My Spectacular Meltdown of 2018 and Why I’m Still an Alien

My Spectacular Meltdown of 2018 and Why I’m Still an Alien

I’ve just had one of my most spectacular meltdowns.  As an adult on the spectrum, living independently and being a single parent, many people assume I have gotten past these types of hurdles.  Meltdowns, or breakdowns as some people call them, play in the minds of typical people as a behaviour associated with juvenile emotions, inexperience, or simply being overwhelmed.  This is because most people lack the knowledge to see meltdowns for what they truly are – a hybrid of an existential crisis, depersonalization/ derealization, and Aporia brought on by Normopathy and extreme empathy.


Normopathy isn’t discussed often being comorbid with Autism, but I think it is a perfect fit because it is a logical state of being for teens and adults on the spectrum following years of deficit focused therapy. A person who is normatic is often obsessed with doing only what is expected by society.  It often robs the autistic person of a personality because any individual traits are placed under the microscope in our minds as we compare it with accepted norms. As with any unhealthy obsession, it becomes nearly impossible to accept any small deviation from what we understand as being normal.


In the mind of someone who has Autism, this deviation is seen as breaking rules rather than just merely social norms.  The binary way we view societal rules is not because of our innate wiring to do so, but because almost all models of early interventions are binary and rewards based.  As we grow older and we fail to receive the reward for our social compliance, we create an even more simplified metric, breaking it down again and again until the two points of how-to-be and how-not-to-be are diametrically opposed with no question of grey area. This is particularly problematic for social skills since societies rarely work this way.


This extreme normopathy leads to a break down, where the normatic person cracks under the pressure and either withdraws or self-harms.  In rare cases, a normatic person might try something dangerous like running away, breaking something, or losing control over their body.  Let me be clear that with normatic autistic people, violent behaviour is very rare and is never malicious.


Now caught in a loop we can often go into meltdown especially following several normatic pressure breaks.  As an adult with autism I have learned to reign in the normatic pressure breaks and keep them from pushing me over the edge.  But as we age, Aporia can add an extra razor like edge to this battle of retaining our personalities and trying to fit into societal expectations.


Aporia is best described as that feeling you get when you have just discovered something you believed in wasn’t true, but then still believe it might be true.  It is that oscillating feeling between believing myth and seeing truth. Aporia is common in childhood as we come to realize our favourite stuffed bear cannot actually talk to us or that no matter how hard we try, we can never fly with a cape.  Though much more rare in adulthood, it is still common for Autistic adults. It is not so much with the battle between myth and truth, but rather in the battle between what we expect people will do and the following interpretation of what they actually do.

This bonding of Normopathy and Aporia is like trying to stand in the shadow of a tree without being able to predict that the time of day moves the shadow.  As the shadow moves and changes shape, I must also move and change shape to hide within the bounds of the shadow while holding on to the expectation that time and the tree are static, fixed points.  I become so fixated on trying to follow the shadow, I forget I am not a tree.


As the night time falls and I try to sleep, I enter an existential crisis.  Does my life have purpose? Why am I not like all the other trees?


The meltdown begins as I feel detached from my body.  My mind is now outside my body observing the body move, but with no real connection to those movements.  My emotional colour fades to a blurry shade of grey and experiences no longer seem real – like floating around in another person’s dream.  Suddenly it feels as if I am vibrating with the emotional energy of every person on the planet, feeling all of their pain and joy at once. It is an immense, bright energy like when a massive star dies, and then collapses into a black hole.


A black hole is not just a hole of nothingness.  It is a compact mass in spacetime from which nothing escapes.  Once I enter the black hole state of a meltdown, I must capture my thoughts, process them, and then run the gamut of emotions I have not been able to process.  This part of the meltdown seems to happen primarily at night when the rest of the humans around me are sleeping and therefore not broadcasting their energies to me.


Now comes the real work.


Capturing my own thoughts outside the bounds of deficit focused rewards therapies and societal expectations is actually rather liberating, but totally immersive.  Because I have ignored my inner cogs and weakened my own broadcasting of energy, I form a metaphorical cocoon forcing me to focus on my own transformation.


Though these meltdowns interfere with my ability to properly handle my daily tasks, I find them necessary and critical to my personality development.  Much like Dabrowski’s theory of personality development, meltdowns are a “disintegrative” process that is an overall positive process.  It allows me to retain true individuality and integrate into society independent of my childhood state which was constrained by biological impulses and uncritical adherence to social convention as taught by those responsible for rearing me.


As teens and adults with Autism, we must experience psychological stress and anxiety in order to grow independent and be who we truly are.  No matter how hard therapy and behaviour modifications try, I will always be an alien on this planet. I can never be Neurotypical, nor can I be less Autistic. I an be more independent, stronger, and wiser.  My struggles are real, but that is no reason to restrain my inner butterfly.


Back to my recent meltdown.


This meltdown was particularly hard because it was weighted by several large life changes all at once.  The heaviest piece was my work as an accidental advocate.


There are two types of advocates – those who become advocates because they feel it is their life mission, and accidental advocates.  Accidental advocates are people, like me, who have a diagnosis and were therefore more or less expected to share our experiences. One day I stood up and argued with a presenter about being autistic versus their outside perception of autism and voila, you have an advocate.  I don’t mind it and I am certainly not bitter about it, it just wasn’t something I planned to do.


