The Wonderful Wizard of Oz - Self-Redemption and Art

The Wonderful Wizard Of Oz

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The Flying Monkeys Of Oz

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The Magic Art of The Great Humbug

A few days ago I attended an art and writing workshop at Broadacre House in Newcastle run by Launchpad.  The subject of the workshop was stigma.  The day was very good.  Lovely people.  Lovely conversation.  And we all enjoyed ourselves.  After some exercises to get our creative brains working we were told to write something about stigma with a view to creating a piece of art related to the subject by the end of the four hour session.



We were given a whole twenty minutes to write.  Later in the day our writings were taken and typed up.  I wish I'd proof read the typing on the day.  There are mistakes in it.  That's a shame because all of our writing and art from the day is going on public display in two locations through mental health week.  I may have to go along on the first day with Tippex and a pen!

Twenty minutes.  I spent the first five of these minutes boiling a kettle and making a much needed mug of spiced tea.  So fifteen minutes.  Here's the result.  I finished before the fifteen minutes were up too!

Self Redeeemed

Don't speak to me and I won't speak to you.

Won't mention it, imply it, talk it out.

It's a private thing you say, too much for you.

“Why don't I just stop?” you say.

“Stop being autistic, difficult, so bloody selfish.

Snap out of depression you ungrateful bastard.

And if you mention a personality disorder again?”

But I didn't mention it. You did.

And yet, the biggest stigma was in my own head.

Autism? No way. Can't be true. I'm not one of them.

Not shut in. Not melting in the street.

Not much anyway.

Not some mono-focussing idiot savant,

The local Rain Main equivalent,

Or as socially inept as a Sheldon.

BPD? No way. Can't be true. I'm not one of them.

It's just wrong, like all the other diagnoses were wrong.

I'm not like that.

And they only ever said I was because of the cuts.

It's bull. Stupid psychiatrists.

BPD? Nonsense. Just like the rest.

I'm not bipolar, schizoid, schizotypal, schizophrenic. Or any of them.

Yeah, I received stigma. Internalised it. Just another reason for self hate, calling myself a monster.

Couldn't accept the truths because I was raised proud, raised pure, raise to not be disordered.

No ASD or BPD. No Ds at all. Or they'll see me for what I am and hate me just like I deserve.

Freedom is worth fighting for.

Coming back to what I thought false myths and accepting the facts. Facing down the myths I believed and rejecting them.

And now?

ASD, BPD – and my queerness, my irreligion. So what? Inside I will broach no stigma.

I will stand. Out and proud. Out. Public. Self-accepting. Self-believing. Under no illusions.

No. Less illusions. There are still stories I tell.

Lies I kid myself with. Lies of the old monster kind.

Lies. Stories.

Can't write. Can't sing again. Can't hope.

Lies. Stories.

And they will fall too.

Now is the time to live. Free. Self-redeemed.

No matter what they say.

And they do say.

But less than I ever believed they would.

I believed they would damn me.

Because I stigmatised myself more than the so-called society ever could.

I am out and proud.

Free and self-redeemed.

Then it was time to do some art.  I can panic at art.  Panic at paint.  To be given paper or canvas and some paint and be told to create something is a thing of dread for me.  And yet.  I made something.  We all did.  Each piece arising from the honesty of our own situations and experiences.

The words in the red sections represent words that have spoken to me.  The words in that strange looking face are questions I've asked and stories I've told myself.  The words round that face are positivity.  In the midst of all the rest I am determined that those words are part of my truth.

It's not an artistic masterpiece.  But it's mine.  And I'm proud to have done something without guidance, without help, and without having a meltdown.  That's a joy for me.  Seeing the work and hearing the words of the other people in the workshop was also a joy.

As for that exercise to get our brains loosened up.  We were given a sentence to free write from.  As it turned out we were given just enough time for me to fill a page.  What we came up with was great, each person happening to go in a completely different direction.  Here's my direction.

Reluctantly, he handed over the key.

She looked at him in horror.
"C sharp major? You've got to be kidding me.  I can't play that."
"Well that's going to be a problem, isn't it missy?  I've paid for you to play and you're going to play.  Don't think I won't report you if you play it wrong."

Life as a music slave was not the worst way to survive in the new world.  At least there was food.  At least there was the transfixing joy of playing from your own soul when you weren't working.  Kate wondered.  Was this difficult, angry customer really a music expert from the old world?  Or was he just being harsh out of cruelty?

She decided to risk finding out, risk playing in a way she knew her rendition of the piece would be perfect.  Kate liked playing Bach, even with difficult intervals.  But even the master himself would never have chosen a key with seven sharps.  Kate wondered what he would think if he knew his music was being played by slaves on another world, what kind of sonata or cantata that knowledge would inspire.

She decided.  The risk was worth it.  Even if discovered the punishment wouldn't be much worse than that for playing badly.  The thought of being separated from her precious piano for a day, a week, longer, was almost unbearable.

Kate looked at the man.  He was sweating in anticipation of hearing.  He looked more a fool than a musician.

C sharp major.  No thanks.  Kate knew she would be playing the Goldberg Variations in C.  Just a semitone out.  And no sharps.  He wouldn't notice would he?

She placed her fingers on the keys, took a deep breath and began her performance.

Free Hugging In Newcastle - Part 1: Autistic Touch Aversion

Five happy huggers of Newcastle

Yes, that's me in that photo.  Twice so far this year I've joined these crazy people in Newcastle city centre and spent a couple of hours offering hugs to random strangers.  From left to right you see Joanne, Andrew, Rob, myself, and Daniel.  A great bunch of people, most of whom I've only ever met while holding "Free Hugs" signs.  I'm looking forward to meeting them all again soon.

I have an interesting relationship with hugs.  Perhaps "interesting" isn't the right word.  Mostly I'm not particularly keen on them.  For the past few years I've been able to put this down to autism.  Perhaps there's some truth in that.  But lately I have begun to suspect that claiming my aversion is due solely to that autistic bit of neurology is passing the buck somewhat, and somewhat unfairly too.  I think there are deeper issues to my hug aversion.  I also strongly wonder whether my aversion has increased not as a result of anything innate but as a result of absorbing autistic traits I read off a list or researched in a book.  A psychological osmosis.

