

A lot of communities mean a lot of opportunities to interact. There’s National Eating Disorders Month, Autism Acceptance Month, and Pride Month, just to name a few. All of these usually make me really enthusiastic about being active on Tumblr and Instagram, and even here on this blog. But it doesn’t be a surprise to you that every opportunity that’s come up this year has made me freeze. Activity on all of my accounts dropped off suddenly, and I hate it so much.

I’ve been trying to work my way back up. Luckily, I had submissions I could use on my Tumblr blog (check it out!), and was at least still comfortable liking things on Instagram- things with minimal interaction, and that didn’t require me to put myself out there. Because let’s face it, I’m a bit of a coward.

At least that’s what it feels like. If I think about it without beating myself up, it’s more like I’m a perfectionist- a perfection that when combined with my intense need to be a good advocate and a good disabled person, freezes me in my tracks.

But that’s an awful lot of pressure to put on myself, isn’t it? I can say it, I’m not sure that I really mean it. So let me put it all out there. It is not my job to represent every person in my community. It is not my responsibility to be witty and eloquent so strangers will pay attention to what I have to say. IT IS OK for me to explore my identities publicly, IT IS OK to share my opinions, and IT IS OK to say things that others in my community disagree with (as long as I am respectful).

I can take chances, make mistakes, and get messy and the world will not end!

Doesn’t all that sound great? How awesome the world would be if we were all able to go through life unafraid of trying, even if there was a chance of failing. Clearly more easily said than done. But if therapy had taught me nothing, it’s that baby steps are always the way to go. So:

I will keep to my Tumblr post schedule (but not kick myself if I miss a day)

I will keep writing (even if the end product doesn’t get posted here)

I will have fun posting things to Instagram (and stick around to see what my friends are posting too)

I will participate (and I’ll try to remember why I enjoyed participating so much in the first place)

And lastly, I won’t get down on myself when things aren’t perfect.

 

Hope

I’m back in Physical Therapy!

This is exciting, folks, because after a few more weeks of hip strengthening, I get to move on to the good stuff: Exercise Therapy!

As I think I’ve mentioned before, I have a neurological condition, a type of Dysautonomia call Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. I challenge you to say that three times fast. It’s impossible, which is why we tend to refer to it as POTS.

It’s a problem with my Autonomic Nervous System, which causes body functions like heart rate, digestion, and blood pressure to function incorrectly. My biggest issue is that my body doesn’t pump blood efficiently, and often times I end up with too much blood pooling in my legs and feet, and not enough blood in my heart and brain.

Do you know what happens when there’s not enough blood in your brain?

You faint. And in the case of people like me who have POTS, you faint a lot. I have trouble stand or walking for any period of time, because my heart rate skyrockets, I get incredibly dizzy, and if I don’t find a place to sit fast, you guessed it, I’m on the floor.

So what does this have to do with Physical Therapy?

Regular exercise is one of the best things for POTS, but it’s problematic because exercise raises your heart rate and raises your fainting risk, and no one wants you to faint on a treadmill.

I’ve tried to start exercising on my own before, with little success, which is why I’m so excited to start the Levine Exercise Protocol with my physical therapist.

The idea of it fills me with hope.

I’ve been severely disabled by POTS for years now, and if exercise therapy can get me healthier and keep me stable, there are so many things that I can do!

I was an active person. I was a running-jumping-climbing trees sort of kid, and as an adult, there have been so many things that I want to do- so many things that I want to try- if only POTS wasn’t holding me back.

Jess and I have been making a list, which includes but is not limited to: hiking, rock climbing, curling, ice skating, disk golf, longboarding, and gardening.

I’ve been vibrating with excitement. The whole idea of exercising freaks me out though, because raising my heart rate is so uncomfortable. But the idea of all the things that I could do is starting to smother that anxiety.

I’ve made a good life for myself that matches my abilities. I knit, I play board games, I read. And for the most part, I’m satisfied with all of these, although being so sedentary makes me sad sometimes. On nice days I so wish that I could be out in the sunshine, doing more than just sitting.

And now that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, I’m letting myself hope. It won’t fix me, but even raising my physical abilities slightly opens so many doors.

I know from experience that this is going to be hard. I’m going to be utterly miserable in the beginning, and I won’t want to continue, which is partially why I’m putting my feelings out there for the whole internet to see. Hopefully coming back here and seeing my optimistic rantings can blast through the sucky parts so I can remember how excited past me was.

So. To crabby, exhausted, future me: remember the future that we want, and most importantly, have hope!

Let’s Be Practical

It all started with a Buzzfeed quiz: Eat Your Way Through Europe and We’ll Reveal Your Dream City! I got Barcelona, and while I was reading through the blurb describing warm oceans and sea breezes I thought to myself “you know, I’d love to see Barcelona some day.”

But let’s be practical, I probably won’t.