The more I spoke up, the more people listened, and the more I realized I was often the only one with Autism in the room.  My voice was among the first to push through the prevailing dialogue that was lead mostly by observers who were not Autistic.  I was not only among the first to speak for myself, but among the first to defend the intellect of the non-speaking Autistic community. I constantly faced a barrage of disbelief and resistance as I spoke of presuming competence.  Every time I spoke I found I was breaking through barriers and forcing open the doors. I couldn’t stop because I knew it was ultimately the right thing to do for those yet to come.


All of this has come at a great price of never living the benefits of what I fight for.  Now, in my 40’s, I am still on mostly uncharted territory of Autistic life beyond therapy, supports, and institutions.  I am immensely proud of the outcomes and how younger generations of Autistic people are living better lives. Presuming competence is starting to dominate the autism dialogue forcing even Autism Speaks to change their position – something I never thought I would see.


Though the price is worth it, there are times I am overwhelmingly crushed by the loneliness and isolation of being among the first.  In February of 2018 I had begin to break and everything I produced became scrambled like the Enigma Code. Words came out in the wrong order, even in my writings,  causing me to have to redact an entire blog post.  I found myself constantly distracted, unenergetic, hopeless, and eventually wanting to delete all of my work and disappear.

Drawing a line?

It is hard for me to create a rigid dichotomy between self-care and selfishness.  I feel guilty every time I wish for recognition, but it is true I sometimes wish for that especially since recognition often comes with the financial stability I still seek.  


But then I realize I am among the first and that is truly the most spectacular place to be an individual.  With so few before me, I get to explore the unknown universes of the human experience. I get to take the risks and make the mistakes that can lead to true discovery.  No matter how many times I must cocoon, I cherish each of my inner butterflies as they fly out in their figure eight patterns and flaunt their spectacular colours.


I didn’t give it all up.  Not this time anyway. As is my true nature, I am fueled by my tenacity.  I must admit that I get a special kind of buzz every time I see a post or read an email from a person who feels my work has helped them, but that is not what I seek.  The struggle is still very real but I am still an Alien, and that is just fine by me.

They’re right, I’m a Nothing?

They’re right, I’m a Nothing?

Dear Phoenix,

It took me 3 days to prepare myself to make that phone call.  Phone calls remain my one major test as a person with Autism, my Kobayashi Maru.  To most people, this sounds silly or trite, but for me it is real.

For those of us who struggle with communication, the phone can be confusing.  Many unexpected factors and the inability to read voice tone means I am often stuck in a loop trying to interpret meaning.  When the frequency of the voice changes, or their word pacing differs, my brain gets stuck on the pattern and loses the meaning.  It is as if the words change to meaningless syllables and ticks.  As a result, I miss much of what is said, making my answers sound off.

Speaking to people in person is a struggle too, but the phone adds an extra layer of problems.  This is because all of my adaptive techniques to better understand people require context, body movement, and the energy off of the person to interpret them.  Social skills training focuses on nonverbal cues, which are impossible to read on the phone.  Somehow, NT people are able to use nuanced voice tones to make up for this.  I am not.

Nevertheless, when people call me, I return their calls though it make take me a few days.  They ask me questions, and I try to answer.  Often times the conversation is awkward and has me breaking the flow constantly.  I never know when they are done speaking, and if I pause too long, they speak again.  Round and round we go, they want an answer I can’t give.

Talking on the phone is one of 100 issues I navigate daily.  Learning to live with you, Phoenix, requires a highly tuned level of focus and the skillful application of my self-taught adaptation techniques.  When I leave the house, I power on my mental systems to actively think about:

  • Navigating around people while walking
  • Filtering relevant sound from irrelevant sound
  • Organizing neurological input and channeling it elsewhere so as not to be overstimulated (I compose music in my head from the sounds around me)
  • Processing emotions often from the 2 or 3 weeks previous
  • Counting so I don’t focus on the rhythm of my steps and get lost (please don’t ask me how many steps I take.  I count to 10 and start over.  It’s not an obsession, its an adaptation)
  • Organizing my word muddle into comprehensive sentences (word muddle is what I call the constant internal monologue which is often just the rapid firing of vocabulary)

These are just a few things happening in my active mind while I am working through my day.  This process is only calmed when I play music.  True, most people process this stuff, but they do it passively, somewhere in the background, like muscle memory that no longer requires active thinking.  My mind processes all of this as if I am learning about it for the first time.

It is hard, and requires so much energy, but it is worth it.

The need to be understood is desired by all humans, and I am no different there.  But to understand others, to connect with them, that is center to my being.

I love people and I want them to feel welcomed on earth, loved by others, and when they talk I want to truly listen.  To do this I must work to exhaustion everyday, but I can’t imagine living life in a void.  It is nice when I make friends, but the most satisfaction I get is knowing I have given something to this amazing world.  I like being useful, and being able to offer help to those who are suffering,  To watch a lost human light up is amazing.  Their energy goes from grey to bright colours, illuminating the air around them and creating the most beautiful music.  It is the same magic as watching a broken Carousel come back to life.

When people are engaged, understood, and loved they glow, projecting their loving energy on everything around them.  Sometimes all it takes is one person to say “I hear you.”

So, I get up everyday with the purpose of loving others.  I fight the fires of you my dear Phoenix, and sometimes I channel your energy, and I count, and I walk, and I tame the inner dialogue and I write music.

But that phone call…that phone call was hard.  And so were the many others before it when they said;

“I know you can’t really understand how I feel.”

“You’re so high-functioning so maybe learning empathy was easier for you.”