I am autistic.  That's a given.  But lately I've been asking myself whether I allowed myself to become more autistic by absorption from pictures of what autistic people are like, and if so, to what extent I have done that.  I strongly suspect that I added or extended traits to my repertoire that weren't really my own.  And I know that I am not alone in this self-suspicion - because I have been told the same kind of thing by some other autistic people.

I also suspect that some of us, including those I know who share my self-suspicion, and quite unconsciously, have ended up using that as a handy excuse and end up more crushed by autism than lifted by a bit of extra self-knowledge.  We don't intend to do this but we do it nonetheless.  I even think back to my autism diagnostic procedure.  Did I appear more autistic there just because I knew how autistic people were meant to present and think?  Did I over-emphasise parts of myself?  Was I giving a fair assessment of my own life history?  And, since this is a blog post, have I been fair about these things when writing other posts?  Have I allowed myself to be crushed by saying "I'm autistic" and lived a reality of my own creation?

Due to other things going on in my life regarding mental health and a condition in which one of the traits is an "unclear and unstable self-concept" I have even asked myself whether I've formed a self-concept around autism and whether I'm not even autistic at all.

The answer is no.  I am autistic.  And I know this without thinking about anything I may or may not have done since asking myself, "Am I autistic?"  I know it because of the number of people, autistic and allistic, who spotted that I'm autistic before I ever began to look into it or accept the possibility.  The earliest person I know of who knew for definite that I'm autistic concluded that in late 1993.  She says it was completely obvious.  So yes, I have no doubt that I'm autistic.  I believe her.  I believe other people too.

Yet the question is still there.  Did I become more autistic by absorption?  I believe the answer to that question is yes.  I doubt I'll ever know the extent of that but I certainly changed through learning about the condition.  Some of that change was healthy.  Some of it helped.  I rather suspect that some of it wasn't healthy at all.

So.  Hugging.

Since reading about autism, and except with certain people, I've got a lot worse at hugging.  Because autistic people aren't meant to like touch, aren't meant to want hugs.  I didn't mean to get worse but somewhere subconsciously - and with my unstable self-concept - I got worse anyway.  A part of me hung an identity on autism.  Needlessly.  I completely unintentionally added to myself from the autism checklist.  I also discovered parts of myself that were already there but repressed.  Working out which is which is going to take a while.  I strongly wonder how many adult-diagnosed autistic people do something similar.

I've been trying recently to overcome this particular hug aversion trait.  I was never hug lover of the year but I didn't have the problems of the last few years.  I remember back to my time in the Jesus Army.  There was a lot of hugging.  I dealt with that and it was okay.  Through my life I'd never ordered people not to hug me.  In the past few years I've done that and played my handy autism card.  Some autistic people do need to play it.  They've been severely hug averse since long before finding out that they're hug averse because of a condition.  But me?  I unintentionally used autism as an excuse.  I think I've used it in quite a few areas too and unpicking reality from excuses is going to take some time.

Sometimes the attempt at overcoming this trait or excuse has been difficult.  Sometimes I still have to say a very firm "NO!" to hugs.  But I'm getting better.  Being out on the streets of Newcastle with the wonderful people in that picture is part of that process.  I know by doing so I'm doing something that most people wouldn't do.  Even hug lovers wouldn't stand in a busy shopping area with a "Free Hugs" sign.  Yesterday someone warned me to be careful if I did it because it's really dangerous and people might attack me.

I don't like hugs much.  But I can stand and hug strangers.  And that means a great deal to me.  Maybe hugs aren't so bad after all.  Maybe I'll return to how I was before I ever read about touch aversion in autistic people.  Maybe I'll progress further than that.  I hope so.

I'm autistic.  But I can be a hugger too.  Because so much of my touch aversion turns out to be a story I told myself.  It's not real at all.

And if I can be a hugger, what else can I be?  What other autistic stories have I told myself that were never real at all?  I'm good at telling myself stories and living them.  The "I'm no good at social things" story is a classic false tale I told myself many times.  It's time I stopped allowing stories to hold me back.

Next time I'll talk more about the Free Hugs experience.  I'll talk about people's reactions to us and about some of the people I spoke with last weekend while offering hugs.

And next time you see me I give you permission to ask for a hug.  I may still say no.  But I might surprise both of us and give you a proper hug.  I'm told I'm quite good at them!

Experiences Of Northern Pride From One Autistic, Trans Queer Woman

 

 

 

My experience of Pride was surprisingly good yesterday. Of course I never approached the main stage or the dance tent or the cabaret or the fair ground. With my sensory issues it's hard to be there at all. I have to miss out on some of what is on offer. And I admit that I miss out on some of it by deliberate choice.

I'd had a difficult morning. Much anxiety and tears and I wasn't going to attempt Pride at all. I was going to Durham - to give my soft toy a birthday adventure because I'm odd like that. But I decided we'd go and see if being part of the parade was possible. I had a look but it was too crowded and noisy and I wasn't coping. There was an opportunity though for the birthday toy to meet the mayor of Newcastle and to point out to a vegan that the flag she'd been handed was representing Nando's.

Later I found myself watching the parade. That's a new experience for me. I've never watched it before. Keep together next year guys! Too many big gaps were forming.

But about two thirds into the parade a friend from Spectrum Theatre - a group for autistic adults - spotted me and dragged me (I exaggerate) into the parade. So I paraded and wished I hadn't left my trans flag at home and had dressed more wildly for such an occasion. My soft toys paraded too of course and really enjoyed it. Because I'm odd like that. Everyone was fortunate. The weather forecast was for lots of rain but the parade was dry and much of the day remained dry too.

I saw more trans flags being toted than I've seen before. And noticed more of other flags too - I hardly saw them at all other years. Bisexual, Asexual, Pansexual, Poly. It was good to see. Pride events can forget to be properly inclusive and sometimes they've been known to actively stand in the way of proper inclusion. These flags had nothing to do with the organisation of the event but each one clearly stated "We WILL be included. We are here and are not going away."

I wasn't going to enter the actual event. I knew I'd want lunch and you're not allowed to take lunch with you. No more friendly picnics are possible at Pride unfortunately. I also knew it would be very noisy and that it's always hard work to be there. But I entered the event. Knowing there would be free pens inside.

