Autistic Hedgehog

Not necessarily. We all have differing feelings about cuddling and touching. Some of us like it a lot, some of us hate it pretty much all the time, some of us fluctuate.

I’m very much a fluctuation type myself. Generally, I don’t like being hugged or touched much, but I usually don’t mind if it’s my husband. But even then there’s times I just don’t want to be held or hugged in any way, or times when all I want is to cuddle and be close. 

Like everything with us, it’s a spectrum. :)

It’s been a while, I think, since someone has asked about the hedgehog, so I don’t mind explaining.

I think a hedgehog is a good animal for representing autistics. Hedgehogs might look spiky, but if you treat them right, they can be very sweet and affectionate—something a lot of people never grasp about autistics. At the same time, treat a hedgehog poorly, scare it or make it angry, and it curls up in a tight ball with its spikes out. 

It reminded me very much of my own moods and on the day I decided to make AH, I was feeling quite prickly. I felt like a hedgehog was an accurate representation of how I was feeling, and when I brought the idea up to other autistics here on Tumblr, they agreed. Thus Autistic Hedgehog was born. 

Well, generally, I think part of the problem lies with the differences in our brains. I think we have a tendency to jump from point A to point C, whereas most brains stop at point B first. It’s an offshoot of our tendency to be literal, I think.

That might not seem like a bad thing (and for some situations it’s very useful) but it does mean that we say literally, and often succinctly, what we mean, without realizing that point B might in fact be very necessary. We know what we mean to say, and because we mean each word with such literalness, it’s hard to fathom at times why other’s might find it offensive.

But there can be all sorts of reasons for that, ranging from the fact that it simply doesn’t sound the same to their brains, to more complex matters, like we’ve accidentally hit on something personal to them in some way. It’s true that in some cases it’s impossible to avoid doing that (in which case the best solution is to apologize) but in a lot of situations, one can find a better way to state something. It’s helpful to have someone who can point out where you might be going wrong (I still have my husband vet a lot of my emails and the like) but if you don’t have anyone who can help, text is the best form of practice. Study your own emails, posts, text messages, whatever, and examine what you say. Try to see where something could perhaps be clearer or better stated. 

You might mean something in a nice way, but the words you pick may sound rude. You might say “So and so has a loud voice” and know that you mean it as compliment, because you’re dealing in a situation where having a loud voice is useful, but that could sound insulting to someone else—a better alternative might be “So and so has a nice voice that carries well.” You’d still be saying what you wanted to say, in essence, but in a way that explains in a little more detail what you meant. 

It’s not easy. It can be hard to know what might and might not offend, and some situations will put you between a rock and hard place. Sometimes there’s no polite way to say something because you’re in a situation where someone is a bit of an ass and will take something as an insult—like if you politely ask someone to stop smoking a cigarette but they’re that sort of smoker whose a jerk about it. That’s not really on you. 

One other thing to look out for: I don’t know if you ever have this problem, but it was huge for me growing up. My brain observes. It makes observations of things, very literally and dispassionately. The thing is, even though your brain may observe it with the sort of dispassion one observes “That’s a stop sign” it doesn’t mean that the observation itself is not offensive. 

Like this one time my husband’s ex-wife visited, and while we were all talking, my brain went, all matter-of-factly, “Hey, she looks like the kid who plays Ron Weasley in the Harry Potter movies.” Happily, I’d had enough experience at that point to realize I should not actually say that out loud. But when I was younger I might have gone ahead and said it, because my brain wasn’t making the observation out of spite—it was just noticing it—and I didn’t understand back then that simply because my brain meant it unoffensively didn’t mean it wasn’t, well, offensive. 

Those sorts of things can be very hard to filter and again, if you don’t have anyone who understands and can point out when you’re doing it, then practicing in text can be useful. But don’t be too hard on yourself—it’s not easy to learn, and it’s something even allistics have trouble with at times. It’s a cliche, but it’s very much true that Rome wasn’t built in a day; do your best, but don’t beat yourself up if you don’t get it down perfect right away. 