“Are you officially diagnosed with Autism?  Maybe it isn’t Autism.”

“How can you teach my kid to survive in the normal world if you have the same problems?”

“Maybe you think the students understand you, but really they don’t.  Maybe you need to believe they understand you.”

“I think sometimes you confuse your emotions.  You think you are happy, but you don’t really feel happy.”

“My son has Asperger’s, not Autism.  I can’t have people thinking he is retarded.”

“You have a special musical gift, but you aren’t a good fit for what we are doing.”

“Really? You already passed a background check at another school? Huh.” (Yes, someone actually said this to me after learning about my Autism.  They were surprised that an Autistic person was qualified to work with children.  I’ve been teaching 25 years.)


When I was a child, I enjoyed playing with a talking toy called Teddy Ruxpin.  In one of his adventures, he travelled to a forest where the creatures there could change shape.  They called themselves “Nothings” because they had no shape of their own.

They’re right.  I am a nothing?

At least that is all they will ever see.  And as long as they are stuck seeing me as a mindless, out of control, emotionless being that is a threat to public safety, then I will remain a Nothing.

My accomplishments as a professional are vast.  I have won many awards in music, and taught hundreds of children to play music.  But these accomplishments are constantly diminished by the inability of others to see past the diagnostic criteria.  The worst part about being Nothing is being invisible.

These people who fight me, these people who see me as Nothing, they are not strangers.  The general public has issues but they have actually grown a great deal on acceptance.  It is disbelief in the Autistic community that is hurting me.

Some parents, professionals, and the many support organizations out there are fighting the wrong battles.  The cure dialogue has dominated the industry to the point that Autistics coming into adulthood are not prepared to live a long life with Autism.  While arguing over whether or not we should say “Autistic Person” or “Person with Autism” the big money organizations have hijacked the focus of research and therapy.  While we are still arguing over vaccines and gluten, hundreds of children were forced to have bleach enemas to cure their guts of Autism.

They thought they were Nothings.

By the end of Teddy Ruxpins adventure to the forest, Teddy realizes that the Nothings are truly remarkable.  He renamed them “Anythings” because they can be anything they want.  There is a big difference between nothing and anything.  To be nothing, I must be void of all life.  To be anything, I must be overflowing with life.  But I can see why some like to see people like me as nothings.  To take nothing and make it something is a 100% improvement on an IEP report.

But if I am an Anything, I am already filled with potential.  All I need is someone to say, “I hear you” and mean it.  And if I am an Anything, and I choose to fight the fire for the love of others, then I have empathy.

If we are going to make any progress in the Autism community, we must stop trying to make something from nothing.  As Teddy Ruxpin said, we’re not a Nothing, we are an Anything.  How high we learn to fly is how wide we spread our wings.

Hear me.  See me.  I am an Anything.

Your Anything,

Laura (Snamuh)

How to stop time

How to stop time

Dear Phoenix,

Negativity is a foul disease that infects the air of adventure.  The information wars between those who push and those who seek are louder now, and it seems fear has its fingers on the volume dial.  Though the heat from your flames are scorching me, for the first time I find I am able to channel the fire, and not hide from it.  How?

I have learned how to stop time.

Like shifting awareness to your peripheral vision when driving in a rain storm, Autism has taught me to use my heightened experience of the world as a way to develop a peripheral view of my interactions.

Acute spatial memory that allows me to revisit a place in my mind can also serve as a way to see an entire room from any corner without moving.  Vivid awareness of sound can help me blur mundane sounds into musical compositions.  Hyperfocus on detail can help me experience the glory of a waterfall down to the individual drop.

But what is most glorious is my inability to feel time.  I have no internal concept of the passage of time, which means I do not have to format my thinking to fit inside the neat little boxes humans build around them to feel accomplished.

When I am absorbed in my sensory world, I can stop time.  I feel no pressure from the outside world to return to structure.  In fact, I can be so still in my core that I am able to forget that all else exists beyond that suspended moment.

The world is not able to accept this from me.  Therapies and interventions for Autistic people are dripping with the the desire to reconstruct us so that we cage our sensory experience and replace it with rigour and obedience.  As if we are artificial intelligence gone rogue.

I too have read numerous books and studies on how to reduce my sensory experience so I can function more like my NT peers.  But that is wrong.

I was was wrong.

Why dim the light from your fire just so I can avoid being burned?  I can no longer be trapped with the flames.

I encourage others, go and sit in a public place where there are plenty of people walking by.  Half close your eyes for a moment and breathe in and out deeply for a minute.  While breathing, hear everything.  Open up your ears as if you are trying to hear the voices of people on the other side of a wall.  Let loud sounds and soft sounds be equal.  Break the words of others down into syllables creating a rhythm.

Now open your eyes.  Try and focus your visual priority into your peripheral vision.  As people pass by, do not interpret their intent.  Rather, see them as children sharing a bit of their love as they pass carefree to their next activity.

Once you feel totally open, find a pattern near you like the leaves on a tree or the tiles on a floor.  Zoom in on the pattern focusing on the individual components of the pattern.  When a person passes by or a sound occurs, visualize it as part of the pattern.  After a while, a bizarre but beautiful synchronicity will occur.

Somewhere in that exercise, time is released and its passing is no longer recognized.  I am able to stop time.  As I return to engaging with the world, I can see it’s beauty more vividly.  I can visualize my thoughts more clearly, and become more aware of the good in people.  Ego and pride melt away and fear becomes a dim flicker in the recess of my mind.