I hastily drank my bottle of tap water on the way in knowing that it would be binned otherwise. The signs say "No alcohol" can be brought in but I knew from last year that my tap water would be confiscated too.

A couple of the delights inside:

The worst thing I experienced was the stalls - from relevant LGBT+ groups, local friendly crafty people, and corporates and unions. It wasn't the stalls themselves that were bad. But the gap between the rows of stalls was just far too narrow. It can't have passed the minimum width for health and safety by much. It was really crowded and it was hard to move or to see everything and I got pretty overwhelmed with it. I know a lot of people found it difficult, including the stall holders. Northern Pride need to take a good look at this because it's just uncomfortable and it's not as if there's no space to spare to make it a much more comfortable experience for everyone.

The most enjoyable thing for me was the youth and children's area and not being turned away from it by a grumpy security guard like happened a couple of years ago when I actually had a reason to be there. I knew that a woman who does lots of woodland and craft things was there this year so I went in and made a dream catcher with her. The main tent had lots of craft activities and also had a sensory area run by Sensory Spaces an excellent local charity working with autistic children. In that area I found friends who happened to be there. It was pleasant and relaxed. It was also at the point furthest from any of the different music going on around the site.

It was also good to bump into lots of people I've met in different places over the past four years. Only one of those places, Northern Lights MCC is directly connected with queer issues. I'm fortunate to have found safety and acceptance in so many other places and to have found good people almost wherever I turn.

I spent zero at Pride. One of the stalls had free bottles of water and I was able to finish off a cake at the Northern Regional Gender Dysphoria Service stall in the health zone. That was enough to get me through. Hoorah!

I left the event just before five o'clock. Others may stay until midnight and then go and party the night away. But five o'clock is a record for me. By that time I'd had enough and I was wandering round the health zone in a "Clare has quite an obvious learning disability" kind of way that happens when my brain has really had enough. I have an IQ above 150 and have many coping strategies. But sometimes autism becomes very, very obvious.

That was my Pride. I'd thought about going to a Pride service with the Unitarians this morning but they had to cancel unavoidably. I'm glad the local Anglican Cathedral offers a Pride service too and that it isn't the only church in the city centre to hang rainbows. I don't think I can make the vigil service tonight run by MCC. That's a shame.

The picture by the way is from last year. If I'd known I'd be parading again this year in dry weather I'd have taken my placard again. And left everyone wondering what the hell those flag colours might represent.

Consequential Loss - Notes On A Radio Play And Autistic Theatre

I recently took the plunge and joined up with a theatre group for autistic people.  It's a pretty new group and the people there are varied.  There autism is as varied as they are.  What everyone shares is enthusiasm.

The core group meet currently for one day a week, being joined for the morning by a group from a local college of ESPA (Education and Services for People with Autism).  We have fun and are supported in what we do by two paid staff members who work more or less full time for the Twisting Ducks Theatre Company which is run for people with learning difficulties and (now) autism.

I feel very fortunate to be able to go and have fun with the people of Spectrum Theatre - the autistic child of the Twisting Ducks.  It is hoped that in the future some extra funding can be obtained which would mean that the work of Spectrum could develop a lot further.  Also in the near future there's going to be an eight week creative writing course - which we're really meant to call creative storytelling in recognition that there may be people on that course who have amazing imaginations but who can't write or can't write well enough to set down their fantastic stories on paper.

I'm also very fortunate in that the current funding obtained for Spectrum means that the day that's laid on for we autistic people is free of charge.

I've met some great people in Spectrum, all autistic and all experiencing joys and trials that accompany our condition.  And it's just one more way for me to open up to my own creative possibilities and the possibilities of others.  For now it is a place I will stay.  I make no predictions for the future.

Almost the first thing the core group were asked to do was to write a radio play.  Each of us would write, with the idea being that we will record the plays and put them out on a local community radio station.

I've written quite a lot in the past year, though not as much I would have liked.  But I've never attempted a play either from scratch or from adapting one of my crazy stories.

I have now written a play.  And then it had to be edited - the censor's pen had to be used.   The broadcasts would be daytime and I accidentally wrote something with adult content and language including rather more swearing than families would appreciate.  I'd written a late night show or something to adapt into a theatre piece with a 15+ age warning.

I've been my own censor though.  The fruity language has been removed or toned down and I wonder in places whether I've lost realism.  I've adjusted quite a few lines.  Watered down sex references and some imagery that the BBC controller would have banned.  I'm glad the actual plot is unchanged.  There's still the darkness and light, the despair, the betrayals, the hope.  I'm glad I haven't been asked to make the plot insipid

There's also the matter of religion.  One of the characters is a religious homophobic bigot.  I can write religious bigots.  I know the subject first hand!  The character is quite extreme but I've known people who are equally extreme and equally nasty about it too.  I thankful I didn't get quite that bad myself in my own years of religious homophobia.  I think that the character worked as I wrote her.  She's still there too.  She's surviving the censor.  But her language and bile is a little mellowed.  I also considered the intended audience and wondered whether they would be up in arms about my attack on the Christian faith.  It's not really that of course, just an attack on a particular manifestation of the faith, the version that names people like me as abominations.  For a late night broadcast or a theatre I'd let it stand.  But not for this intended broadcast.  So I've taken pains to point out that not all Christians are like that.

Since the broadcast will be in Newcastle I've pointed to a few of the churches here in which being queer won't result in the preacher abusing you or consigning you to hell for your sexuality and gender.  Who knows?  Perhaps someone will hear it who is a Christian and is queer too but hiding the truth and fighting against themselves through guilt.  Just as I did.  Perhaps someone like that will hear and something will be planted in them that helps them seek out a place where they can live their faith in more freedom.  I can live in the hope that a radio play might do some good.

I've deliberately kept the scenes simple.  Deliberately linked them with narration from the main character.  I think, as a first attempt at writing a play, it has worked out well.  Unfortunately I now want to re-edit it to put some of the fruitier language and imagery back in and have two versions of it to play with.

