Their Body, Themself
My child casually peeled their T-shirt off; I was the one who felt exposed.
It was unseasonably warm for winter in Maui, according to our guide, and surprisingly dry. We’d hiked an hour through what had been advertised as a rain forest, although I’d been picturing more of a lush-dense-overgrowth-covered-in-moss situation as opposed to the modest, ginger-infested private farmland it turned out to be.
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“I saw that God I’d been so determined to believe in not as an absolute, but as a construct that couldn’t take a joke.”
“My parents had a shared language I didn’t understand, messes I couldn’t always be there to tidy.”
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The Greatest Challenge of Raising an Autistic Child as an Autistic Parent? The Ableist World We Live In
Being disabled means hundreds of thousands of people believe they always know better than you do.
In the emergency room waiting for a potential diagnosis, I soothe myself with loops of pudgy toddlers tripping into the antics of babyhood over and over again.