Oh yes, that’s right, we’re jealous of people who spread ignorance and lies about us.

We’re jealous of people who imply it takes superpowers to raise us, who act like loving us is abnormal, who want to wipe us off the face of the planet.

We’re jealous of people who say we have no emotions, no empathy, no intellect, and no value. 

We’re jealous of people who murder us, who institutionalize us, who force us into painful and traumatic therapies, who encourage us to die rather than get life saving surgery because our lives are worth so very little. 

We’re jealous of people dictate what is normal and use that to belittle us, to kill us, to make us hate ourselves, to take away our autonomy. 

We’re jealous of people who use our very being, what we are at our core, as an insult to belittle privileged douchebags or, even worse, people who are just enjoying what they love.

You’re right! It all makes sense now! I can see clearly!

Pfft. What I see, clearly, is that you’re ignorant and you are the one who is nonsensical. “Making fun of” is not the same thing as “calling out” and any person with sense knows which one we’re doing here. We are the ones being made fun of and worse, and we have every right to express our dissatisfaction and distaste with that. 

I will not sit here and be policed by an asshat who wants me to sit down and let my oppressors stomp all over me. Trololololol your ass out of here. 

(I thought, you might like to know, since you’re writing an autistic female character, and this is a comic about a futuristic world. Though now I think of it they don’t really delve into it too much, so it might not actually be helpful.)

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Interesting. I might check it out regardless, at least to see what it’s like. One of the best things a writer can do for their craft is to read, and to read all kinds of things. 

There’s actually a blog called Allism Speaks on tumblr which parodies Autism $peaks in such a way. A video of that nature could definitely be amusing, though it would, sadly, be overrun with allistics who don’t get the joke. 

Random anon hate in my inbox is random. Also boring. Seriously, haters, that’s the best you’ve got? You’re so far out of your league, it’s embarrassing. 

I’m not really a Vlog watching kind of hedgehog, but I did do a little Googling and came up with Arman Khodaei. Now I don’t know anything about him, but Googling on him doesn’t reveal anything immediately negative and it sounds like he’s got his head on straight, but my followers may know differently.

If anyone else knows of vlogging autistics, let me know. 

I myself had my assessment when I was only nine, so I don’t remember much about how it works, I’m afraid. I know some of my followers have had assessments much more recently than I have, though. Anyone got some advice for our fellow hedgehog to help them on their way? 

What sounds unrealistic? My novel? Considering I went into practically no detail at all, I’m not sure what is supposed to sound unrealistic about it. Perhaps you could be a bit more, you know, specific. 

…justice!?

What even…justice!? Justice from what? How? I just…I do not get allistic people sometimes, I really don’t. 

I don’t blame you for being mad. And I understand wanting to help their kid. Though frankly, I admire your self-restraint. I’m not sure I’d have been able to resist the urge to get out of my car and take my keys to the sides of the Eugenicsmobile. Maybe find something sufficiently sharp to take out the tires. 

Word-powered autistics, unite! 

(Funny how we’re supposed to be so crap at communication and yet so many of us love communication via writing. It’s almost like the “experts” don’t know what they’re talking about. Again.) 

Aww, y'all are so awesome. I honestly don’t know how to respond to all the support, I’m just so overwhelmed (in a good way!) by how much y'all get it, you know? 

I think that’s a little bit of a double-edged sword, as it often is with a character of any kind of minority status. Because people will make assumptions, like how if a character of color isn’t in some way explicitly stated as such, white readers will assume the character is white.

At the same time, there are stereotypes and other problems to deal with when a character is explicitly autistic. Currently I think media representation is largely a lose-lose situation; either the representation is loaded with stereotypes, or it’s not explicit and therefore it’s questionable whether it truly counts as representation.

Finals. Ick. I suggest lots of cuddles with your hedgehog. Assuming of course she likes cuddles. :)

Generally, anyone is welcome at AH, and a few people who don’t have autism have told me it’s been very informative, following this blog. The only rule is that allistic people don’t come in and try to police us and how we express ourselves here. It is, above all else, a safe space for us. Respect that and you’re more than welcome to follow. 

