I didn’t get diagnosed until nine and, before that, the only special ed help that I received was a program mostly for kids in broken homes in a retired principal’s house. But since that went only to the first grade, my mother homeschooled me for second, and the beginning of third, grade. However, just sitting doing a bunch of book- and paperwork lessons all day has never connected with my way of learning. That’s always been more my mother’s way of learning, and I think she assumed that just because I’m her daughter, I would automatically learn in the same way. She also couldn’t accept that I’m not the straight-A student that she was.

Special projects, art, and special demonstrations have always been more my way of learning. I can remember my mother doing exactly one project with me, and that was after I finished reading Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House on the Prairie. We made a replica of the house in Kansas out of a bunch of paper towel rolls with the roof and family out of cardboard cutouts—the latter, which my mother copied from illustrations in the book. My mother then insisted on putting all of the family cut-outs inside of the house replica and sealing it with the roof. She also wouldn’t cut out a door in it as she didn’t want me to reach back in to take them out.

I didn’t receive any special education at Shirley Elementary, my school in Arkansas. Since it was in a rural town, I’m not sure that Shirley even had much of a special education program. The only thing I remember closest to that was when *Mrs. Blanken, the counselor who tested me to make sure I was ready to be placed in a third-grade classroom. I believe that I was earning mostly C’s, so I wasn’t doing super badly. But, also considering the abuse that I was still enduring at home plus my parents’ separation and subsequent divorce, I never felt as if I really learned much from there.  I also hadn’t been diagnosed just yet.

It wasn’t until after my grandparents got me diagnosed at nine that I was able to receive the learning center assistance in subjects that I was the weakest in: math and reading comprehension. I didn’t connect with either one at all back then. Today, my reading comprehension and critical thinking skills are no contest to what they used to be. Although if you were to make me do a reading comprehension assignment now, I would still have to look back at the text to make sure I’m getting all of the important information and that I’m remembering everything right.

I was also in speech therapy through my school for almost three years, which I found very helpful, at least in the short term. Unfortunately, though, it didn’t help with my stress stammering in the long run. Though I sometimes also stammer when I haven’t verbalized in a little while. I hate it when that happens, too! Though I’ve found that warming up my old choir voice to my car music really helps me keep that in check.  I didn’t realize until very recently that music is also a sensory seeking thing for me.

However, the special education class that helped me the most was my Job Club class in high school. It prepared me for basic interview, and on-the-job etiquette, for considering the entirety of a job description before deciding whether to apply. And then, wearing our “uniform” of black pants and a white shirt, we would go out on mini unpaid internship-like fieldtrips to practice working. Usually with minimum-wage jobs like stocking, cleaning/busing tables, and helping out in food court restaurants. Though they “promoted” me to assisting a local elementary school art teacher when I told them that I was hoping to do that after college.

I believe that it’s partly thanks to my Job Club class that I’m the dedicated employee that I am today. That and I come from a family with a very strong work ethic.

It scares me that, without all of the special education assistance and therapies that I did have, I probably would’ve been thrown in an institution. It scares me that that could be the future for kids with disabilities again. That they will grow up being deprived of those rights, deprived of their sense of humanity, and deprived of their sense of individuality, not knowing the freedoms that my generation has been very fortunate to have. Which is what JFK and others, like Judith Heumann, worked so hard, even put their very lives on the line, to ensure wouldn’t happen again.

This is why disability advocacy is needed now more than ever. And why I consider myself to be one now.

Lacy Pierce

I am writing this on April 18th, which, surprisingly, I didn’t know until today is Autistic Pride Day.

Personally, I don’t think of my autism as something to be proud of exactly. But anything that aims to uplift the existence and acceptance of neurodivergence/disability, I’ll take.

The Main Disadvantage of the Neurodiversity Movement

However, I believe that one major disadvantage of some of the neurodiversity movement is that it tends to inadvertently blind itself to those with higher support needs.

I know how lucky I am not to be in that category. That I can verbalize, write, drive, make my own decisions, and work. But there are some of us who are unable to do any of those things. I have personally met a few fellow autistics who are nonverbal, can’t get their bodies to do what they want them to, have little to no sense of danger, etc. And, in my opinion, excluding them is unfair and dangerous.

