As any autistic person, or really any disabled person knows, there are so many things in life where you feel people just moving on without you. The worst part of inaccessibility isn’t missing out of an event or opportunity but the loneliness that comes with watching everyone else continue on. You watch the class continue as you’re sent into the hall for not being able to transition from play time to learning time fast enough. You watch as your friends are invited to social events when you still struggle to connect with others. You watch as you’re told that you just don’t seem as qualified for a job as your resume and education would suggest. And as you watch, life moves on but without you.
As a queer, autistic person, I am so enthralled by Pride events this month but I know that I would never be able to go to Chicago Pride because of the crowds. The loud music and the constant movement would send me into overload but I can't help but yearn for the same joy my queer siblings experience at this event. In order to be seen as qualified as I am in ministry, I need to prove how autistic spirituality and personal growth differs from their standard neurotypical experience but is just as valid. For those who can see their identities reflected within church leadership, this isn't a necessary step because there are leaders who already understand them. While I work to set up training sessions and push for autistic representation, the world moves forward around me.
I am so happy for my friends who are able to pursue their callings but yet I still feel pain as I fight for the representation and understanding I deserve. As I turned 26 this week, crossing away from any semblance of youth, I reflected on how far I have come but I also looked forward to where I could be if not for the barriers still present. To have my future reliant upon the desire for neurotypicals to learn and grow in their understanding of autistic people is a terrifying dependence because it requires a commitment to disability justice that I have yet to see in the larger structure of the church. As an ordained person, I can make a strong difference for queer and autistic justice but how is this change supposed to happen without an autistic already in this position to enact change? Instead, I just wait. I wait until I can either present as neurotypical enough to satisfy the image of leadership the church envisions or I can wait until that image of leadership evolves to include autistic people. At this moment, I refuse to do the former yet don’t know how to achieve the latter.
Throughout civil and human rights movements, it has been shown how justice only arrives when it is less convenient to ignore injustice than it is to change it. However, the only way to achieve this is with community and power. When it’s just you, or the voice of your community is still building, you are stuck waiting. Your personal development and growth stall as you have to work twice as hard to implement systems that already exist for those around you. Autistic people are often stereotyped as developing slower, which may be true to an extent in some areas, but yet this concept of a “mental age” has solidified the notion that development is only perceived against a neurotypical standard. Our path in life has always been measured by how quickly we can match the goals of our neurotypical peers but with half of the tools and none of the resources. When we can’t move through life as quickly because we’re busy building the bridges next to the neurotypical highway, those around us come and go in a blink, leaving us alone and forgotten.
This year, I worked as an autistic voice in my local town’s Pride group to set up a sensory-friendly zone in the parade where there were less crowds, headphones, fidgets, shade, water, and other sensory tools to regulate oneself. At first, it was hours of planning and presenting ideas and debating resources and need but once it was established, the response soared with volunteers and participants who needed the area to be included in Pride. Next year, I will have stronger resources and support to build an even better area with more accessibility. All of this happened because I was the voice in a position to make a difference. If there was even one autistic voice on the ordination committee, I know that I would have the same experience. I may still be asked to wait a year but I know that it would come with more support, better direction, and form the bridge for autistic people to become a stabilized voice in ministry. Someday, I might be that voice for others. Until then, I still mourn this week as I watch so many of my friends travel onwards as I am left behind.
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