my twenties so far have just been spent unlearning deeply internalised ableism and letting myself embrace the fact that i am, actually for real, not faking it, higher needs than i've been conditioned to think i have, disabled.
i'm not "just like the rest of your family and need to rest and recharge more than others," i'm disabled. my autistic traits aren't quirky things that run in the family and make us unique, i'm disabled. i'm not easily exhausted and struggle with exercise due to asthma and joint pain and unstable joints just like the rest of the family, i'm disabled. i'm not a special smart child who has been blessed by god to save others and that process of saving others means i HAVE to suffer, i'm disabled. my suffering isn't noble or admirable or necessary to succeed, i'm just suffering. i wasn't put on earth to uplift others, i was born with differences that make my life harder. i'm not selfish or lazy or ego-driven, i'm disabled and trying to take care of myself.
when i struggle, i'm not doing anything wrong. when i rest, i'm not doing anything wrong. when i ask for help, i'm not doing anything wrong. when i cry, i'm not doing anything wrong. when i draw back, i'm not doing anything wrong.
i did nothing wrong and yet i was given guilt the size of the world to hold on my frail shoulders since i was a child.
growing up autistic means i grew up abused for being disabled.