Autism/neurodivergence is not a fixed condition and can change at any time. Like my hearing sensory issue when I was 10 ½, the ones who start out nonverbal but become verbal later in life, or vice versa, etc.  

Do I believe that autism/neurodivergence is inherently bad? No. Do I believe that society keeps the majority of us more disabled than necessary. Very much so.

The Other Dangers of Ignorance

However, unlike what a lot of fellow autistics think, most of that is not deliberate as much as a result of sheer ignorance of how complicated autism/neurodivergence really is. Anytime I start to lose sight of that, all I have to do is remember the kids in the Communication Behavioral Disorder (CBD) program at my elementary school. How I initially thought that they were acting stupid on purpose and were being allowed to get away with it. *Cringe!* But I was just a little kid who’d had very little exposure to disability up until then. Still, that makes any continuous blindness that has ever been present on my part since an inadvertent hypocrisy.

It is that kind of ignorance, and then some, on the part of our government today that is making it dangerous to have autism now. With RFK Jr perpetuating the old disproven vaccine-autism link myth. Going around looking for environmental “causes”. Trying to link certain agents in certain medicines to it. And, overall, screwing around with something that he clearly knows nothing about!  As if autism is some simple “problem” that can be fixed.    

Ever since coming into the belief, and subsequent acceptance of, my own autism, I, too, now see it as much less of a “problem” to be fixed. And much more of a different way of being that the mainstream world, as it currently stands, is not built to accommodate. And, right now, our government is only making that worse.  

Part of Life

Autism/neurodivergence shows up in every one of us as uniquely as the shape of two snowflakes. It’s part of being human, and I’m also increasingly convinced, part of life.

I have worked as a dogwalker for four years now and, in these four years, have met one dog that I could swear was autistic. Or, at least, had a lot of sensory processing issues. He hardly responded to his name. He couldn’t stand to get his paws wet. Like me until I was 10 ½, he seemed to have supersensitive hearing. Unlike most other dogs I’ve met, he couldn’t stand to have his ears scratched. He barely tolerated a long stroke, and yet when I tried that, he very quickly moved away from the motion of my hand. One day when I was walking him, a car with a loud muffler drove by, and I could tell that he was pained by it, poor guy.

My hearing may not be owl sharp anymore but that doesn’t mean I don’t still find certain things, such as loud mufflers, any less annoying. I think they’re very unnecessary, and I really wish they would make those illegal again! Thankfully, at least, there aren’t too many where I live.

Anywhoo, if we’re seeing autism/neurodivergence even in animals, that can only mean that it is, in fact, a natural part of life. And if so, it’s tragic to embrace it as anything less.

Lacy Pierce

As a result, I proceeded to explain to him in so many words in the messaging area of that platform that being autistic doesn’t make him dumb or stupid. That it simply means that his way of being is significantly different from what is currently considered to be the mainstream “norm”. That autism is simultaneously a disability, but that it’s not bad to be disabled.

He asked me why I was telling him that, but unless he was doing so emotionally, I don’t know why, since he put it right there on his profile page! Okay, maybe he did mean it as a joke. But putting yourself down like that is not a good way to joke about yourself! At least not to me. It doesn’t make him very approachable, and it especially won’t make any women want to date him. Even if he did mean it as a joke, he’s obviously very insecure about himself.

A couple of years ago, I saw this older guy who lived a few doors down from me who would take his walks in the middle of the street wearing a t-shirt that said, “I’m autistic, therefore it’s okay to bully me”. The first time I saw that, I was enraged beyond description! I don’t even want to guess how or where he got it, and, again, I was heartbroken that he’d obviously internalized that kind of message about himself.

I’ve been misunderstood, dismissed as weird, standoffish, and sometimes even rude for my entire life. But that does not mean that I will go along with seeing myself as “dumb”, “stupid”, or as deserving of being bullied! One part of me already believes I/we are deserving of the latter, so I am also not about to further enable that.

Instead, I will use my acceptance of my autism to promote awareness/acceptance as well as self-awareness/acceptance and live more fully as myself.