This is where resilience comes from.  It is not some sort of bravery.  It is merely the ability to absorb the collective energy that connects everything.  An ability derived from being open, being still, and being timeless.

Some people treat me like I do not matter, and this makes you burn, my dear Phoenix.  But it is the heat from the fire that makes the hot air balloon rise, stealing flight from the grips of gravity.  Let’s fly together Phoenix teaching the world how to stop time.  Only then will we humans truly understand how much we are capable of doing.

Love and infinity,

Laura (snamuh)


I have encountered so much disbelief and deliberate road blocking these past few weeks. Phoenix has even taken a few of my nights, not allowing me to sleep. So hear this, people who are blocking my students from inclusion, and people who trying to devalue my work:


Teaching children with love and compassion is my life. I am not stopping, wavering, or changing my course. Am I scared? Absolutely. Phoenix is burning, but this time I’ve made Phoenix’s fire my fuel.

Pain is temporary. The impact of compassion is infinite.

When Charity Taketh Away

When Charity Taketh Away

How Autism Speaks stole income from working Autistic people

This past week I presented at a conference in San Diego called Love and Autism.  The conference was put together by the amazing professionals at The Family Guidance and Therapy Center of Southern California.

I have spoken at many conferences, but this one is the most unique I have experienced so far.  At this conference, the narrative is led by people with Autism.

In an attempt to shift the narrative to one of love and acceptance with Autistic people at the wheel, this conference features mostly Autistic presenters. Each one of us shared our unique ways towards independence, academic success, career success, and stories of overcoming the odds.  There are no talks of cures, nor any talks presenting methods of normalization.  The conference is filled with positive energy and hope for young autistic people and their families.

Beyond the perspective this conference spotlights, they are also among the very few who pay Autistic people to speak.

Autistic people are invited to present their stories for the benefit of others quite often, but are rarely paid.  When you attend a conference, only the headliner speaker – the big famous person you likely attend to hear – is the only one paid a contracted rate.  At most of the breakout sessions, the presenters are there on their own dime, including people with Autism.  This is the industry standard.

Most conferences make up for this by providing a table in a common area where presenters can sell books and other products, giving us an opportunity to advertise our work.  The book sales, for many autistic speakers, are our only source of income, particularly at a conference.  Even when conferences pay, it is usually a small honorarium making the book sales the only way for us to do more than break even.  It allows us to pay our own rent.


As a female on the spectrum, I am one among thousands of Autistic women who struggle much harder than Autistic males to be valued and heard.  Many of us share the common story of being rejected from big house publishers under the guise that there are not enough readers interested in female Autistic narratives.  Books written about normalization techniques or praising therapies such as ABA are much more likely to be considered.  However the memoirs published are mostly by males.

This means Autistic females, and Autistic LGBTQ, must be more self-sufficient and industrious.  Many of us have turned to the self-publishing world putting our homemade books at competition with the big house publishers.  Limitations for self-published books can be too difficult for some to overcome, especially when big house publishers have teams of talented people making the book look good, sound good, and can market it in stores around the globe.

Those who self-publish, as I did, must do everything themselves.  My book, I Am Snamuh, was completely homemade.  My 15 year old daughter took the photos for the cover.  We laid out the book ourselves, and commissioned friends and family to proofread.  Each page layout, the cover bleed, cut, and all printing specifications had to be carefully considered.  I spent hundreds of hours creating my book.

Listed on, I only profit a few dollars from each sale.  Amazon does not advertise for me, and in fact prioritizes big house publishers because they pay for more exposure, something I cannot afford.  My book is not on the book shelves because most booksellers do not allow self-published books in store.  Except in the rare cases where self-published books become best sellers, most of us make very little on our work.

When I present at conferences my books sell very well, and often times I sell out.  Conferences are my opportunity for people to get to know me, and to hear my story.  Once the audience has connected with what I have to say, they are eager to buy my book.  To provide books at conferences, I must buy each copy out of pocket and pay to have it shipped to me.  I can only buy what I can afford up front, which is usually a small amount of money I have held back from previous book sales.  Whatever I do not sell, I must take home with me.  I must sell 20 out of 50 books to break even. So, you can see why it is imperative that I sell out if I wish to walk away with an income.  For the 30 books, I would gain $300.

I was not the only Autistic person selling books at this conference.

Enter Autism Speaks

The Love and Autism Conference released their dates to the San Diego community over a year ago with the conference locations to be at the Liberty Station Conference Center.  After the conference was announced, Autism Speaks scheduled a fundraising event 700 metres from the conference pulling sponsors and attendees from our event. (Link to Autism Speaks website showing San Diego Walk at Liberty Station)

Books I did not sell this conference. A very unusual occurrence at conferences for me.

No matter how we look at this, Autism Speaks stole income from hard working Autistic people trying to be independent.  Even if the act was not deliberate, how is it that an organization that declares itself a charity to benefit autistic people not know that such an important event FEATURING Autistic people was occurring 700 metres away?  In fact, the amazing people who ran the conference dipped into their own pockets to be sure every Autistic was paid.

I have tried many times in the past to invite Autism Speaks to the table to talk about how they can truly help us.  I have encouraged members of the Autistic community to attend Autism related events even if Autism Speaks is present, to show them we have a voice.  Time and time again I have tried to find middle ground with Autism Speaks.


Yet Autism Speaks keeps robbing the Autistic community.

Here you can view the Facebook post I made about it

How you can help

Please help the Autistic people who lost earnings at the conference by doing business with us.  Hire us to speak, purchase our products, share our stories on social media, and encourage print and television media to feature our voices.

