Why I Can’t Be a Shiny Aspie

TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING: Discussion/Use of functioning labels,  

 Well, if it isn’t another method of discrimination I’ve just learned about. The Shiny Aspie has come to minimize the perception of autistic suffering.  

Well, let’s see…what is a “Shiny Aspie” in the first place? Well, the Shiny Aspie is a supposedly high-functioning autistic person who throws shade at a person who strives to pass for neurotypical as much as possible, while passing judgement on “lower-functioning” autistic people. Basically, a Shiny Aspie feels they are fine, while wanting a cure for “lower-functioning” autistic people. A Shiny Aspie tries to separate themselves from their tribe to be better than their tribe.  

I used to be a Shiny Aspie, mostly because I was encouraged to appear neurotypical by every society I was ever in. Family, school, church youth group, theatre students…all either tried to Make Cambria Neurotypical Again, or ostracized and made fun of me for being different. The message was clear: “Be neurotypical or be kicked out!” “Be neurotypical or be mocked!” “Be neurotypical or die!” (Hey, the last one was the title of a previous post!) I had to, for survival, become a version of a Shiny Aspie, to strive for neurotypicality, and put down others like me. In other words, for lack of a better scenario, I was like a Jew being a Nazi, or a person of color in a Ku Klux Klan hood – a hypocrite.  

But here’s the problem – I was once a “lower-functioning” autistic person. The doctor told my mother to prepare for me to never get any “better” than I was at age three. I was obviously behind other kids at that point. (Tells you how much doctors know about bringing the hope!) I had to change one stim for another at several points in my life. I spoke stiffly until my thirties. The persecution I suffered throughout my school years was nearly nonstop. I only felt that I fit in during Grad Night, the last night I would ever see any of these people. I still don’t know why most of them are my Facebook friends. I’m still shocked they contacted me.  

Anyway, to think that I am “better” than any other autistic bothers me. We are being segmented and pitted against each other in petty squabbles in order to keep us down and out. The Shiny Aspie has drunk the poisonous Kool-Aid, not knowing they are being plotted against as well. I hope they wake up from their sleep soon.  


A Tale of Lost Beauty

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth
oh nevermind;
you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded
But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself
and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before
you and how fabulous you really looked…

Read more: Baz Luhrmann – Everybody’s Free (to Wear Sunscreen) Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Take a look at this girl. Isn’t she pretty?  


The girl had no clue. 

The truth is, this is a picture of me in my teens. At the time, I did not measure up to the skinny beauties of Kate Moss and Cindy Crawford. I was a curvy girl. At the time, it was either ultra-skinny, like Kate Moss, skinny with boobs, like Cindy Crawford, and fat. There were no Kardashians; there were no Ashley Grahams. There were no models to see that I was acceptable, and no way I could be pretty at the time.  

Now I look at the Kardashians, and at Ashley Graham, and I am jealous that I am not younger. I am jealous that I did not have the chance to be pretty just by being myself. 

I’m forty now. Who knows how much potential was wasted because I did not deem myself acceptable? My mother and I live together, and I have little chance of getting out. I have no children. Of course, that is probably my fault. I vowed to have no children because I did not want them to go through the bullying I went through. (I even broke up with a boyfriend due to bullying in younger years.) I guess the bullies won in my life. Maybe I am a cautionary tale. Maybe I am not supposed to have children.  

Maybe I had to actually see my beauty after it had faded to really appreciate it. Sad thing is, maybe if I knew I was pretty, I would have taken better care of myself.

Motorized Scooter Logistics in a Restaurant

I do not go into the handicapped bathroom stall anymore, unless it’s an emergency and it’s the only one available. The reason is simple: what if my mother needed it? Or somebody else in a wheelchair or motorized scooter? I’ve seen a selfie taken of a girl who used the bathroom with the door open because she uses a wheelchair, with a man WALKING out of the handicapped stall nearby. But, taking care of my mother who uses the motorized scooter to go out to eat, I can’t think of going to a place without considerable disruption. The issue is this: The scooter, when put together, is three feet long by twenty inches wide, by three feet high. We chose a scooter which can be taken apart so we can drive a reasonably sized car and put it in the trunk. Anyway, there is considerable disruption with using a motorized scooter when we go out to eat.  

First, we have to make sure we can get in the door. First, is there a step or a ramp? Then, can we fit in the door? And then the second door? This is not an easy task, especially here in Kentucky, where we can encounter one door, with a small hallway, and a second door, even before we can get into the actual restaurant. What if the second door faces a different direction than the first door? That eliminates most Waffle House locations, and especially our local one, which is the only one less than twenty miles away. I haven’t been to a Waffle House in three years due to logistics complications. We try to get to as many locations as we can, though. We try not to complain. 

Then, there is the seating. We usually have to use a table, which I do not mind, but when they remove a seat for my mom to sit at said table, they usually have to be told to remove a second seat. Do you know how embarrassing it is to ask for what you need, especially when you have people looking around at you with disdain? Sometimes, you have to remove the seats yourself. It’s usually easier that way, though. That way, you don’t feel like you’re being a pain.   

After the seating debacle, we can order food and eat, but then comes the restroom visit. Keep in mind, my mother’s motorized scooter is twenty inches wide. Most restaurant restrooms barely have enough room for her to get to the handicapped restroom, let alone in the stall. And what if the handicapped stall is being used? She has to get off the scooter, with some difficulty, and let it potentially block the other stalls to use a regular stall. As you can see, most of the time, my mother waits until she can get home to use the restroom. 

I try not to complain too much. Sometimes, though, I can see a clear injustice in poor logistics planning, especially around the disabled. Living with somebody that uses a scooter or wheelchair kind of opens your mind.