I think this calls for Cactihog!

Aw, y’all are just so great. I’ve been so moved by all the support I’ve gotten since that post. I haven’t gotten to all of my mail—my neck and back pain have flared up and there’s some things I need a little time to consider my answer to—but I’m honestly touched. A little saddened, also, to know that so many of us have dealt with similar, horrible circumstances, but glad we have each other. 

Thank you. :) I’m actually not entirely sure how I kept my composure. I honestly wouldn’t blame anyone for blowing up in a situation like that.

Thank you. :)

Just for reference in the future: I know some people don’t like to answer questions, and it can be tiring to educate others, but as long as I’m approached politely, without prejudice or assumptions, I’m always willing to answer. Having weighed it against the alternatives, I’ve decided I’d rather answer a thousand questions than let groups like Autism Speaks answer even one. 

It’s really good that you want to know more. I’ve dealt with a lot of significant others who couldn’t be arsed, and it’s very disheartening. For starters, I actually answered a question about advice for dating autistic people about a week ago, with some basic tips, which you can find here. It’s sort of “Dating Autistics 101.”

Anything else you want to know, I’ll do my best to answer (and some of my fellow hedgehogs may chime in too, if they’re feeling like it). Since you care enough about your boyfriend to ask in the first place, I’ll do my best to help you learn what you need to know. 

That’s an interesting question. I haven’t watched anything with characters that are acknowledged in canon as autistic, or about real autistic people, so it’s not one I can really answer.

Anyone else? 

Yikes. o.o Just make sure you do whatever you need to in order to keep yourself safe. Hopefully it won’t be too bad, but France definitely doesn’t sound like a haven of understanding and acceptance. More like a hive of scum and villainy. 

(Context - That tweet is from an aspie who’s anti-vaccine and pro-cure. Not for HIMSELF, obviously, just those *other* autistic people, like his son. AAAAAAAARGH)

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Well, that’s just icky all the way around. 

What makes it really gross is that I did a little poking around and it turns out there have been other reports of the dentist in question pulling out too many teeth and being overall shitty as his job, so the autism of the man in question had absolutely nothing to do with it. Wonder how the guy who made the tweet would feel if people talked about him like that, in such a situation. 

But where do we put ourselves in discussions of autism? We don’t plan on getting diagnoses. We are greatly helped by our kids’ therapy in dealing with our own sensory issues (now I understand my avoidance of certain lights and noise, needing to rock myself to calm down, etc). Would I offend someone with an actual diagnoses if I was both an Autism Mom and referred to myself as autistic without a diagnosis?

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Well, those who refer to themselves as Autism Moms (with capitals) are a somewhat specific group of people, and they can be a problematic bunch at times. That doesn’t mean you can’t identify as an Autism Mom if you so choose; just be aware that some autistics may have had bad experiences with them.

In fact, one of the big problems with Autism Moms is that they’re usually not autistic themselves, and autistic moms easily get excluded by them. 

Generally, you’re going to find both autistic people who don’t mind self-diagnosis and those who do (you’ll find a fair few of the former here on Tumblr), and it’s in part a matter of finding the group that accepts how you choose to identify. As to where you put yourselves in discussions of autism…some of that is up to you and what you feel comfortable with. You may feel comfortable participating solely as the parents of autistic children, solely as autistic people, or as autistic parents. It might take some time to figure out what suits you.

And what you feel comfortable with might change, as well. As time goes by and you gain more knowledge and experience, you might find yourself feeling more comfortable and confident in other areas of discussion. That’s okay too. 

*deep breath*

I’m going to try to answer this without exploding. Try. Because if you’ve actually been reading my posts and, you know, absorbing them, I shouldn’t need to answer this at all.

I think I’ve said on here about a thousand times that autistics are all different and that functioning labels are meaningless. But let’s examine why I might be so different from the small handful of autistic children you know. Since clearly “I am not them” is not a satisfactory answer for you, let’s try some sordid details instead.