For a complete list of the speakers who lost wages, visit the Love and Autism website –

Please also consider donating to The Family Guidance and Therapy Center of Southern California for their support of Autistic people, even at their own loss.


Collective Friendship

Collective Friendship

Dear Phoenix,

Back in early 2015 I was working hard to grow past many of my limitations, and push myself towards my dream.  I wrote a script for one of my 5 minute positive takeaway videos, but never got a chance to make it.  Chasing a dream takes ample energy, and all of my resources.

Here is the script I wrote:


A woman, named Seeking, is walking alone, in worn out clothing carrying several suitcases. Each suitcase is labeled with a different burden (hunger, loneliness, unemployment, debt, past transgressions). She is wearing an untied straight jacket labeled exclusion on one arm and judgement on the other. She continues to walk but wants to stop. Every time the she stops, she is pushed away, like an unwanted stray animal. She continues to walk out of town to the isolated road.

Along the way, she is passed by cars who honk at her for taking up the road, or looking unkempt. She lies down on the side of the road to rest, but becomes afraid of the shadows in the forest. There isn’t anything there, but she can’t understand that. Seeking runs, but then collapses as the shadow draws near. She feels she is being attacked. Just as she thinks her life is over, an old woman helps her up. One by one, the old woman detaches the suitcases from Seeking, and then removes the straight jacket and wraps her in a blanket. The blanket says Friend.

The old woman, named Compassion, wants to leave the suitcases behind, but the girl is reluctant to leave them behind. The old woman hugs Seeking and leads her away. They arrive at a modest house on the edge of town. In the home are other friends of the Compassion, who all jump up to help.

They feed Seeking, clean her up, and keep her warm by gathering together under a large blanket together. After some time passes, one by one each member of the house goes back to the location where they picked up Seeking, and grab a suitcase.

A man named Nourishment, picks up the suitcase labeled hunger. He carries it back to Seeking. He fills the suitcase with seeds to plant, bread, and other nourishing food. He brings it to her and feeds her the nourishing food. He sets aside the seeds to plant until she is healthy enough to tend to them.

A child, named Dreamer, in the house picks up the unemployment suitcase. Dressed in her best, she drags the large suitcase from business to business, until the local printer takes it. The child receives a paper that says employed and she runs it back to Seeking.

A married couple, named Security and Sustenance, take the debt suitcase. They perform on their instruments in town, and collect donations in the suitcase. They take it back to Seeking, and show her how to use employment to finish filling the suitcase. Security brakes the hinges of the debt suitcase and places the top not to it, splitting part of the money into the top. He labeled the top Future. Seeking, feeling strong, rises out of Nourishments arms. she puts on her shoes, and her work uniform, and walks to the print shop.

Nourishment, Security, Sustenance, and Dreamer all walk with her. Seeking arrives at her new job at the printer. Uncertain what to create, she stares into the void. She gets up and looks out the window and a raggy stray who has dragged Past Transgressions to her office door. She brings in the stray, and creates a makeshift bed for him out of a box and a blanket. She opens the suitcase and stares at its contents, horrified. She looks away in disgust. Nourishment senses trouble, and sends the people of the house to her work. They arrive in time to catch Seeking as she falls from her stool.

They gather under the blanket and the stray joins them. Curious about what is in the suitcase, Dreamer crawls over to it and pulls out a nail. She looks over at Seeking, who buries her head into Nourishments arms with shame. Dreamer pulls herself up and looks into the suitcase. It is full of nails. Dreamer looks sad. The stray comes to cuddle with her. Then Dreamer gets a big smile on her face and runs out of the printer with the stray. Dreamer collects the owner of the hardware store and  whispers into his ear. He smiles, then nods. Dreamer then runs back to the printer to share her idea with Seeking.

Seeking picks herself up, dusts herself off, and starts back to work. Dreamer, the hardware store man, and all the members of the house settle into a routine. Seeking creates beautiful art at the printshop, works at the house to plant her garden, and put money in debt and future. She workings with the hardware store, with a handful of nails at a time from past transgressions, and nails them into an unknown structure. The town starts to take notice. Feeling bad for judging her, the townspeople work to scrub clean the canvas straight jacket and dismantle it. Each member of the town works to recreate the jacket into something else very colorful.

A year has passed. Seeking is happy. She has friends in Nourishment, and other members of the house. She has a flourishing garden, at the house, and debt is gone, and future is filled. They stray is healthy, and the towns people are happy too. There is a party in town today. Dreamer and Seeking have used up all the nails in past transgressions. As they are walking to the party, they see the old woman approaching. She is carrying loneliness. Seeking takes the suitcase from the old woman and they walk together to the party.

They arrive to see all the members of the house, the stray, and the towns people standing in a big group together. They part and the group reveals a beautiful wooden sailboat built with the nails from past transgressions. At the mast are Security and Sustenance, who raise a flag made of the old straight jacket. On the flag is a Print work made by Seeking. Seeking looks down at the suitcase. She uses a rag and wipes off all the letters of loneliness, except the first L,O, and E. She Writes in a V to spell Love.

The old woman, the members of the house, and stray board the boat and sail from place to place, bringing security, sustenance, nourishment, and love to all they meet. They are not afraid to dream, fail together, and comfort one another. The town they left behind is all for the better too. The house continues to take in seekers, and is run now by the townspeople.

