Am I Disabled? Asking for… Me

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 can maintain healthy relationships. I can socialize. I can even go to a crowded party… for about 90 minutes. After that, I mysteriously “turn into a pumpkin” and have to exit before anyone notices I’ve become a shell of a human.

The catch is—doing “everything” comes with a recharge tax.
It’s like my brain runs on a special kind of rechargeable battery that’s fantastic for deep focus, creativity, and hyperfixation… but has exactly the same energy reserves as a Tamagotchi. I can 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: 3 hours of silence required.
• A full work week: A weekend of “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 so I don’t get trapped by “That Guy” explaining cryptocurrency.
• Recharge time — Think of it as introvert PTO.
• Weighted blanket — Like a warm, supportive hug from a 15-pound emotional service pancake.
• Fidget toys — For when 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. But “limit” is tricky—because I can do most things. I just can’t do them at the same pace, frequency, or without strategic recovery missions.

It’s sort of like having a phone with 50% 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.”