What I Mean When I Say I'm Autistic: Unpuzzling a Life on the Autism Spectrum

by Annie Kotowicz

I didn’t immediately notice the ways in which sensory discomfort was chipping away at my well-being, but I did immediately relate to descriptions of sensory joy—the ecstasy that I feel from heavy bass, wicker rugs, matte books, and flickering firelight.

At some point, enough is enough. At some point, you have to abandon the urge to justify yourself further, because it’s a moving target. If you find comfort and joy in the same things that give autistic people comfort and joy, then no one can take that away.

For me, showing someone where they’re wrong feels like keeping them safe from the consequences of their mistake. It’s a collaborative pursuit of truth, not a power move.