We’ve had our meltdowns called tantrums, our focus called obsession, our honesty called rudeness — and we’ve smiled politely at people who insist “everyone’s a little bit on the spectrum.” (Top tip: if you’ve said this, you might want to sit with why it feels that way to you.)

We’ve been told to make eye contact, sit still, smile more, stop flapping — so we learned to start masking.

But somehow, underneath all the othering and criticism, we still know joy.

In memorising galaxies of stars, Sonic lore, train timetables, you name it.
In feeling rooms, hearing electricity, solving things sideways.
In knowing the exact mouthfeel of every brand of chicken nugget.

We’ve found kinship in Discord servers and fanfic comment threads.
We’ve held onto that joy in spite of being told we’re too loud, too detailed, too much.

Meanwhile, people still spend billions trying to cure us.
Still fund abusive “therapies” that train children like dogs.
Still legislate our lives without ever asking what we need.

And we’re still here. Still weird. Still wise. Still way funnier than we get credit for.

So we’re proud. We have a Pride Day in the truest protest sense.
Proud in the “we found each other anyway” sense.
In the “you’ll never scrub the weird out of us” sense.

Happy Autistic Pride Day.

We don’t need awareness. We need a seat at the table — or better yet, our own table, with sensory-friendly seats, some D20 dice and a karaoke machine.

Everyone deserves support and understanding — to be seen, heard, and met as their full self. Presume competence. Presume depth. Presume that we feel, hurt, and dream just like you — because we do.

Image from a workshop with young autistic teens exploring identity. Not a finished piece to show and tell — but a tool, an exploration, a vehicle for busy hands and busy brains during deep, complicated conversation.

#AutisticAndFabulous #NotYourInspiration #NeurodivergentCulture #WorldAutisticPrideDay #NoCureJustCulture