Each of us in that core group has written a play.  They are as varied as we are.  I've ended up being the only one of us to include nothing from the realms of science fiction and fantasy.  Much as I love those genres - and need to get back to working on my post-apocalyptic dystopian novel - I've ended up firmly rooted in the real world.  The other plays are each filled with their own surprises and it's a good thing that they are such contrasts from each other.

My first scene was initially written at a Spectrum session.  We were all told to write a scene.  One simple idea popped into my head and it just flowed with hardly another conscious thought.  Two friends meet in a cafe.  One confesses to the other that she is having an affair.  She was having it with a man named Graham.  But as I wrote his name my pen paused, almost the only break it gave to my writing hand.  My pen considered its options.  Crossed out the word Graham.  And wrote the word Erica.

Since that day I haven't made any enormous changes to the scene - just a few, arising from details the characters gave me about themselves as they wrote the rest of the play for me.  It's always nice when people can hardly believe that I've just written something from scratch in a writing session.  That happens sometimes.  Other times I can hardly write anything at all and any words that get miserably scrawled should really only be filed in the embarrassing section.

I hope that writing the play has taught me something about the process.  Something I can put to good use later.  I hope too that it will give me a little more confidence in writing conversations.  I never used to include much in the way of conversation because I didn't think I understood the rules of conversation well enough to write one.  I hope that this play is a step on the path to being able to write realistic and engaging talk.  I don't think I'm there yet.

Sometime soon I'll probably post the whole play here.  Unless I go crazy, edit it more and try and get someone more professional to record it.  That's always a possibility.

So, onwards with Spectrum.  See where it leads.  I'm guessing it may throw me in a few surprising directions.  And I'm happy with that idea.

A Letter To The Telegraph About Autism and Special Interests

A letter to The Daily Telegraph.  I'll explain it afterwards.

Image taken from the page mentioned below

Dear Sirs,

I read with interest your article of June 12th regarding the difficulties of being autistic.  I note that the article was written by someone who is not themselves autistic and am dismayed to see that his portrayal of the autistic experience was overwhelmingly negative.  I am writing to you as a happy autistic woman in order to correct this portrayal by focusing on a positive aspect of being autistic.

Being autistic is a trial.  No doubt about it.  You wouldn't ever look at us and say, "Wow!  I wish I was autistic too."  Not with everything we go through.  Your article was right.  The autistic experience can be excruciatingly difficult.

But it can be a great joy too.  People talk of autistic ecstasy and that's a thing.  It's real.  For me at least, and I choose to focus on the joy.  When I can.  Sometimes that overwhelming overloading collapse of everything within takes over.

I'm not going to list the joys and the total fun I have.  I just want to tell you about one aspect of it.  You see, we autistic people tend to focus in on things.  When we find that particular thing our brains scream out, "Wow! Wow! This is for me!" and then we don't ever let go of it and seek to find an everlasting corridor filled with more and more and more of it.  It's not an obsession.  Oh no.  Not quite.  We call these things our special interests.

We all have them and we discuss them too.  Join an autism group and inevitably the subject will arise many times because we like our special interests and there's always this part of us wondering why everyone doesn't share them with us and why they switch off when we infodump at them.

So.  Imagine the online conversation.  Me?  I don't have to imaging.  It's already happened.

New member:  Just out of interest, what are everyone's special interests?

Old members:  Trains.  Helicopters.  Tapestry.  My Little Pony.  Or, and these are all common, Nazis.  Serial Killers.  Murder.  And darkest of all, weather forecasting.

They read about these things.  They know everything.  Collect ponies.  Become meteorologists.  They don't actually become serial killers of course.

Then it's my turn.  They ask me, "What are your special interests?"

Me:  Fraud, bigamy, and highway robbery.

You read that right.  I should explain though, clarify a little.  Because while fraud and bigamy are true and perfect special interests, robbery is just a hobby.  It makes me happy.  After a hard day, when autism has given me problems and my brain feels like it's going to implode and explode at the same time, after those days there's nothing better than popping out for a bit of highway robbery.

Being outside helps me.  Under the bare black night sky when the rushing clouds call to me or the stars send messages that it's all going to be okay.  I'd be out there anyway, even without the robbery.

And I say all this in the groups.  Explain how I get a thrill from all the logical steps you need to successfully get away with fraud.

I talk too about how you need to be very careful when indulging in a spot of bigamy.  Or biandry.  Polyandry really because right now I have four husbands on the go.  James is alright.  But the other three are complete shits.  I'm looking forward to divorcing them but it's a complicated business and I have to follow all the logical plan perfectly.  I love logical plans.  They make me tingle inside.  It's hard to get a worthwhile divorce settlement from your rich shit of a husband when you're not legally hitched in the first place.

Sometimes the things I say produce less than positive reactions, even in an autism group.  I don't know why.  I mean, trains and My Little Pony?  How dull can you get?  But I don't moan when people are into weird things.  Some of those people don't grant me the same respect when I'm sharing my happy things.

Fraud, bigamy and highway robbery.

Talk about autistic ecstasy!

Pointing a pistol at a tourist and demanding their cash and valuables.  Now that's ecstasy.  You wouldn't understand it.  Unless you're autistic too.  I would ask therefore that all future articles you publish about autism would be more positive than the one I read this week in order to reflect the deep wonder we can find in this world.

Yours Faithfully.

Ann Meders



On June 13th I attended a writers' group.  The subject of the morning was female highwaymen, or highwaywomen depending on your preference.

During the course of the session an article was read about several of these women.  If you care to read it you can find it here.  One of the sentences reads, "Alongside highway robbery, Ann Meders born in 1643, made fraud and bigamy her special interests."

That was enough for me.  Out of all these women, the bored and the desperate, out of all their deeds, I couldn't leave that sentence behind.  Hence the above letter.  It was actually free written in the cafe as a monologue.  I've altered it a little to make it a letter, but only as far as necessary.  Ann Meders was hung at the age of thirty.  I think my fictional autistic Ann would get into trouble too after sending that letter.

I will stress that while I have my special interests, and while special interests do get discussed sometimes in groups, I do not share the interests of Ann Meders and I haven't seen Ann's interests raised.  I've seen all the others she mentions in her letters.  They're real.  But I haven't seen anyone plotting how to defraud their illegal husbands.  I also have no good reason to claim Ann as an autistic woman or to place a seventeenth century highway robber in the position of being able to join online autism groups. 