Thank you very much for listening.    

Lacy Pierce

*Name has been changed

Especially from when I was four until I was eight, both of my parents expected me to have an explanation for my every emotion. One would get angry and hit me when I didn’t, and the other significantly lacks empathy and doesn’t even understand it when people get highly emotional. And what little kid understands their emotions without being taught how to properly navigate them?

It wasn’t until these past few years when I started to finally believe that I’m autistic that I realized that part of the reason I couldn’t explain my sudden crying outbursts was that they were meltdowns. It wasn’t that I was doing it on purpose, the way my parents obviously thought that I was. Or that I wanted it to happen. It was that I couldn’t help it, and I didn’t understand what was happening to me or why.

No one else was there to provide me with any proper guidance, either. I also never had a meltdown when I was away at school or in public at that time that I can remember.

After the 1995 accident happened and my grandparents took over the meat of raising me, my maternal grandmother, to give her credit where it’s due, was the first to show me that emotions aren’t a bad thing. And was the first to point out that I tend to “bury my emotions too deep”, which she wasn’t wrong. But, still, and partly due to her own unhealed childhood trauma, my grandmother’s idea of being emotionally expressive was being a constant basket case, which annoyed the crap out of me and everyone else in my family!

But, still, there were times (never at a funeral, thank God!) when I couldn’t help but burst out laughing, not completely aware that everyone else around me couldn’t hear my thoughts. If anyone asked me what was so funny, I would immediately clam up, feeling as if I’d done something heinously wrong.

I know that some of my sense of humor is rather childish. To this day, I’ve never met anyone else who ever sang “Old McDonald had a toilet” or came up a joke like, “What do call scrubbing the floor with your butt? Useless!” that I know of. I also didn’t want to embarrass anyone with it.  My former “friend”, *Caitlyn, at some point, told me that I “laughed for no reason” and that was when I’d say, “what happened to just being happy?” But my laughter has, unfortunately, become less frequent with time and age.

Discovering my Alexithymia and The Beginning of Its Deconstruction

**To clear any confusion, no, I do not have any reason to believe that I have DID, as I do not dissociate into alter personalities. I’ve simply been doing inner child work since around 2021, building on the foundation of the “Depression Queen”, whom I first “met” at the start of my college days.**

Alexithymia wasn’t in my vocabulary until about my early or mid-30’s. As soon as it was, I knew almost immediately that it made so much sense for me. Especially the times when I was aware that I was feeling something, but couldn’t describe it. And that I’m often aware of my emotions only when they reach their almost- or maximum height.  

However, I didn’t realize just how much alexithymia I have until very recently, when I started an essay just a few days ago about my hatchet burial trip to Fairfield Bay, Arkansas, in 2024. It’s only been then that I’ve finally recognized that my pain doesn’t always show up as the stabbing sensation, but sometimes as a profound feeling of disconnection.

Lately, the more I’ve tried to navigate myself, the more disconnected I’ve felt. It’s only now that I’ve recognized it as a thick shield that I had no choice but to build in childhood for my survival. Into a month from my 40th birthday, I can say that I have never experienced a greater frustration than feeling blocked from myself.

However, one piece of success that I’ve had is finally being able to magnify what you would call my “inner child” (IC), or the emotional part of myself that’s heavily damaged and makes up a good majority, but not 100% of, my obsessive compulsive thoughts. I’ve been trying to convince IC to stop listening to and believing what “Depression Queen” says, and the horrific images-such as those of me being a victim of violent crimes- that Depression Queen often likes to dump.

But, so far, unfortunately, I haven’t had much success. IC just keeps putting up the old wall screaming that I/we don’t deserve to be loved, that we do deserve to be abused, pillaged, etc., ETC! I have found it somewhat helpful to approach IC with the “okay, let’s say for argument’s sake that’s true” angle. So, as much as IC is very glad to finally be seen, unfortunately, Depression Queen still has IC right where she wants IC-still in her clutches. I’ve tried to get IC to spend more time with my “inner parent” who is called Anamalie 2.0 (pronounced like a combination of Anna and Molly) or my wise, discerning self, and other safe “selves”. But no matter how hard I’ve tried, IC just keeps going right back to Depression Queen.