(For my Hedgehogs: Trigger warning for ableism, bullying, abuse, suicide and rape.)

Oh, I suppose not all of it is sordid, as such. I wasn’t diagnosed until I was nine. Although I’ve had an ADHD diagnosis practically since I was in the womb, and my mom always felt the doctors missed something about me, no one acted like I was a useless shell of a person who would never amount to anything (that came later). It wasn’t assumed or expected that I couldn’t learn to read, couldn’t learn to write, couldn’t be a well educated individual. Hell, my mom started teaching me to read when I was about three (though admittedly this could be so she wouldn’t have to suffer through Kittens Are Like That again). When I developed my first special interest and started reading books on horses all the time, no one tried to stop me or scold me, because reading was good.

Perhaps these kids you’ve worked with never had those benefits. Perhaps people always treated them like they would never be worthwhile people, like they couldn’t learn to read or write anyway so why bother teaching them? Or perhaps it’s just not their strength. You see, it is mine.

I’m a writer and I’ve been writing for fifteen years, but I’ve always had a particular knack with words. When I was tested in sixth grade, I was found to be four years ahead of my reading level (which was probably not even fully accurate since I was already reading novels for adults at that age). For my entire life I’ve known words—known the meanings to words—that I’d never even heard before. “The world is made up of the greatest composition of numbers and letters.” I said it when I was…four? Five? I couldn’t have been more than six when I once described myself as “feeling like a pile of used up rags.” 

You see? When people talk about autistics with special talents, they think of doing large sums in their head like Rain Man or being able to play a song on the piano after hearing it only once. But my gift, my talent, is words, communication. I don’t communicate well in spite of my autism, but because of it. 

But I mentioned sordid details, didn’t I? And really, the good is nice, but I’m not me without the bad.

It’s funny you should call me “very well educated” because I’m not; not in the typical sense. My world started going to hell after my father committed suicide. By the time I was twelve, I was being viciously bullied in school. I was cornered and hit in the locker room, I was surrounded and harassed at my desk, I got rocks thrown at me on the way home from the bus stop. I didn’t know it for some time, but the other students ganged up to tell lies about me, accusing me of being the bully, telling teachers I called them names and swore at them (I never even swore when I stubbed my toe, back then). I can remember sitting and listening to the lies, opening my mouth to defend myself and being shushed, viciously, by my so-called guidance counselor. 

No one believed me. Even I didn’t believe me. I have one of the sharpest, longest memories you’ll ever encounter, and I spent years thinking I was going out of my mind, because I couldn’t remember any of these things I supposedly did. And I hate talking about it, because people don’t like to believe that children can be that horrible. But they can and they were, and I was surrounded by adults who saw my difficulties expressing “proper” allistic emotions as proof I was lying. Adults I couldn’t look in the face because I could never trust them.

I was home-schooled part of the year in both 6th and 7th grade, and for all of 8th grade. Despite that, I tried going back to school for high school. My education was never steady or stable again. I couldn’t stay full days—by the end of the day I couldn’t breathe from the panic—and I missed a lot of classes. Much of my “very well educated” comes from educating myself. And while all this was happening, when I was only fifteen, I was lying still while my boyfriend raped me, because I’d been so lonely for so long that I was terrified of losing him and the friends he’d brought into my life. I spent years feeling like a stupid little girl who should have known better than to let him do that.

But like I said, I educated myself. And not just in terms of writing or reading or anything else. I educated myself in you. In allistics. I learned to read you better than you can read each other—but even so, I rarely trust my own judgment. I ought to, but my instincts have been so battered by the years of abuse that I can’t. Give me time and I can learn people, learn how they’ll react in a given situation better than they know themselves. And I know me. I spent hours upon hours in introspection, being far more brutally honest with myself than most people will ever be. I know how I act, why I react, why things hurt me…and I’ve put it all together to decode the world. To survive the world.