My Transgender Coming Out Story - A Tale of Difficulties and Deep Joy

So this is me.  Or one version of me.  A selfie taken a few days ago in a moment of deep joy and contentment at the top of a hill not too many miles from home.  I share it because it's where my story is right now, four years after coming out as a transgender woman.  There I am.  Just me.  In what is one of the stranger pictures.  You won't see many selfies of a transgender woman in a post about being transgender that look quite like this one.  Welcome to my reality.  I like it.  Especially when I'm being a little more crazy or weird than usual.

I just read an article about what one person has learned coming out as a non-binary trans person at the age of 43. After 100 days they say they did everything too fast. Their experiences are those of one person.  It is their truth.

My experiences and truth are also those of one person. They're bound to be a little different because I'm a woman, pure and simple, and about as far from non-binary as any woman gets. The article got me thinking about my own transgender life and the way I came out to the world and began to live publicly as a woman.

Here's a little of my experience. Just one woman trying to navigate her way into her truth. I've free written what follows and haven't edited at all.  Any mistakes are my own.

I came out to myself in a way I couldn't ever deny again at the age of 43. 43 years to get to that point. From then on things moved quickly.

2 weeks on: I dressed solely in women's clothes. Except when preaching. Not publicly in skirts and dresses. Not yet. But solely in woman's clothes I'd bought for myself via the miracle of very cheap charity shops. I didn't have a clue what I was doing. Everything was a matter of experimentation and sometimes I got it very wrong and nobody told me quickly enough before I had a chance to inflict my lack of dress sense on the world.

4 weeks on: I had told pretty much everyone that I was now Clare. The church leaders panicked about how to tell everyone and that delayed legal changes and the whole process. Most people were okay about it. Some people rejected me. Some people told me at length how staggeringly wonderful they were to not totally reject me. Gee, thanks!

8 weeks on: Having sorted things out with the church and had a ten day holiday as Clare (during which time my transition was officially announced to the congregation) I got round to legally changing my name. Much paperwork. Some people change their name quite often. They must love paperwork.

I was that (appearing to the world) 40 something man in a frock. Dark shadows of stubble. No make up. No hair removal. Hair that I'd cut short a few weeks before coming out. Totally, completely obvious. I was yet to meet anyone from Tyne Trans (as was). I had asked the GP to refer me to the gender dysphoria service – 27 days after coming out to myself, half of which was waiting for the appointment! - but my first appointment wasn't until three and a half months after signing that deed poll. To all intents and purposes anyone who saw me in the street would have clocked me as a cross dressing man not as a woman determined to be herself.

And sometimes, unsurprisingly, the world made things bloody difficult. Bloody difficult. Transphobia is real. If I had phoned the police every time I experienced it I would have been phoning a lot. Every. Single. Day. At times it was horrible. Truly horrible. And I was one of the more fortunate ones. Others have suffered a hell of a lot more than me after coming out. Every one of them is amazing for getting through that hell. When people quote the suicide and attempted suicide rate for transgender people I can only wonder why it isn't higher. For the record, in the UK nearly half of all transgender people have attempted suicide.

Four years have passed since I came out and demanded to be called Clare and she. Woe to anyone who deliberately calls me he or protests that they don't see an issue with it if I get misgendered or who tells me it's too hard to remember that I'm female and so would like to be addressed as female. Fortunately that doesn't happen much now – and most people I see never knew me as he. Yes, pretty much my entire life, excepting family, is filled with people I didn't know four years ago.

I've learned a lot in those four years.

Would I do it again? Come out like that?

You bet I would. Except I'd have done it quicker.

And I wouldn't allow a religion to delay anything. I truly wish I'd come out to the church in the middle of a sermon I preached. It was very tempting indeed and I wish I'd done it. After coming out I was told that it would be "inappropriate" for me to preach or lead anything in case "anyone is ever worried." All the confusion. All the having to meet with diocesan pastoral advisors and so on. Just so I could be banned and yet find that the congregation itself was supportive. Yeah, I wish I hadn't let the panicking of the CofE delay me for one second.

If I knew now what I knew then I wouldn't have been so afraid. And to be honest I spent the entirety of those 8 weeks in a state in which my great joy at accepting myself was mixed with an immense amount of terror. Some days I didn't know whether I could do it and without my immediate family and the support of another church - Northern Lights MCC - I might have taken longer about the whole thing.

If I knew now, there would have been less fear. And I would have reached that deed poll milestone quicker.

I have regrets. I shouldn't. Because what's the point? I might as well regret not coming out when I was at college – and I was thinking only this morning of a couple of times the truth was very close to the surface in my mind and how things could have been different if I'd only chosen to speak one sentence differently. I might as well regret my A level choices or giving up the violin when I was nine or anything else that I can't change. Maybe they're not regrets. And each one led in some way to my life being as it is.

But I'd certainly change some parts of the coming out process if I had the chance. Not just the CofE thing.

I regret not telling my online world en masse rather than having to pluck up courage - through terror, always through terror - to tell people one at a time. I'm grateful my mum accidentally outed me to some people, after which I just said "To hell with it" and told the rest.

I regret that my Facebook account is not the one I had under my old name. There were many years of history on that old account and I wish I'd kept it back than and closed this one. The account is still there. With no friends. My old name isn't even friends with my new name.

I regret how defensive I've been about the whole trans thing and how much of that arose from fear and an expectation, borne of 43 years of self rejection and self hatred, that many people who reject and hate me too. I guess most people who come out can got through an over-defensive time arising from that same fear. Bear with us, we get over it – just don't expect us to ever give way to prejudice. We won't.

But these regrets and others are only little compared to the satisfaction and life-changing wonder of coming out at all, of acceptance. It's not just that I'm happier as Clare, more content, and so on. My life has been completely changed in many ways that wouldn't have been possible probably had I not done this. Or if possible, very unlikely.

I have met so many amazing people I wouldn't have met otherwise - including many of you. I've been so blessed. And I meet many more amazing people every time I uncover a little more of myself – this transgender, autistic, creative, weirdly spiritual, nature loving woman.

