4 minute read
(autism disability, invisible disability, autistic traits, autistic burnout, autistic accommodations, sensory processing, autistic experience, autistic masking, sensory overload)
I’ve been thinking lately about whether my autism counts as a disability.
And by “thinking,” I mean spiralling into a philosophical rabbit hole while cocooned under a weighted blanket and clutching a fidget toy.
On paper, I can do almost everything. I can work. I have healthy relationships. I can socialize. I can even go to a crowded party… for about 60 minutes. After that, I have an incredible urge to bolt before anyone notices I’ve become a shell of a human.
The catch is—doing “everything” comes with a recharge tax. And the recharge tax gets higher and higher every year.
It’s like my brain runs on a special kind of rechargeable battery that’s fantastic for deep focus, creativity, and hyperfixation… but is somehow exhausted by activities such as.... existing. On a good day I handle a day of meetings and social events, but then I pay for it by needing increasingly absurd amounts of downtime to recover.
- One social event: 5 hours of darkness and silence required.
- A full work week: Entire evenings and weekends on “do not disturb” mode.
- Family holiday gathering: A three-day recovery period in which I mostly stare at walls and eat toast.
I do need supports:
- Buffer buddy — Someone who runs interference at social events to minimize the amount of small talk I need to engage in.
- Recharge time — To let my frazzled nervous system recover.
- Weighted blanket — Deep pressure is very regulating. Like a warm, supportive hug from a 15-pound emotional service pancake.
- Fidget toys — My hands need to be as busy as my thoughts.
- Ear plugs - Most people hear ‘background noise.’ I hear ‘foreground chaos.’ Earplugs help turn the apocalypse back into ambience.
- Sunglasses - I’m not being dramatic — light doesn’t just shine on me, it attacks me. Sunglasses are my shield in the daily sensory war.
- Remote work - My brain’s processing power is great — but commuting is like running ten tabs of sensory overload before I even open my first email. Working from home lets me actually use that energy for, you know, work.
- Lap desk - I use a lap desk because sometimes my body hits ‘system overload’ and holding my head up feels like I’m trying to bench press gravity.
So… am I disabled?
The official definitions usually say a disability is “something that substantially limits one or more major life activities.” Which sounds like yes. Even though I can do everything, I can’t do them at the same pace, frequency, or without strategic recovery missions.
It’s sort of like having a phone with 25% battery life permanently. It works great, you just have to know when to stop streaming Netflix before it dies in the middle of a cliffhanger.
Maybe the real answer is: “Yes, sometimes. But also no, sometimes.”
Maybe the more important question is: Does the label actually help me get what I need? If saying “I have a disability” means I get accommodations, understanding, and a little grace when I disappear for a recharge cycle—then pass me the label maker.
Until then, I’ll be over here in my blanket fort, sipping coffee, socially recharging, and contemplating the big questions… like whether there’s such a thing as “part-time disabled.”
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