by Amy Sequenzia

Being Proudly Autistic

Being proudly Autistic.
Being proudly Disabled.
Being me.
Telling my story because my voice is my own.
My story is mine to tell.
I define myself.

Since I was very young I have had an independent mind. Sometimes – no, many times – for a long time, I was silenced.
I was told to comply.
I was called names.
To many, I didn’t have dignity, I didn’t deserve dignity.

But I persevered.
Perseverated.
Persisted.

Some people saw my humanity.
To them, I let myself known.
Without words.
With smiles.
An occasional hug.
And joy in my eyes.

When words came to me through typing, I began telling my story.
But still, I was called names.
Some people – no, many people – dismissed my typed voice.
To them, disabled people don’t have the right to challenge the normative society’s assumptions about us.

I was silenced again.
But I didn’t lose my independent mind.
I was willingly non-compliant.
Because my story is mine to tell.
Because I am me.

I didn’t stop persisting.
Persevering.
Perseverating.

Until I found more people who would listen to me.
Or maybe they found me.
And I found my people.
They were telling their stories.
They were relentlessly persisting.

I found my people.
Disabled people.
I found my pride.
Disabled pride.
Autistic pride.

I tell my stories.
I define myself.