As the sun sets over the water, Nourishment and Seeking hold each other in love. The old woman gleams, and Dreamer looks ahead with excitement. Stray looks like captain puppy, and the couple plot the way. The sunset creates a silhouette of Seeking and Nourishment, until the screen is black.

WORDS ON SCREEN Free of judgement, the act of one becomes the love of many. Love louder.

When I wrote this, I had pictured each word as a separate person.  People who saw what a person needed and did that to help.  But since then, I have learned I was wrong.

The only person I needed to meet was compassion.  By allowing myself to be Seeking and chasing my dream, I was open to receive compassion.  Compassion came when each person on my path wrapped me in their friend blanket, and those people are real.

I have allowed myself to be loved.

Over the past 3 years as Seeking I have met some incredible people.  Their friend blankets are warm, strong, and always hugging me with the deep compression I need.

So what about Nourishment, Dreamer, Security, Sustenance, and the stray?  They are all within me.

Nourishment is my curiosity and sense of adventure that feeds my mind with knowledge and experience.

Dreamer is my childlike wonder that allows me to see the world in infinite beauty.

Security is my strength that keeps me fighting for what is good and right.

Sustenance is my endurance and tenacity that keep me rowing this old sail boat even though the wind is not yet blowing.

As for the stray, he comes around from time to time to remind me of my failures.  So I feed him, and hug him, and I have forgiven him.  Stray is my past, but not my present or future.

And you, Phoenix, you are the fire that keep me warm.  So maybe the story didn’t start out with the right idea; it became so much more.  The compassion of others wrapping me with their friend blankets helped me to be all I needed to be.  To my wonderful friends, and family, I say to you;

Thank you for your compassion, and for loving me so loud.

Until tomorrow,

Laura (snamuh)

Time to Be Naked and Return to Innocence

Time to Be Naked and Return to Innocence

Dear Phoenix,

I posted on Facebook yesterday about the hate and violence infecting the US.  I was moved to post something because silence seems wrong.

In my post I had noted that for 22 years, no one bothered the Boston Holocaust memorial. Now it has been vandalized twice in 6 weeks.

White-supremacy is not acceptable.
Racism is not acceptable.
Bigotry is not acceptable.
Rape is not acceptable.
Misogyny is not acceptable.
Child Abuse is not acceptable.
Violence towards others is not acceptable.

I will not apologize for believing these things. I will not tolerate others around me abusing or mistreating others. I will continue to love others, and I will be continue to be non-violent, but I will not be still. Hurt someone I love and I will become the wall between you and them.

This statement is strong, but required no energy for me to say when faced with atrocity such as Charlottesville. I struggle with words and emotions, but in defence of my fellow humans, I struggled none.

Today, as the rage continues, I was overwhelmed by this question in my mind.  So, at the risk of backlash, I have a question I must ask:

It is commonly viewed that if I were to walk down the street naked, and was sexually assaulted, it would be my fault. Even if there are those of us that disagree, it is still the common view. It is not seen as freedom of speech or expression, but as a call to action.
How is that being naked is a call to action, but carrying a known symbol of hate and murder, such as a Swastika, is seen as freedom of speech?
I can’t help but wonder when we will liberate ourselves from hate and fear?  When will we be able to return to that beautiful innocence of childhood – innocence not as ignorance, but as one who is harmless, lacking guile, and seeking only connection?
Maybe it is time.  Time to be naked, from the inside out because fear and hate can only survive beneath the cloak we hide behind.
My thoughts for today.
Laura (Snamuh)

The Story Behind – As the Ice Speaks

Dear Phoenix,

I have been thinking about my students today, wondering how all of them – past and present – apply what they learn in music class to life.  It never occurred to me that my students got anything from lessons other than learning the instrument until I got the opportunity to observe a friend working with his students.

It was my first time observing teaching in the sports venue, and honestly it was one of my first hockey games.  The ice has a particular energy that stadiums and fields lack.  As if the life giving qualities of water speed up and push upward from the ice.

The players hit the ice, and the music started to flow.  The harmonious melodies of the the players indicated they were more like a family than teammates.  Music gently journeyed to my ears, despite the intense energy of the game itself.

As my gaze shifted over to the coach, his shadow song rose up but never overtook the melody of his team.  Like the flower to the butterfly the coach’s energy fed the players.  his melody supported theirs.

It was stunningly beautiful.  As the ice spoke, the players bonded and the coach pushed forth his energy out of pure love for the kids.

When you listen to this piece, see if you can find the ice speaking, the players song and the coaches melody.

As always, I am grateful for your autism energy, my dear Phoenix.

Laura (Snamuh)


Traveling with Autism is getting harder, not easier. Why?

Traveling with Autism is getting harder, not easier. Why?

Dear Phoenix,

It is not uncommon to see public spaces with accommodations of various types.  Restaurants have high chairs for little ones who can’t reach the tables quite yet.  Shopping malls have strollers for children and wheelchairs for elderly who find it difficult to walk the entire mall.  Even in states with public smoking restrictions, many of these places still have smoking areas.  The Atlanta airport has smoking lounges.

Yet when it comes to disability accommodations are becoming harder to get than they were 5 years ago.  How did that happen?

Today, I am at home in deep compression, following travel.  It shouldn’t have to happen this way.  I had to abort a work day too. Not good when you need to pay bills.

Airports and airplanes are overstimulating, even if you love to travel as I do.  True, the tight spaces and noises in the airport itself are part of the issue, but those are just the obvious ones.