I've done amazing things too. In my own way. And being Clare has allowed me to start to work through other aspects of my life and being and slowly begin to heal and allow myself to be me.

Without coming out I don't think I'd have been able to accept being autistic. I don't think I'd be exploring creativity as I am. I wouldn't have encountered Broadacre House, wouldn't have completely transformed my faith and spiritual life - and I don't think I'd ever have found the freedom to leave church and start to find my own path again.

Yes. It's been bloody difficult. And there have been lots of difficult things in the past four years. Autism - yeah, that's been tougher than being transgender in very many ways. I've cried. Lots. I've been rejected by some. I've been labelled an abomination by my own church pastor (not the CofE or MCC one). My mental health, while generally much improved, continues to be a minefield just as it always has.

But it's been worth it.

Fabulously, profoundly, superbly worth it.

And I look forward to my future as Clare, as the person I'm discovering myself to be. I am excited for my future. Excited to meet more amazing people and do more amazing (for me) things. Excited because there always seems to be a new surprise when you allow the surprises and give them permission to bring change.

I'm typing all this in my bedroom. Nearly everything in here isn't just something I didn't own before coming out. It's something I wouldn't have considered owning at all. Not just the obvious clothes. But soft toys, my books, the purple Buddha on the wall, that whisk over there that doubles as a head massager (buying it was hilarious), precious things from autism conferences, poetry books, writing books, the meditation material on the bed, precious items from Manchester, even a series of books called Skulduggery Pleasant. I wouldn't have read those if I hadn't come out.  I look at this room and know that my life is almost infinitely better for coming out.

My life is very much not as I would have expected it to be. And the changes just keep happening.  There are more on the way that I know about.  And there will be more surprises too.

I give thanks for Clare.

In ten days time I will give thanks again. For it will be the fourth anniversary of the night I looked at myself in a mirror, fully dressed as myself without guilt for the first time in my life, and greeted myself as Clare for the first time. Welcomed myself into the world.

On Gratitude And Thanking Non-Autistic People For Their Support, Autism Acceptance, And Positivity

[Note: All photos in this post are taken from the gratitude diary I kept throughout 2016.  Note too that I pretty much free wrote the following.  It's not an essay, struggled over for weeks.]


I am a great believer in gratitude.

It's no secret that I have plenty of hard days, that my mental health is sometimes shot to pieces in ways that make it hard to see the light.

Yet there is light.  There is always light somewhere.  Always awe, always wonder.  Feeling the warmth of the sun in the day - or the strength of the storm when the sun is hidden.  Watching the night sky and considering how far away each point of light is from us and from each other.  Or smiling at the closer lights of Jupiter, Mars, and Venus, the glorious face of the moon, and the chance of spotting the International Space Station.

Sunrise, viewed from Cullercoats

Today I could be miserable.  Mentally I'm finding today very tough.  I am also anxious about something I can't change.  My thought patterns run wild.  I could be telling myself I have nothing much to celebrate.  There was a time I couldn't find positives.  I would sit for an hour with a piece of paper to write a list.  Sometimes I only wrote one thing.  Sometimes I wrote nothing.

Yes the positives were there and are here now.  I sit on a comfortable sofa surrounded by soft toys and books.  Music is playing and I had the freedom to choose to play it.  In this room I have a guitar, a bubble gun, art materials, and many photograph albums covering my entire life.  I have notebooks, a giant rosary on the wall (honest!), pictures on the walls - some drawn by a friend, blankets, a clarinet, and a window letting in light.  Through that window I see a tree and the sky and I hear the singing of the birds.

Beyond this room I have family.  I have friends too.  Most of my friendships are recently formed.  Because I have chosen to go out and meet people.  Some are embryonic, some more full fledged.  I can travel into the city centre and get involved with all kinds of things run by good people.  And - as much as my health allows - I'm choosing to do that.

I refuse to not live.  And I strive to be grateful for what I have, who I am, and the opportunities around me.

I began to learn more about the power of gratitude last year.  I joined an online gratitude group.  The idea was that each day members would post words or photos expressing gratitude for something in their lives.  It didn't have to be a big thing.  Whether it was a plate of beans on toast or a massive life changing event didn't matter.  I posted in that group nearly every day - I missed ten over the course of the year.   Focusing on the positive in that way helped me, one of many things last year that helped me.  Seeing other people post their positives helped too.  And for me it changed my life.  There were plenty of days on which I would go out and seek positives and find previously unimagined things for which I could be grateful.

In short, I believe in gratitude.  I don't believe in ignoring the horrible parts of life or pretending they don't exist.  This isn't some method of positive thinking that loses sight of realism.  I believe in acc-ent-u-ating the positive.  But not e-lim-i-nating the negative.

Recently I decided I wanted to go further.  I don't just want to be thankful.  I want to act in thankfulness.  If I am thankful for a person, to say so.  If I am thankful for an organisation, to say so.  If I'm thankful for the great cake at a cafe, to say so.  Not just to myself.  Not just in an online group.  But to the person, organisation, cafe or whatever else I am grateful to and for.

As an intentional part of this process I have begun a little project.  I wouldn't have thought of it without the suggestions of a friend who pretty much came up with the idea.  Together we brainstormed - and I really hate that word! - and came up with a plan.

We, as autistic people, would seek to thank those people - especially but not exclusively the not-autistic people - who have helped us, supported us, and accepted us.  There were events leading up to this decision.  I don't need to recount them here.  Let it just be said that on a recent occasion one of us was badly hurt and mentally wounded by a group of autistic people who treated us very badly and didn't accept our autistic needs.  It was a group of not-autistic people who came to the rescue.  They understood, accepted, and gave lots of support through what was an extremely difficult situation. We looked at this situation knowing there had been betrayal by our own community and acceptance outside it.  The one of us who was hurt didn't behave badly and wasn't being mean to anyone.

Autistic Pride Wrist

As we talked together, that group of non-autistic people was the first thought of to be thanked.  They really were marvelous.

But then my friend took it further.  Why not thank other non-autistic (neurotypical, allistic) people and organisations?  The ones whose actions and attitudes can be described as examples of good practice.  The ones who believe in us and lift us up.  The ones who encourage us to be the best versions of ourselves we can be.  The ones who will sit with us in silence.  The ones who will see us through meltdowns and shutdowns.  The ones eager to learn and understand if they don't already.  The inclusive ones.  The ones for whom autism acceptance and appreciation is already a given.  Why not thank them?