Considering that I’ve been almost nothing but disappointed in love in all forms, IC is very afraid to try to love again. IC has absolutely no trust in humanity, and for that matter, neither does Depression Queen. The difference is that Depression Queen doesn’t necessarily believe in undeservingness of love as much as she wants IC to believe that in order for her to stay halfway alive.

Where this new deconstruction of alexithymia is going to go from here, I don’t know. But one thing I do know is that this work is necessary. If I am going to do the healing work that I know I need to do to have the chance to live the life that I know I’m meant for. I need to be reborn, and I cannot let anything stop that from happening anymore.

Lacy Pierce

Usually Avoiding Other Kids as a Kid Myself

For example, when I was a little kid, most of the time, unless the adults were facilitating the activity, I avoided interacting with the other kids like the plague. While situations with loud noises akin to those with their original trauma can be very triggering for people with PTSD, my owl sharp hearing that I had until I was 10 ½ was my main reason. It was mostly my hearing that led me to mistake the other kids’ rough-and-tumble play for bullying. Plus, adult facilitation was much more predictable and orderly than kids’ play alone.

Constant Hypervigilance

Since the brain is not that great at distinguishing the present from the past, people with PTSD constantly feel as if they’re in danger again. That was partly the case with me right after the 1995 accident. Although at that time, it was mostly due to not knowing what was going to happen next, or the first thing about my place in a completely new-to-me world in which I was suddenly not made to feel as if the outside world was dark, and I was not being blamed for inviting that darkness in. And not understanding why I was having sudden flashbacks of the accident, and that it wasn’t my fault that they were there.

Also, due to my hearing sensory issue, I was constantly trying to prepare myself for loud noises and, most of the time, failed miserably. Honestly, I don’t think anyone ever noticed me jumping at gunshot sounds on TV, as no one ever offered to change the channel or turn it off when that happened. So I guess I managed to hide that pretty well. Today, I don’t even flinch when I hear the pops of what I think is illegal gun “target” practice at the golf course in my neighborhood. It happens mostly at night, too, when no one’s there.

Until just these last few years, I was also very afraid of being judged, and not just because I’ve been so misunderstood my whole life. But also because, since practically the beginning of my life, I’ve often been made to feel as if everything I do is wrong or even that I’m wrong to exist the way that I do. Like many fellow autistics and other neurodivergents, I have felt that that’s what everyone thinks of me. Which I now know was also one of the main contributors that triggered the making of my Depression Queen, what I have affectionately called my intrusive and depressive thought patterns since college.

Today, about the only things that I’m hypervigilant of are awareness of my burnouts and when I become at a high risk for a meltdown. My meltdowns have always scared me, no matter what form they take! In my case, it’s only been about once or twice that they’ve looked like a tantrum since childhood. Since then, they’ve come in the form of hypnotic anger. In which I break out into a drenching sweat, throw things not caring if I break them, my falsetto vocal cords take over, making me sound possessed, I can comfortably drive 100mph without a seatbelt, and I feel like volcanic lava that can’t be held back from destroying everything in its path.

And then just after, I’m left to feel as if I’m licking my wounds, cleaning up whatever messes I make right after, and just wanting to be alone to cool down for awhile. When I’ve taken an ice-cold shower or bath in that state, the water feels lukewarm on my skin; that’s how much my bodily temperature goes up!

And it’s even made me scared that I could end up seriously hurting someone I care about and then end up in jail for assault. That’s why I absolutely do not want to be around anyone when they happen.

When I’ve broken things, my mother has stood right in my way, and even when I’ve SCREAMED at her to “LEAVE ME ALONE!” she doesn’t budge, but just stands there snottily saying, “Oh my gosh!” or, “What’s going on?!” Which only makes it even worse. And what makes it even worse is that it’s one of the only times she even tries to be there for me. I don’t know if that’s because it’s honestly hard for her due to her mental illness or because she thinks it’s some kind of an in to try to control me again, or what. But I’ve mostly long given up trying to guess her intent anyway.

