Coloring Outside the Lines

Challenging the narratives of conformity in the autism community and embracing the nuance of lived experience

Welcome to Fidgets and Fries!

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This newsletter rests at the intersection of the unserious ramblings of a woman full of buttered rice and dad jokes and the somewhat sophisticated stories and essays of someone who knows just enough “smart” words to sound super intelligent and insightful.

What will today’s newsletter be? Hmm…

I recently read the exchange between a Black Autistic individual and several people recently. This person stated that ABA (applied behavioral analysis) has helped them in their lives and the crowd disagreed with their experience. They spent a considerable amount of time telling this person that they were wrong in their interpretation of their own life and how choosing to frame their experience according to their own truth was harmful. 

This person’s perspective isn’t one I have read and/or heard often in these online spaces, especially not from another Autistic person. But definitely it is something I have heard offline from parents and Autistic person alike. 

It is interesting to note the flat out denial of another’s experience because it bucks what they would consider to be the standard of this community. This is part of the reason why I enjoy my time outside of the lines of conformity the online autism community has boxed itself into. This goes for parents and Autistic adults, both get on my nerves, I enjoy coloring outside of the line. 

Too many have made nuance the enemy and for what purpose? Rhetorical. I don’t actually care for an answer. This question was for impact and reflection on your own time, not mine. 

I was in ABA and I found it harmful. 

I was in ABA and I found it helpful. 

Both complete sentences and both true…FOR ME. 

I would not be the person I am today, the wife I am, the mother I am, the advocate I am, writing this actual post, to a community of over a 100K across all platforms, if not for my time in ABA. 

And for many, who don’t actually possess the depth to have these conversations will assume this is an endorsement of something that a large number of those who stand in opposition to it have never actually experienced it in the first place. That’s a discussion for another day, but its inclusion was necessary. 

I am going to repeat what I just wrote: I would not be the person I am today, the wife I am, the mother I am, the advocate I am, writing this actual post, to a community of over a 100K across all platforms, if not for my time in ABA. 

Full, long ass, complete sentence that I could leave as is, but while complete, doesn’t tell the entire story. I don’t like to half-ass my advocacy, so I wouldn’t half-ass my writing. 

Note the world with which we live. The systems we operate under. The rules and governance of our person. The exploitation of our bodies. I am not of the skin that demands soft thoughts and a life of ease. This mind is a barrier to what many would consider the spoils of this world. And even if I could break a wall, I have to work 4 times harder to do so and then convince those on the other side that I am also worthy of what they have access to. 

This world ain’t kind to minds like this and it finds this skin provocative. I am the product of my experiences and my histories and contexts tell me that in order for me to create a life of abundance and ease, I am going to have to adopt the ways of dominant culture. I am going to have to move as they move. I am going to have to live as a muted version of myself when in their presence. I will have to navigate my own scars as if they were obstacles. 

I was taught what was necessary in a way that was accessible to a mind like this. And I both curse and experience moments of gratitude for my time in ABA. I am an ABA success story because I maneuver this world by its laws that contradict every fiber of my being, weaving in and out of who I am, discarding those parts of myself that they would see as markers for uselessness to the collective. 

I speak only for myself. I write only for myself when I state that for myself, ABA was beneficial in that it helped me to blend more with a world that would rather see me removed from it. 

We live in a compliant based society, our systems and institutions are rooted in it. As far as I am concerned, I am an ABA success story. I could, should I choose to do so, and honestly have done so, including during this post, state that ABA has helped me. 

Because it has. It has given me the tools I needed and a method by which to use them, to move about this world. 

And here’s where it gets all flaky layers and shit; ABA doesn’t actually care how you are once you’re “successful.” It doesn’t check on your mental. It doesn’t note if you can even recognize who you are at the end of each day cosplaying as another. However, this ain’t all that different than what we are taught from a young age as Black kids growing up in America. You gotta be who they want you to be, but you can be yourself when you’re safe with your people. Kinda. Maybe. Sorta.

The emotional bags Neurotypical Black people carry ain’t all that different from the ones I carry as a Black Autistic woman.

Thing is, this ain’t a conversation that many within the Autistic community are willing to have. And it’s honestly not just because they shy away from difficult subject matter that doesn’t center their experience, and that is most definitely part of it…but it’s also because they do not possess the range for conversations like this. Some will call this harsh, an insult, an attack. I honestly do not care what someone feels about the weight of my words. I am not carrying their feelings. I won’t hold hands. I have to share my heart and what I have witnessed and experienced over the course of my life.

The audacity of those who dare to gaze upon another’s lived experience and declare, “No, you are mistaken”—to insist that your feelings are invalid because they clash with their own discomfort—is nothing short of staggering. How is it that they feel entitled to rewrite my narrative as if it were theirs to dictate? How do they presume to understand the depths of my heart, my desires, my wants, my needs, and my very wishes?

They don’t. Yet they draw thick, unyielding lines, resolutely positioning themselves on one side, convinced that their claim grants them the authority to speak for a collective they have constructed. They have armed themselves with a kind of advocacy that demands uniformity—moving in lockstep as if our differences are an affront to their version of progress. To them, we are not individuals; we are mere bodies stacked together to create a “majority,” wielded as weapons against those who dare to challenge their dogma.

When they raise their voices in unison, it is to drown out the singular cries of dissent. They wield numbers as if they hold the ultimate truth, proclaiming that because a dozen have labeled ABA as abusive, my solitary testimony holds no weight. I am told that my truth is a threat—that I cause harm simply by asserting my lived experience. They insist I lack the right to scrutinize my history with the discerning gaze that seeks to grasp the fuller picture.

In their quest for certainty, they forget that the tapestry of human experience is woven with myriad threads—each one vibrant, unique, and deserving of recognition.

You see, I refuse to be pigeonholed as either pro- or anti-ABA; such a stance is far too constraining for the complexity of my lived experience. The life I have traversed, with all its joys and sorrows, cannot be reduced to a binary narrative. I cannot deny the truths that have shaped my existence.

Yes, ABA has inflicted harm upon me.

And yet, I stand here today, unapologetically acknowledging that I would not be the person I am—resilient, outspoken, and fiercely authentic—if not for the time I spent within its confines.

In this paradox lies my reality, a testament to the intricacies of the human experience, where pain and growth often intertwine, reminding us that our stories are not simply black or white but a rich mosaic of every hue imaginable.

I wrote this all to say, your disability experience does not start and end with you.