I'd been getting annoyed by some things I'd seen online in autistic communities.  Particularly the way people can be treated if we perceive them not to be doing things just right.  I might agree that the things aren't right.  I'm no big fan of ABA or Autism Speaks and there are far worse things than either of those.  But I'm less of a fan of the times that people who might like ABA are made out to be evil.  They're not evil.  They're doing their best and children given ABA or restricted diets or any of the rest of it have parents who love them and want the very best for their autistic children.  While I might disagree about methods I'm not going to disagree about love.

I think there's a tendency online to find a bad particular situation and apply it broadly.  Not just with autism.  In every sphere.  Take politics - hey, the UK is leaving the EU and there are many memes telling how the people who voted to leave are majorly racist.  Some might be.  But I firmly believe most are not.  Of course they're not.  Or Muslims get called terrorists.  And all Christians get called homophobic bigots.  The particular is applied too widely.

A woman wants to cure her child.  That gets applied to many women until, in extreme cases, the "autism mums" are all seen as bad mothers who hate their children.  In reality of course nearly all of them deeply love their children and may be desperate to get them the best support there is.  Because they do need support - raising a severely autistic child isn't exactly easy.  Sometimes desperation may lead to unwise paths.  Sometimes.  But not to unloving paths.

Then there's Julia.  The new autistic character on Sesame Street.  One of the most autism positive things I've ever seen, as least on a TV show.  The puppeteer's son is autistic.  The designer of Julia felt very strongly about things because of all the autistic children he's known.  And the makers of the show have tried to do as good a job as they can having decided where on the spectrum Julia might be.

I have seen so many posts about how Julia is a terrible thing and how the makers of Sesame Street should be ashamed.  I don't need to give the reasons I've read.  Many of them were total rubbish.  Perhaps the makers need to continue to learn.  That's true and they say so themselves.  Perhaps Julia isn't some totally perfect autistic character, perfectly portraying every aspect of the condition.  It looks like she'll do a very good job though.

So I've been getting saddened when, especially online, the autistic community can sometimes [The word there is sometimes, not often.  That's deliberate.] spend a lot more time and energy blasting things and not much time at all congratulating people and organisations for the good they do.  We can get so stressed about whether we are autistic or have autism (and we can't agree on that ourselves) that we miss the picture of caring non-autistic people working their butts off for the sake of autistic people.

The Autistic Fringe Yurt, Edinburgh 2016

We decided we wanted to say thank you for the good.  Not ignore the bad.  But say thank you for the good.  So my friend and I planned.  I confess she was the instigator of the whole thing.  Our planning didn't take long.

April is known as Autism Acceptance Month.  It's a month in which many of us will campaign to be accepted.  And I will be glad to campaign - as long as autistic children suffer, while there aren't resources for brilliant child-centred early intervention, while adult support can be almost nonexistent, while people push for cures or in desperation use bleach solutions, while the situation elsewhere may be far worse than in the UK, and so on.  As long as there's a need I am happy to campaign.

But my friend and I want to spend the month rejoicing over the places and people where we are already accepted.  We want to rejoice over good practice.  We want to rejoice that there are lots and lots of great people out there.  Both of us know that there is much campaigning still to be done on many fronts.  Here in the UK and across the world.

So what are we doing?  My friend has bought cards and found out addresses.  She is sending personal thank you cards to people throughout the month of April.  "You've done this for me.  I appreciate it and you.  Thank you for your support/care/acceptance/creative compassion."  Or something like that.

I have started a Facebook page.  This one:  https://www.facebook.com/AutisticThanks/

I plan to publicly thank someone each day in April and to let them know that they have been thanked.  Sometimes I'll have to anonymise what I write on Facebook - but they'll know who they are because I will thank them privately.

We'll thank the people who behave like this for us.

My hope is that other autistic people will be a part of the page and thank those who have helped them, accepted them, loved them, supported them, in large ways and small.  My hope is that autistic friends might join in the game and maybe some autistic strangers too.  My hope is that the page will be a place filled with gratitude and positivity.  I also hope that others might see the page, see what kind of things autistic people appreciate and seek to act along those lines.

It's a little daunting though.  I have to find thirty people and groups to thank and I haven't made my list yet.  I've also got the first thoughts of another project in mind that will take a lot more work than posting thirty things on a Facebook page.

Beyond that I don't know what will happen.

One of my soft toys enjoying Greenbelt festival.

We hope to bring smiles to ourselves and each other as we remember all the good people in our worlds.

We both hope that we can bring smiles to people and encourage them for what they're doing and being for us.

We hope that our simple thank yous will enrich the lives of those around us.

We hope too that saying thank you will not prove controversial.  I've already been told that it is and I've had grumbles about we poor marginalised autistic people thanking privileged neurotypical people.  Enough of that.  Please.  I know we could thank autistic people - for a start we could thank each other for acceptance.  But this time, just this once, we're going to look outside the autistic community and hand out a whole load of gold stars and celebrate autism acceptance in our own possibly peculiar way.

Autism Acceptance Month begins in two days.  This year I am looking forward to it.

On Learning That I'm Part Of An Extremist Group Of Fake-Autistic People

I'm part of several online autism groups.  This post is about one of those groups.  It's run by people I respect and I know quite a few of the members, either from conversations online or from meeting them in what some people call "in real life" as if an online conversation and developed friendship can't be real.  It's not just an autism group though, not now.  Now it includes various conditions and differences and disabilities that would come under the category of "neurodivergent" or "neurodiverse."  It's a group which campaigns for acceptance of all people.  Among the members are autistic people, other neurodivergent people, and people who would be classed as "neurotypical."

This week we got trolled.  Someone joined.  Acted badly.  Left.  And then posted a thirty minute rant on Youtube insulting us all and insulting some of the members in particular.  While doing something else I left his video playing.  He made me cross because of the attacks he was making on people I know to be good people, trying their best to build something of value - something which not so long ago very nearly crashed on the rocks and got shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.

