I take notes on all my major presentations. One day I found among them a small note of encouragement from my sister, who’s had the unfortunate privilege of knowing me her entire life and can spot when I’m having a day more down than up.

This was a rare thing for me to receive.

You can’t go a day on Facebook, Twitter, Insta, TikTok, or anything without seeing someone’s post overflowing with comments, likes, shares, virality about how they were having some sort of rough situation or day, only to be showered or otherwise picked up by an act of kindness, whether great or small.

It’s nice, and I can’t exactly not like that kind of response.

But it’s a rare thing for us.

When your struggles are compounded by autism, it is much harder for regular folks to relate.

If you’re working with or otherwise around “happy, normal people,” you can mostly relate to happiness and normalcy.

So when those folks hit a rut, have a bad day, or otherwise run into a rough patch, there’s almost no effort that would ever go into trying to understand. “Oh, you’re normal, but now you’re sad and I understand why” — that’s instant, and you can pivot your energy to making that person feel better.

For us?

“Oh, she’s … uh … different.” — and people already have to contend with understanding first. Sure, there are those who can immediately understand “sad” and “hurt,” but autism often adds a hurdle that many people won’t jump over.

And that’s a hurdle many can’t clear.

And yes, folks, we know it.

Any barrier to understanding us as people drastically diminishes one’s outputs of sympathy.

But it’s not everyone. Those on the spectrum, we get it. Many who bypass their hurdles of understanding and just work right to the sadness, the hurt — they get it too.

It takes uncommon people to help sympathize with other uncommon people, even about uncommon things.

For those of you who do try, thank you.

Even if you don’t “get us,” you got us when we need help.

 

For breakfast, I eat virtually the same thing every day: a scoop of vegan protein powder with up to a 1/3 cup of steel-cut oats, a half-tablespoon of peanut butter, all rendered porridgey with coffee as a base, then three eggs separately.

For lunch, that’s also the same deal: a smoothie made from a cup of kale, a banana, ice, water, and more scoops of protein powder.

Though dinner and snacks vary, I’m pretty routine about 66% of my meals during the day.

So imagine what happens if any of that is somehow altered.

It seems like it’d be hard to cater to autistic tastes.

Why?

Because you’re catering to routines, patterns, norms — and unless it’s the same things we’re eating for those designated meals, then it’s likely going to be a matter of pushing back.

Mrs. H2 is a pretty stellar cook, so her dinner options are never a miss.

But I get worried when there’s something on deck for breakfast or for lunch. Not because it’s bad, but because it’s good, and I already know I’m going to have to try to switch gears mentally to accommodate.

Maybe you’re in this boat, maybe you’re not — where you feel like you’re dealing with an autistically picky eater and it’s grinding your gears.

As one of those people, here’s my bullets of advice:

-It might not be about picky tastes, but picky routines 

-Get creative with the meals open to the most variety

–Discover the root of what makes the ritual stick and appeal to that 

For me, I eat pretty compact and healthy so I don’t like feeling “fat” before and during work, and I like something warm most mornings and cool most afternoons. Portions weigh heavily for me, and I don’t like the feeling of eating too much in the morning.

That sounds normal, but it’s the routine and ritualistic devotion to its consistency that can be more autistic than the norm.

Others’ routines and rituals may vary — those are what you’re catering to. 

Super quick disclaimer: If you can pause your opinions on climate change to consider an important topic about autism – read on! If you can’t, check out my other posts instead. Thanks.

I’m going to assume you’re up to speed about Greta Thunberg: a 16-year-old girl from Sweden, the world’s most recognizable climate change activist at the moment, and William Hill’s odds-on favorite to win the next Nobel Peace Prize.

Greta has autism.

As someone on a similar spectrum, I can’t fathom how she’s managing this surge of popularity, constant public speaking, and sparring for her cause, which triggers people here in America. It’s incredible.

But it’s reared an irksome thing that we still have to deal with, an attribute that comes up when people can’t just disagree and choose to dismiss with things like this:

“Greta has autism.”

Have you ever felt invalidated based on who you are? 

It is disheartening to advocate for anything with passion, or react strongly, or try to argue something, only for people to try to shut you down with your own autism.

Are you the type of person who hears someone out and thinks “I don’t even have to engage here – she’s autistic, so I don’t even have to try showing her how she’s wrong.”? If you’re here, probably not.

Yet those people are out there. En masse. Prominent, even!

But I’m encouraged. Why?

Because people are closer to “getting it” about autism. When a pundit claimed (and yep, dismissed) Greta’s arguments weren’t really worth tackling due to her being “mental ill,” FOX NEWS apologized for his comments on their network and rescinded any future airtime for him — that’s a good start.

I’m nowhere near close to what Greta’s doing, or what she’s facing, as an autistic young woman — but I can empathize with the struggle of being someone with a special attribute that people misunderstand, one that people use against you to try shutting you down.