For Days when Neurotypicals Anger You
One of the most frustrating social interactions I’ve had recently took place with a rideshare driver a few weeks ago. The driver in question was having difficulty finding my location and driving me home. When she asked me for help, I froze and panicked, as I am severely spatially challenged on the best of days. I eventually was able to squeak out the name of the street I was located off of, but the damage was done; frustrated by the fussiness of the map and my inability to be of much help, she angrily lectured me about how I needed to learn to find my way around.
Instead of remaining silent and dignified, I broke down crying and told her that I have a disability that affects my ability to navigate myself in space (a major reason why I don’t drive). Although the driver attempted to backtrack to salvage a five-star review, the damage was done, and I spent the rest of the car ride weepy and frustrated. To make matters worse, once dropping me off the driver insisted on going into my house and speaking to my family about how I needed to learn to get myself around. Thankfully, I was able to dart into the house before she could.
This discouraging interaction and my feelings about it afterward reflect a significant change that has taken place over the past few months for me in regards to neurotypical unkindness. In the past, I used to nurse resentment towards myself primarily, outwardly frustrated by how others treated me but ultimately assuming that there must be some great deficit in me that warranted mistreatment. I no longer believe that this is the case.
Instead, I’ve come to realize that poor treatment of folks on the spectrum by neurotypicals is never warranted, especially when the cause of frustration is autistic “brain-freeze.” The struggles that autistics may have to communicate when stressed, confused, or in unfamiliar situations is often interpreted maliciously by neurotypicals. This often leads to hostility and unkindness towards autistics, which in turn triggers the “freeze” response further and can lead to complete communication shutdown even in low-support-needs autistics such as myself. Granted, the freeze response is not the only reaction that can be triggered. Some autistics may also lash out in rage towards the inhospitable neurotypical, engage in intense bouts of self-harm, or even react in ways that seem inappropriate to the situation (ie nervous giggling, chanting, singing) as a self-soothing technique.
Regardless of right or wrong, there are just some days when neurotypicals really fucking piss me off.
I’ve frequently held myself one hundred percent responsible for the times when I would freeze and “make things worse,” operating under the assumption that neurotypicality was the ultimate wisdom and that my default fear reactions were a result of stupidity and deficit. This mentality has caused a great deal of damage to my psyche, and has also caused me to be smothered and trampled on by abusive neurotypicals who I often extended unwarranted grace to.
Neurotypicals anger me; quite often, in fact. It is a difficult reality to admit, as my propensity towards moral scrupulosity has historically made me feel tainted and ashamed by my own anger. Nonetheless, regardless of right or wrong, there are just some days when neurotypicals really fucking piss me off.
The resentment I harbor from years of casual mistreatment and lack of empathy will not magically disappear overnight with a “more positive attitude,” a life philosophy focused on having a consistently internal locus of control (a principle that I grow more and more suspicious of the older I get), or gratitude. A large part of this resentment is based in the impossible standards I’ve often held myself to, and the ways in which those standards have eroded at my well-being and sense of worth.
Additionally, American culture often operates under the assumption that success and productivity is the highest good, a paradigm of virtue that scorns people seen as “less productive” or who struggle to maintain steady employment. This worldview eliminates the humanity of many neurodivergent people, those with intellectual disabilities, those with chronic physical/mental illnesses, those who struggle with substance use disorders, and those whose growth and personal development have been impacted by poverty, displacement, intergenerational trauma, violence, economic instability, and bigotry.
For far too long I have tried to operate under neurotypical realities of normal, and the end result has often been continued derision and lack of compassion for challenges unique to my autism. Attempting to understand why a neurotypical person might be unkind to me feels consistently unrewarding, as I am not often afforded the same empathy in kind. I find it mind-boggling that social reciprocity, an unspoken social principle of survival, is often completely ignored by neurotypicals when it comes to extending empathy towards disabled people.
How, then, do I survive in a culture not built to love and support the differently-wired? In many of my past articles, I’ve written about the importance of radical self-compassion, which can be a powerful antidote to years of ingrained self-hatred and destructive cultural messages. However, sometimes our wells are empty, and self-compassion can’t be squeezed out of stones.
In addition to giving ourselves grace, I believe it is equally important to seek out gracious people who are willing to extend empathy and love. Studies done by the Trevor Project, a nonprofit that focuses on LGBTQ+ youth, have shown that having some form of support from at least one community they are a part of (school, work, or family/chosen family) can significantly reduce their rates of attempted suicides. The same principle could easily be said of neurodivergent people (many of whom, coincidentally, happen to be gender and sexual minorities as well). Empathy can save lives, which makes extending it to autistics all the more critical.
To any neurodivergents reading this: I love you. This world can be painful and unkind to us, and anger is a natural and understandable response to unkindness. Please know that there are others out there who are capable of and and willing to extend the grace we need, even if they seem few and far between. I’ve been lucky enough to find that with my dad and brother, a small circle of close friends, and my therapist, and their love and compassion have been life-saving. May you find that as well for yourself.
Memento mori.
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