on (not) being seen by the system

but I enjoy being invisible sometimes

Dear readers I lovingly call poems, I’ve missed you. I’ve been quiet, hiding and far away. Or maybe for some of you, I feel closer than ever before, because you’ve gotten to experience a different side of me and sit in silence with me. I got a heartwarming message from one of you who checked in with me. A fellow neurodivergent soul. I’m grateful for the care and patience I’m receiving as I’m recovering from my autism miss*diagnosis. I’ve been reflecting and learning about the way that “female” vs. “male” autism harms trans women, so I want to emphasize that the fact that I’m discriminated against because people perceive me as a woman doesn’t mean that autism shows up a particular way for people like me that is biologically/essentially different than those who are not assigned female at birth. These binaries are harmful and they harm transmasculine people too. I’ve also felt uncomfortable sometimes when reading about how autism affects women because the information just left out that those who are transmasculine might have a similar experience, yet still not identify as women. Does identifying with the “female” struggle of autism make me less trans? Of course not. The problem to me is not when cis women share about their own experiences of discrimination. I’m a feminist after all and a passionate one too. However, generalizing their experiences is what is harmful, as well as leaving out trans and non-binary perspectives. You can write about your lived experiences while still acknowledging that you might be missing certain perspectives. When you’re white, you miss the perspective of those who are racialized, unless you educate yourself. When you’re hearing, you miss the perspective of those who are deaf, and so on. I do believe that the way people are treated is different based on societal expectations of gender. This is what creates the discrimination. Trans women are particularly vulnerable to misogyny: When they don’t pass as cis, but also when they do. Some rightfully feel invalidated by all the “female” autism content that doesn’t consider their lived experiences at all. I believe that the questioning of binaries can lead to more solidarity and care in the long run, even if it might be uncomfortable at first. You can be on the spectrum, female and privileged. You can be on the spectrum, male and multiply marginalized. What gets overlooked sometimes in the discourses I see online — people scrutinizing each other about the support levels they “truly” have because people are made to fight over seemingly scarce resources — is that the more of us, the more ourselves we can be. Disability is not a choice and not a competition. It defies absolutely all stereotypes because there are all kinds of disabled people.

What I need right now as I’m still navigating the role autism plays in my life is the space to not know what my support needs are. I’m not trying to pretend I have higher support needs than I do, I truly just don’t know. It’s not as linear and straight-forward as some people make it seem. It’s a privilege to know what you need. I only learned what needs are and that I’m allowed to have them in my early twenties, which might actually be early, but not that long ago. When I read about low support needs, this sounds like me sometimes, but when I read about medium support needs, this also sounds like me sometimes. On the surface, I can take care of myself and was even forced to be a caretaker, but beneath the surface, it has exhausted me beyond the will to live and I’ve always relied heavily on my (chosen) family too. Is that just temporary? Or is it just racial capitalism, transphobia and sexism? How much of that is about being disabled? Will there come a moment, I can give more than I get? Is support only money and a roof over my head? Aren’t my contributions also valuable, even if different? Where does mental illness end and disability begin? Can these frameworks coexist or is the definition of mental illness from a Western lens to be questioned altogether? What about trauma? Well, trauma and disability aren’t mutually exclusive etiher. I don’t know. The more I’m able to rely on others, the better I’m able to manage my symptoms: The friends who have introduced me to body doubling and practice it with me have changed my life. I wouldn’t be here today, if not for the willingness of certain people in my life to endure my infodumps (even telling me that it enriches them) and them picking up the phone or calling back whenever I felt suicidal, even if it was in the middle of the night. This rarely happens anymore, but I’ve also accepted that it still could. I need the space to be wrong, even about being autistic. It’s unlikely, but I can’t help but go along with this line of thought after being invalidated so much. I don’t need more invalidation. Trust me, I’ve heard all the “but”s. The inner questioner is already loud enough. I need space to change, space to accomodate, space to share joys and successes without people coming to the conclusion that I must not be autistic then. How would you know? Some disabled people can “achieve” what non-disabled people can, but it might cost them more energy, accomodations and take them longer: That’s the key difference without wanting to generalize. Some people invalidate me by saying that they have the same traits, yet they are still not autistic. That might be true for them and I respect that, but just as I share a lot with cis women, it doesn’t make me cis and them trans for us to have a lot in common. There have been enough disabling moments in my life that have led to me taking these traits more seriously than just personality quirks. We all have a tendency to project our own experiences on others, myself included, but what if we instead allowed difference? People don’t wanna see themselves as disabled in an ableist world — I get it — but that’s something to question, rather than force upon others.