Childhood Memories Going By the Way Side

Memory loss or inconsistent memories can be a symptom of PTSD as well. Which only makes sense as our brains and bodies can only take so much before they shut off and shut down.

For the longest time, I made my past my whole identity, felt as if that was the only thing I had going for me. You know, the whole “who am I without my story?” phenomenon. Many people, bless them, tried to let me know how unhealthy that was. But, unfortunately, did so mostly in ways that, to me, were guilt-trippy and made me feel as if I was doing something heinously wrong. You know, did so in the “just let it go!” kind of way.

Well, in the first place, due to our heightened anxiety-and that’s on top of our heightened sensory issues- it tends to be extremely difficult for us autistics to just let things go. Second, I thought that they were insulting and blaming me for having that issue. And even insulting my memories themselves, and with it, also my existence.

My grandmother, at some point, told me that I tended to talk about the past “as if it wasn’t overwith” and that I needed to stop doing so. Well, in a lot of ways, for me, it wasn’t, though. And second, she didn’t give me any examples of what I could talk about instead.

It wasn’t until I was close to 30, around the time I was taking my abuse/addiction recovery coach training, that I realized that clinging onto my past like that was, in fact, nothing but detrimental to my life. Particularly of my ability to move forward and re-build my life for the better. Which is what I’m starting to do, especially now that I’m 40.

However, since I have, I’m finding that my childhood memories have become inconsistent, vague, and/or appear to have left me altogether. But that doesn’t scare me one bit. If that’s what it’s going to take for me to be able to rebuild my life, then so be it!

From here…

I know that a new me is trying to emerge. I can feel her. I currently still have too many residual blocks in many of the above-mentioned areas for that to happen easily, and still can’t see my future even a year from now. So I’m basically rebuilding with a sheep’s vision. But hey, better late than never, right?

Lacy Pierce

     However, what’s traumatic to an autistic is often not to a neurotypical, which often leads to misunderstandings. Which adds to our confusion and can further add to trauma.

A Few Examples from My Own Experiences that can be Traumatic to an Autistic

           One day, when I was in fifth grade, for the first time ever, I worked on a learning center assignment-I think it was a reading one-mostly on my own. When I finished and she saw that I had done well on it, my learning center teacher, *Mrs. Sally said to me,

           “You know I’d like to see you doing more of that. Working independently.”

           At that time, I didn’t understand that Mrs. Sally was praising what she saw as a major point of progress for me. At that time, what I “heard” was,

           “You’ve been wronging me, your homeroom teacher, para, and family being way too dependent on us! From now on, you’d better do all of the work yourself or else!”

           Though I didn’t dare say that to Mrs. Sally or anyone else. I didn’t want to risk upsetting Mrs. Sally and, at the very least, thought that I would get accused of being rude.

           Instead, that became the main starting point of my radical independence. From then on, I vowed to do everything possible myself. Unless I knew from the start that the situation/task was going to take more than one person to solve/get done, or I could no longer handle it on my own. And that has led to a lot of frustration for many people because I don’t speak up enough. And of me being further distrustful of others.

           Today, I’m still one of the most independent people I know. I especially resent the fact that I’m still living with my mother at almost 40. Even though it’s mainly because I’ve just started recovering from an almost 20-year-long shopping addiction. I’m very glad to say that thanks to finally receiving some treatment that actually understands the nature of addiction and how abuse tends to tie in with it, I’m at a point at which I almost wish I didn’t have to spend another dollar in my life.

           At least I’m very glad that I have my own car and a job. And instead of trying to go with what I think everyone else expects of me and almost inevitably failing, I’ve started being more assertive about the things I want to do, starting with this blog and other efforts I plan to make to reach others about autism awareness.

           One of the main things I’ve started to work on, however, is not just assuming mistrust of new people. Which is still very difficult for me, as I’ve always had a lot of difficulty telling who’s safe and who isn’t. I do know some things from experience and study, such as that love bombing and an expectation of upfront commitment are usually bad signs. I’ve even trained myself to recognize scammer scripts and/or excessive marketing-like script talk. Like the probable trafficker (who I will likely mention in more detail in a future post), I ran into in a QT restroom, insisting that the guy she was with had puppies in his truck, even though she was dressed like she was heading to a cocktail party.