  1. People on Domestic US flights are, as a whole, unhappy travelers.  People get upset about everything from security backups, changing rules, long lines to board, and limited overhead space for luggage.  This means most people are vibrating with negative energy, and putting off stress hormone odors. As an Autistic person, I can smell every one of them as they step on the plane, and feel their negativity make my spine sting.  It makes my teeth hurt, and my skin sensitive.  I am in pain, but to everyone around me I just appear quiet and disciplined.
  2. Planes are noisy.  Engines aren’t the only things that make sensory overloading noises.  Shoes walking on the asiles, luggage being loaded, the fans to circulate air, jewlery clanking, people eating food, opening plastic bags, drinking, coughing, sneezing, mobile phones ringing, and that awful sound of the seat belts latching, just to name a few.
  3. Planes smell like portable toilets to me.  When I board, I can smell the previous passengers.  I smell their perfumes, their stress hormones, food they ate, foot odor, and breath circulating through the airplanes air system.  If I am made to stit near the washroom on the plane, I can smell if it has been used at all that day, and the chemical agent used to clean it.  When they refuel the plane, my mouth starts to taste like I am eating copper.
  4. People refuse to follow simple rules about where to put their baggage.  Sorry, but that bothers me.  People cram jackets and shopping bags in the overheads taking up precious space.  They also jam things violently when something blocks their suitcase, which is often my violin case.  I had to purchase a tougher case to protect it.  I am bothered even more by people taking exit row seats that are not really capable of helping in an emergency.  On a recent flight, the attendant allowed a woman with a fresh knee injury (they gave her a bag of ice for it) to sit on the exit row while denying a 6 ft 8 inch man the seat. This woman had to hop down the aisle holding onto the seats.  She could not walk without help.

With all of this going on, my nose and mouth become numb, and my speech retreats.  People I travel with often complain that I am too quiet to be heard even though I think I am speaking loudly.  Sometimes, I just can’t talk at all.  So you can imagine how hard it is when I have to explain to 4 different people between the counter and the gate why I get priority boarding.

On a recent trip with Delta, I had to take 3 flights to get to my destination.  On one flight, I was flying with my son from Buffalo to Atlanta and back.  We both have an official on-paper diagnosis, which I carry with me.

When I booked my flight online, I filled out the form for disability assistance, requesting priority boarding and assistance through security for my son.  He has only traveled twice and still needs a little support with the confusion of security. (Last time he left his suit case unattended, and this time he forgot to take off his shoes).  Delta then called and left a message.  The message was impossible for me to understand.  Not one word.  The only reason I knew it was Delta that called was because they followed up with an email to say they couldn’t reach me but left a message.  There was no option to text, email, or chat via typing.  Only a phone call.  So, I decided to do it the old fashioned way and visit the counter at the airport.

At the Delta counter in Buffalo, I stated as I always had, “My son and I are on the Autism Spectrum.  We would like assistance with this flight.”  When she asked what kind of assistance, I answered, “we request priority boarding and assistance for my son through security.”   She then asked me a bunch a questions I was not used to hearing, and even dismissed assistance through security because I was with him.

We stood in the regular security line and I scrambled to help my son.  He gets panicked in security, which draws attention to him.  Once he takes off his belt, his pants will no longer stay on unless he holds them, which also troubles the TSA.  He ended up getting a pat down.

Once through security, we were stopped at nearly every gate and told we could only get priority boarding if we were in a wheelchair.  I had to show on my ticket where it said “assistance requested”. and explain why.  On our return flight home from Atlanta, the hub of Delta where I KNOW they have received plenty of advice by their disability advisory board, I was told I would not be allowed priority boarding based on disability because my paperwork was more than a year old.  A diagnosis must be written within a year in order to be, and I quote, “compliant with the law.”  She finished by saying, “We can’t just give everyone priority boarding.”

It took a very stressful conversation, but she finally allowed us the status.  I was told no one was available to assist Jacob with security.  So, I approached the disability assistance line and the TSA allowed us in that line.  This time I got the pat down, with no warning they were going to touch me.

We weren’t questioned at the gate this time, but they did allow first class passengers to shove their way in front of us needing assistance during the pre-boarding process, totally destroying the whole point of getting on the plane before the masses.

I didn’t meltdown, so no one will be able to post a picture of them helping me calm down.  Instead I held it together, appearing only timid or tired to others.  What they don’t know is that the day after travel is when I get attacked by you, Phoenix.  Montezuma takes his revenge on my system, my ears ring, my teeth hurt, my nose remains numb, and I get sleepy and disconnected.  Today, instead of cleaning my apartment and working as I once was able to do after travel, I am wrapped tightly in covers trying to ease the nerve pain.  I even had to leave an appointment today because I was starting to melt down in public.  My vision pulsates, and everything looks like there are transparent creatures running through my world.  I get jumpy, confused, and sometimes forget where I am.

Thankfully, Lyft can be called using an app, so I was able to avoid the long, noisy bus ride home.  Total meltdown avoided.  Ten more minutes, and I would have been stuck in public places for a few hours.

Why is this still an issue?  Is it really so bad that someone with Autism, even if you can’t see it, gets to board a plane first?  You think that isn’t fair?  I pre-pay to check my bag to make my trip less stressful, and then watch dozens of people get free checked bags when there isn’t enough room on the plane for bags, mostly due to people carrying on more than allowed and stowing it where they are not supposed to.  That means I pay for what others get for free, yet I don’t expect a free checked bag.  Besides, you chose what to pack for a trip.  I did not chose to have Autism.