I think the most heartbreaking part of being diagnosed as an adult is that I often still think that I am neurotypical. And since I’ve spent 28 years being bombarded by the idea that I can do anything I want, I see no reason why I can’t. As long as I Try hard enough.

I think we all know though, that autism doesn’t work like that. Now I’m not implying that we shouldn’t try! Yoda said “do or do not, there is no try”, and I disagree with the little green bastard because I think “try” is not a placeholder for “do”, I think trying is an action in its own right.

And because of this, I subscribe to the school of Realistic Trying. To me, this means that I’m never going to stop pushing forward and doing things, but I’m going to be realistic about how I go about it. Let’s take Barcelona. Barcelona is in Europe. In Spain. I live in St. Louis, which is 4644 miles away, smack dab in the center of the United States. And thanks to the myth of Trying Hard, a large part of my brain still thinks that traveling that far is doable.

Let’s make a quick list of barriers to travel:

  1. I have a routine, and if it is not followed, it will eventually lead to a meltdown.
  2. I can’t deal with unpredictability, and traveling to a new continent is full of them.
  3. I am a picky eater, and my precariously balanced diet depends on me being able to eat safe foods.
  4. I get overwhelmed by people. I’m pretty sure a transatlantic flight would be the end of me.
  5. Sensory Overload. Enough said.

Yet my brain tells me that I Can Do Anything, and my common sense can’t shut it up. My brain tells me to Follow My Dreams. Common sense suggests maybe finding a more realistic dream, but this is quickly shut down. I Can Do Anything, my brain proclaims.

I can’t do anything.

I can do some things, and that list is always growing. This is what I need to focus on because I logically know that I can’t just push through a meltdown with the power of Trying. What I can do, and what I need to do, is to get to know myself better. Find out where I can make little adjustments without compromising my mental health.

So on days when I try something new, I keep my schedule as close to normal as possible, even if I’m not at home. I talk myself through things that might be unpredictable, so I can be ready for them. I pack myself just-in-case food, and I know where the bathrooms are- just in case I need a break. And for the sensory worries? I never leave home without earplugs, stim toys, and distractions.

I wish my brain thought those little adjustments were a success, but I think we all know by now that it doesn’t. Because my dreams didn’t come true, it tells me, I must not have tried hard enough. Who cares about small victories? I’m not lying on a beach* in Barcelona, so I’ve failed.

Let’s all give a rousing Shut Up to my brain, because yeah, maybe I haven’t made it to Europe yet. Maybe I never will. But hey, let’s be realistic, I’ve got Nashville and Chicago, and Kansas City, all a hop, skip, and a jump away, so let the road trips begin!

*I would never do this anyway. Wet sand is sensory hell for me.

 

 

 

A Person is a Puzzle

So, thanks to certain organizations who shall not be named, I have a visceral reaction to puzzle pieces. I hate everything that they’re supposed to represent, and even more, I hate that they’re everywhere. On t-shirts and buttons and bumper stickers, placed there by people who think that by having an “I love my _______ with autism!” magnet that they’re somehow helping. Some of them are. Most of them aren’t.

Here are a few explanations of what people think the puzzle piece represents:

  • The mystery and complexity of autism
  • “(To) show that autism caused suffering and that children with the disorder would not “fit in” to society.”
  • “The puzzle piece meant they did not fit in.”
  • “(It) symbolizes hope for defeating the disorder.”

None of those things sound good to me. Acting as though autistic people are a “mystery” seems to me like a cop-out. It sounds to me like there’s no point in trying to understand us because we’re too complex. And while I think most of us have suffered at one time or another, suffering is definitely not something that defines me. I’d say that when I don’t “fit in”, it is often because people aren’t willing to get to know me. And I don’t want to defeat autism. It’s a large part of who I am, and I’d rather understand it and accept it into my life than get rid of it.

I think it’s a shame that the puzzle has come to this. I love puzzles and think that the idea of people being made up of pieces is really accurate. Which leads us to…

I’m a Unitarian Universalist, and one thing about us is that we draw from a lot of different sources, especially during services. This morning, a piece was read called “A Person is a Puzzle”, and I immediately knew that it was something that I wanted to talk about. This is the sort of puzzle piece imagery that I want.

We are all puzzles. We are all whole. We are all enough.

 

A Person is a Puzzle

By Mark Mosher DeWolfe

A person is a puzzle. Sometimes from the inside, it feels like some pieces are missing.

Perhaps one we love is no longer with us. Perhaps one talent we desire eludes us. Perhaps a moment that required grace found us clumsy. Sometimes, from the inside, it feels like some pieces are missing.

A person is a puzzle. We are puzzles not only to ourselves but to each other.

A puzzle is a mystery we seek to solve—and the mystery is that we are whole even with our missing pieces. Our missing pieces are empty spaces we might long to fill, empty spaces that make us who we are. The mystery is that we are only what we are—and that what we are is enough.