Do you know how exhausting it is to never be able to let your guard down, ever? To always have to study people, to actively read their non-verbal language, to vet every single thought that comes through your head to make sure it’s not offensive, and to have to do it all at the speed of thought? To smile and look people in the eyes—or fake it—even when you don’t want to? Because that’s my life. I communicate well now verbally too, but I didn’t always. It was only when I was writing that things always fell into place, that I got it right, that I was on the same wavelength as other people. Only when I’m writing that it’s not another long, drawn-out battle to appear just like everyone else. 

That is how it works. How it works it that we’re all different people, but we are people. We’re not empty husks who live our lives unaffected and unchanged by the world around us. Oh, it affects us, all right. It changes us. For many of us, it stuffs us into a box and then praises us while we huddle there, cramped and in pain but doing what society thinks is “right” and “acceptable.” Others are dubbed such worthless lost causes that there’s little point in trying to shove them into the box, because they’ll never go in anyway. Very few people ever care to see what happens if they try to adapt to us instead. 

To be perfectly honest with you, unless you feel you really need it, I would not recommend getting an autism diagnosis in France. I decided to do a bit of research of the matter and holy crap. 

I suggest you read this this and this. (Trigger warning for abuse, ableism, just all kinds of horrific fuckery.) I don’t think an official diagnosis would be much benefit even if you could find someone competent enough to administer it, and if you did, it sounds like something that could be detrimental and perhaps even dangerous to you. 

I’d suggesting research and self-diagnosis instead, unless, as I mentioned, you feel you really need a diagnosis. Right now France doesn’t appear to be a pleasant place to be autistic. 

I actually had a very similar experience with my psychologist a year or so ago. He liked to talk about how I was “hardly autistic at all anymore” and, when I talked about things like being overstimulated by a crowd, he would insist that all people experience such things.

It frustrated me so much. I know he thought he was saying something positive, but for me, he was dismissing the realities of my life. He was dismissing all the hard work I’d done and the bullying and ableism I’d suffered to seem “hardly autistic at all anymore” when they’re so relevant to who I am. He was dismissing the pain—real physical pain—I feel from the presence and noise of large crowds of people and the panic I feel when I have to get on a crowded bus. He was dismissing the sense of hyperawareness I developed from those years of bullying and ableism, that makes me freak out when I trip in public, that makes me assume a crowd of people laughing nearby is laughing at me, that terrifies me when I get something on my shirt because I’m positive that people will notice and think I’m a slob.

It sounds like this neurologist evoked similar feelings in you, and you do have a reason to be upset. No matter how “high-functioning” you might appear, that will never erase the problems you had and do have.

But when she talked to you like that, I’m guessing it made you feel like she was erasing and dismissing those things. To people like neurologists and psychologists it might seem like being called “normal” is a reassuring thing, but it’s very easy to hear as “There’s nothing wrong with you, so what are you even complaining about?” It’s easy to feel like someone is telling you that you should be fine and perfect and any troubles you have are overreactions. That would make anyone feel uneasy and insulted. 

There’s no such thing as pointless whining over ableism, and in the end, that’s what it was, regardless of her intentions. 

I don’t see why not. Like you said, it’s a repetitive hand motion that relaxes you and keeps your mind off the stimuli around you. Okay, unlike many stims you could potentially make some profit off it on Etsy, but I don’t think that really disqualifies it. If it works for you, it works. 

Not really. Because you’re autistic, it’s pathologized and a lot of people will think it’s weird. But they’re hypocrites, because they wouldn’t bat an eyelash if an allistic person, say, confessed that they didn’t leave their room or shower for days while they were working on their thesis. It’s one of those things that potentially anyone could do, but it’s only seen as a sign of something wrong in people like autistics.

Do try to remember to eat and get some sleep, though. I know it’s not always easy when one’s distracted by something they enjoy, but I’d hate to see anyone wind up sick.

(Please don’t ask me how someone who has as little maternal instinct as I do ended up such a freakin’ motherhen, because I really don’t know.)