Airline travel is not great for anyone, but people with Autism feel that flight for days after.  If I could get priority boarding stamped on my ticket at the counter, and board unquestioned to my destination, like I once could (or still do with Southwest), I can actually function the next day.  That few minutes of quiet settling in, placing on my headphones, and adjusting to the smells gradually, can make or break a trip.  5 minutes.  Can’t everyone spare 5 minutes?

I have another flight with my son on Delta to San Diego in September to speak at the Love and Autism Conference.  I do hope they can redeem themselves.  Otherwise they are ignoring the work of the 15 advisors working hard for people with disabilities.

Hopefully better things to write tomorrow, Phoenix.


Laura (snamuh)

Today I am Proud of my Autistic Son

Today I am Proud of my Autistic Son

Dear Phoenix,

I have to tell you today about my son, Jacob.  After years of hard work, struggling with people telling him he would fail because of his autism, and many mistakes, he graduated high school.  He will be 17 on Friday.

Like it?  I think his ideas for design are fascinating.  You can see more on his portfolio.

Jacob’s Portfolio

I am so very excited to see what he will do with his life, and his talents.  So today I don’t have much to say.  Just wanted to share what he did.

Till tomorrow,

Laura (snamuh)

Monday Grievances

Monday Grievances

Dear Phoenix,

I’m filled with so much frustration over the way things are going for me lately that all of my carefully built filters are burning off.  I am finding it more and more difficult to keep quiet about the things others do that hinder progress, or create barriers.  I wanted to write to you about it today, but your flames are too hot.  Emotions are burning the paper upon which my mind writes.

This is an experience that others don’t often see – how Autism manifests inside me.  I can write about it every day, and speak about it all over the world, but it falls to deaf ears.  I don’t jump, or chew, or moan, or sway uncontrollably.  Some people with autism do all of those things, some don’t.  In that image of Autism intelligence is overlooked in those who jump, while Autism is invisible in those who don’t.

Today I got a letter from someone offering a special diet to help me. A few weeks ago it was a supplement.  My email box is filled with offers for vitamins, drinks, foods, diets, even chemicals that will “ease my pain” or “cure me of the scary things that stop you from being truly great.” (Those are real quotes from emails).

Am I on some proverbial canyon edge of success that is impassable because I am tainted with Autism?  What will your pills and diets do?

I wrote about being stuck between countries and how I am not yet able to be a Canadian but feeling like I no longer matter as an American.  But that is not the only place I feel stuck in the middle.  There is a divide in the Autism community between the speaking and non-speaking communities. Low IQ and low-functioning are inexplicably linked to non-speaking Autistic people, despite their efforts to prove otherwise.  How many nonspeaking authors, advocates, bloggers, and presenters must there be before we see the grievous error in linking low IQ with non-speaking?  But the problem isn’t just in the NT world, the stereotyping comes from the speaking Autistic world too.  I read comments daily by angry people with Asperger’s who hate being called Autistic because they are intelligent and function independently.  This completely baffled me, until today.

The reason the divide exists is because the narrative of the Autism experience is controlled by non-Autistic, sensation seeking publishing houses, news reporters, and other professionals who see only the conflict.  They place the stories of Autistic people that they think tugs at the heart strings, and places an NT kid as the hero.

  • The lonely Autistic boy who eats alone until an NT kid sits with him.
  • The lonely Autistic boy who can’t get a date until an NT kid invites him to prom.
  • The lonely Autistic boy who is given the football and told to run.
  • The lonely Autistic boy who is marveled at because he can recite pi to the 1000th place.
  • The lonely Autistic boy who can play Chopin at age 8 but was ignored until he was discovered by an NT run talkshow.

See a pattern?  Yes, they are usually boys, because that is what people like Simon Baron-Cohen want us to think (and if not male, than having an “extreme male brain”) .  They are usually depicted as lonely, because lonely sells, and they are usually rescued by an NT, because everyone wants recognition.

Tell me, how many people who rescue Autistic people would choose to live with them?

I am not discounting the genuine NT people who work tirelessly to provide opportunity for people with Autism.  I know many of those people.  But I also know that once a badge is pinned on the lapel, there is nothing required of the person to keep it.  Join a committee, run in a 5K, accept a seat on an advisory board, but don’t touch Autistic people outside the photo op.

This narrative is so invasive that many of my fellow speaking Autistics have bought into it.  They yell at me for being positive about my Autism, wallowing in their own tragedy, as they hear the same story every day that we are not wanted.  As the camera pans to my non-speaking friends, the negative dialogue is voiced over, and their achievements, and intelligence, are left completely out.

Only you, Phoenix, know how much energy it takes to fight the constant criticism I receive for being proudly Autistic.  Criticism from both the Autistic and NT world.  What an odd dissonance.

And though I am weary, and though I am breaking inside and out, I refuse to feel sorry for myself.

I refuse to accept the pop-culture, pain sells narrative and I reject any criticism that my Autism is not Autistic enough, or male enough, or too verbal.  Last I checked I live alone, travel alone, eat alone, and sleep alone.  No one lives with my autism.  Not one of my critics has lived with Phoenix.

I refuse to stop fighting for my non-speaking friends, or female autistics who are marginalized by this narrative.  It is time for Autistic people to take over our own stories without apologizing that it isn’t sad enough to sell on prime time news.

But most of all, I refuse to be anything but me.  Loud.  Autistic. Female. Proud.

Yours always,

Laura (snamuh)