           Lately, I’ve been finding myself flashing back to a lot of interactions from my past. Only to discover way too late that, most of the time, the other person actually was trying to be helpful to me. Like Mrs. Sally, they just weren’t doing so in a way that I easily recognized as a supportive effort at that time.

          Another example is when one of my old volunteer coordinators told me not to answer random questions on random Facebook posts. The cheap-looking ones that claim to be about traditional Christianity or that say that you’re entered for a chance to win money, etc. Although I always backed out immediately if I saw the latter message.

           But it was also the way she said it that embarrassed and put me off.  Instead of privately messaging me, she just said, “Lacy, don’t answer these!” right in the public comments below one that I’d already answered. After that, I unfriended her permanently with a self-vow to block her if she tried anything else with me.

           At that time, I thought that she was trying to treat me like a five-year-old, publicly humiliate me, and tell me who I should and shouldn’t respond to. However, I’ve since realized that she was probably acting out of genuine care for me; it was just that she was very panicked and afraid that I would fall into a very bad trap if someone didn’t speak up to me like that.

           On the other hand, I don’t exactly regret unfriending her.  That wasn’t the first time she had done something like that to me. So if I was going to bring that out in her all the time, then as far as I’m concerned, it just wasn’t worth keeping her on anyway.

Why us Autistics/Neurodivergents may be Especially Vulnerable to Processing Various Experiences as Traumatic

           The majority of us have heightened nervous systems and heightened sensory issues, which are usually not understood, let alone accommodated, by the mainstream neurotypical population. Many of us also have heightened sensitivity to rejection-that is, believing that any actual or perceived rejection is a reflection on our whole existence.

          Couple all of the above with the constant social confusion and misunderstanding on both our and the other person’s part, not recognizing the need to process it, and it’s no wonder that our anxiety levels are through the roof all the time!

           Now, combine all of the above with domestic violence in the home and/or bullying in other settings, such as schools. Then our anxiety levels will almost never come down to a resting rate!  This likely makes us extra vulnerable to PTSD and other dissociative issues, such as derealization. My experiences of both of which I will be discussing in the next article.

Lacy Pierce

Hello, my name is Lacy. Yes, that’s me above without my glasses for glare prevention. :)

This blog will be dedicated to discussions of personal experience combined with known facts/current research about autism and abuse/trauma. I have recently realized that it is my dream to promote autism awareness, as there is still way too much stigma, a lack of acceptance, and harmful stereotypes out there. A common example of the last is that autism has a certain “look” to it. Even less is currently known about how abuse/trauma effects show up in those of us who are autistic.

And, yes, I am autistic. I was first diagnosed at nine. I am also an abuse survivor as well as a recovering shopping addict and codependent. I also struggle with depression, derealization, and alexithymia. I currently self-suspect OCD, which I am planning to get evaluated for as soon as I can afford to.

In my case, depression shows up, not as a split personality exactly, but as its own form of patterns. Almost like a darker version of me that I named the Depression Queen in my college days. Depression does NOT care who you are, about your goals/ambitions in life, or your natural desire for peace and acceptance. All it cares about is destroying your very existence, and if you don't walk in resistance against it, it will swallow you whole!

It is currently estimated that between 70%-90% of us autistics have at least one co-occurring mental health or neurological condition, such as ADHD or depression. I'm no exception, which is yet another motivator for me for doing this advocacy work.

I will be addressing all of the above and more in future posts.

I have a Bachelor's Degree in Psychology as well as formal training in abuse/addiction recovery coaching. For shopping addiction coaching, I highly recommend Behavioral Cents. I have also been active on various autism-related social media platforms, studied various works, such as Temple Grandin, and have personally known several other autistics. Many of the latter of whom are also abuse/trauma survivors, and at least a couple who are higher support needs than I am. Some of them are not able to speak for themselves at all and I wholeheartedly agree that it is up to those at my level to help advocate for them as well.

Lacy Pierce