So what did I do?  I wrote some words.  They're rubbish poetry but they're heartfelt.  Now, having written them, I can let go of being cross.  I wouldn't post them here except that I'm still not that well and haven't been able to write the things I want to write.  For today, this is all I have.

Two extremists plotting world domination.  Or perhaps not.

I'm numbered among the extremists;

The radicals who in their words

Lie; hurling slander at all others.

My leaders are evil people

And we, their foolish followers

Have been lobotomised.

We hate science, we censor all debate,

We are the arrogant, deluded thousands

Who stand together in unity

And sometimes agree to stand in disunity.

We're not really autistic at all.

Because if we were autistic

We would see through the extremism

And leave. Not only that,

We wouldn't have been accepted to begin with.

Then, outside the dark citadel of that group

We would find the true Aspergians

The ones whose diagnoses are valid.

That's what I heard today.

However, I don't quite trust my source.

My source has a fixed view of his own rightness

And though many groups have given up

And, exasperated by his ways, thrown him out,

He claims it was never, ever, for trolling.

My source has something interesting to say

About feminism too. He says that people are right

To view it as a cancer.

He wants everything to be in context

Except for the video clips of feminists he posts.

Context is irrelevant. If it wouldn't serve him.

In short, he's as hypocritical as anyone

He may accuse of the same shortcoming.

My source claims that we of our group

Are not the real autistic spectrum people.

We're fakes. We're obviously neurotypical.

And we're trying to replace the real people

With our extremist deception and fakery.

My source says we don't know what we're talking about

Just because we didn't respond to his single question

With the answer he wanted us to give.

But, and this is a big but,

I know people from the group.

I know them to be autistic.

I've met them. Worked with some of them.

Some of them are my friends

I've sat in cafes with them, and tents

And waved sparkling lights with them in the dark.

I've smiled with them and cried with them.

I've even spent three days in a yurt with them

At an international autism conference.

It's safe to say this:

The autistic people among them are autistic.

Actually and undoubtedly and beautifully autistic.

We're fallible, we're faulty,

We're known for our social issues and complexities.

We screw up sometimes, and can fail to see the grey.

We argue and debate and sometimes fall out

Only to make up again when peace breaks out.

And sometimes our mistakes can be whoppers.

I know. I've been as guilty as anyone.

But we're trying our best.

We're not the liability he thinks we are.

We're not a bunch of brain dead radicals

Just because we don't want to discuss

Vaccines and bloody Andrew Wakefield for the

Hundredth time this week.

My source is correct though. In part.

Extremism is dangerous.

If it ran riot then autistic acceptance

Would only be a pipe dream.

I agree, and I share his concern.

It's just, he's pointing in the wrong place.

Perhaps there's nowhere much to point to.

Perhaps that Hell serpent is just a fantasy.

And perhaps, consider this,

He should point to himself, just for a day.

Perhaps we all should, just for a day.

I know I should.

Days Of Gratitude - Sexism, Acceptance And A Farewell To Snowdogs

December.  The final month begins.

It's getting much colder.  Except when it isn't.  The last few days were much warmer than average.  On average we can I suppose expect warmer than average days since 2016 is globally the warmest year since records began, beating 2015 which was the warmest year and which beat 2014 which was also the warmest year.  Climate change is real and 2016 saw the election of a man to be President of the USA who has stated that climate change is a Chinese hoax.  There is much to be worried about environmentally - are we all doomed already?

There is also much to be worried about economically and socially.  In the UK there are increasing reports of malnutrition, one million people now are forced to rely on food banks to feed themselves, homelessness is rising and laws to persecute homeless people are being introduced.  Disabled people are losing out under government policy and the rich poor divide continues to increase.

Across the world there are wars - often fought using the weapons sold by the UK and USA - with all the human suffering that war brings, and the civilian suffering and fallout is perhaps greater than ever with so much fighting taking place not on the battle field but in the cities and towns.  The refugee crisis is increasing rather than declining and across Europe refugees face another winter.  I saw a video a couple of days ago about the situation in Greece, posted by a local woman who I've met but don't know.  Maybe next year that will change.  Her Facebook feed has lots about the crisis, about human rights, and about the humanitarian work she is involved with both here and overseas.  Since much of it is publicly shared I'll share it here.  It's under this link.  If you would like to look at the video I mentioned, Ruhi's post is here.

December.  The final month begins.

So it's not the final month is it?  It's only the final months of one particular version of a yearly calendar.

Though there is much to be worried about and much that I'd like to find a way to become more involved with in 2017 there is also much to smile about.  I've been trying to smile and be thankful each day this year.  Sometimes it's been very difficult indeed and my mental health has been wildly changeable.  But I'm glad I've done it.  I'm glad I've kept up this diary.  In another month I think I'll have stopped and will be finding another way to be thankful or to channel positivity and passion.

The final month begins.  You'll see that it's not all roses and sparkles.  But so far the month has been pretty frabjous.

Just wait until the next gratitude post.  You'll see some very joyful frabjousness.  Or should that word be frabjosity?

1^st December

Grateful for time spent with a Sunday Assembly person. Good times.

Grateful to hear Laura Bates who started the Everyday Sexism Project.

Grateful to have so much good in my life and to have written about some of it last night.

Picture is some wise graffiti seen under a bridge. Sometimes it can be easy to forget it and to want to give up.

2^nd December

Grateful for Snowdogs!

The elusive Patchwork Northumberland

I was able to take my soft toy friends to the farewell event. Really good to see the dogs again.

Bye bye dogs. We enjoyed you.

Newcastle and Sunderland Football Club Dogs

And you will raise lots of money for a good cause.

3^rd December

Very hard day.

Grateful for silly computer games.

And grateful to have spent 20p when out, on a new little friend.

This is Merghost. He's a merghost.

4^th December

Grateful for the choir. An extra rehearsal today for a couple of hours.

Great to sing with great people. And fantastic to be totally accepted as a woman within a women only space. It's the first time I've deliberately joined a women's group.

Photo was taken on a dark street afterwards.

5^th December

Grateful that I managed to get to the Sunderland autism drop in for the first time in a year.

Pictures: A sky on the way there, a light tree there, and a hopefully not to be returned to piece of the past on the way back.