Something I’ve realized about me not having a “typical” career path is not just that I don’t want to function — it’s that I can’t. My body intuitively avoids what might lead to burnout and therefore I’ve realized I cannot work corporate and/or full-time, very early on. I’d rather be an artist, a writer, a musician. Anything other than a machine. That’s something I’ve given up on trying to “achieve”. Yet, frequent unemployment and precarity isn’t something anyone chooses, unless they are privileged enough to. I might be privileged enough to. I’m not negating that. It might sound dramatic, but this privileged choice lies on the other side of death, which lies on the other side of pushing oneself beyond one’s limits. I barely have any savings, but at least, I’m alive. I can live on too little money, but not on too little rest. I know how to stretch out a few euros like a red carpet for my community. It’s the privilege of growing up poor coupled with the generosity of my (chosen) ancestors in me.

PS: I don’t claim all of my ancestors, because they wouldn’t claim me either.

I'm in Kathmandu right now for the wedding of a friend. I can proudly say that I got here with the cheapest ticket I could find. I struggle with sensory overload but I also know better than ever how to accomodate for that. I already have a deep love for this place. I decided to travel not despite of my autism miss*diagnosis but because of it. Traveling has always given me perspective. I did get an ADHD diagnosis just before I left. This leaves me with a lot to reflect on and adjust to. I might start ADHD medication soon. What a healing serendipity that I'm sharing a room here with an Inuk disability rights activist from Greenland who specifically is a spokesperson for invisible disabilities. She already spoke life into me. I'm so grateful I get to be here.

Getting the ADHD diagnosis means that I got confirmation for my neurodivergence for the first time in my life, but I was honestly surprised I truly qualified. I thought maybe because I have both ADHD and autism, I might fall through the cracks in both assessments. In my own perception, I don’t have any of the typical ADHD symptoms. I’m very organized, yet this might also come from years of coping. I don’t know. What I do know is that now, I’ll go even deeper into learning everything about ADHD that I can, as I usually do. There’s a significant overlap with autism but also differences. ADHD explains a bit more why I start a lot of projects but struggle to follow through and also why I feel like an electric wire without proper insulation: My energy flowing into all the “wrong” places sometimes. It’s not neglectful or lazy. It’s a disability.

I’m just doing the best I can with the resources I have. For now, I let this be enough. On the plane ride to Nepal, I wrote into my tiny notebook dedicated to quitting my waitress* job: “I need to breathe enough into my writing and everything I do.”

Join me.

Love,

Imọlẹ

PS: Despite a “ceasefire” Israel continues bombing Palestinians. Consider supporting Workshops4Gaza — a group of autonomous writers, artists and educators organizing workshops and classes to raise money for Palestinians in Gaza. 💔

If you can, use Ecosia, instead of Google. I do too. For the Congo! ❣

I’m not perfect with not using Google, because Google is f*cking everywhere. I just try. That’s the best I can do right now. I try to boy*cott. I try to resist. I try to protest, even from my bed. I would love to give you so many more resources on what’s happening, but I also have limited capacity right now. So, plug in. Gently. ❤

Also: If you’re interested in 1:1 sessions with me. I connect social justice and creative purpose. I support you in honoring your gifts that, trust me, the world needs. 👐🏽