OARacle Newsletter

Everyone needs a sense of belonging. Research shows a strong link between feeling like you belong and having a high quality of life. For many people, being among coworkers, family members, classmates, teammates, neighbors, or fellow congregants can bring a sense of community and acceptance. However, being part of these groups can make autistics feel alien. For some autistic people, it may be difficult to discern the subtle, hidden social rules that are expected in these environments, leading to ostracization, bullying, and exclusion from social opportunities. Others may feel the need to mask their true selves to try to fit in with neurotypical people, which can cause stress and anxiety.

As a special educator, I’ve been taught that “inclusive” settings are always best, meaning that neurodivergent people should be placed with typical peers. While everyone should have the right to the least restrictive setting, inclusive settings can sometimes feel more like proximity to peers than true belonging. Much must be done to teach non-autistic people to be tolerant and kind. Until that goal has been accomplished with fidelity, there must be safe spaces for autistic people to just be themselves.

A safe space means being with peers who accept you for who you are:

• They don’t try to stop you from stimming.
• They understand that lining items up in chromatic order just makes sense for you.
• They appreciate your vast knowledge of paleontology, anime, vacuum cleaners, or other topics.

A safe space is among people who accept that you are autistic and understand some of the benefits and challenges that go along with it. Firsthand knowledge can be advantageous, which is why many autistic people feel more comfortable with fellow autistics.

Having had my own challenges with neurotypical society helped me to create safe spaces for the autistic students and adults I work with. In my school system, we have a cohort of autistic secondary students who take two elective classes together. One focuses on social and pragmatic skills and the other focuses on executive functioning. Students in the program have agency and must agree to be in the classes. Most want to continue each year not just because of the skills they are acquiring, but because they feel it is a valuable break from being with their typical peers in their general education academic classes. One student said:

Five-score and a couple days ago, I switched from a couple of classes in my schedule to the [autism] program. When I first walked in the room, I instantly knew that I was among friendly people. There were smiles all around on the faces of my new classmates, and the teachers were stunningly nice to me. No one stared at me, the new kid, and everyone greeted me wholeheartedly. They asked me questions, which I happily answered, and they provided information about themselves. Some of them were freshmen, like me, and there were a few seniors as well. The rest of the students fell within the two categories. And all of them had potential to be great friends. Soon, the teacher decided that the teaching must begin and everyone settled down. That day, I felt happier than I had in a while, and I left the class absolutely beaming. Never before had I been so well greeted, and I didn’t regret switching to it at all. Over the next few months, we learned how to iron out our few social quirks, and even today, everything we are taught is absolutely invaluable. I have managed to make friends with the majority of the people in the program that I have come into contact with. I still don’t regret switching, and I doubt that I ever will. The program, in my eyes, is one of the best things that has ever happened to me.

Another said:

My freshman year of high school I felt like a ghost in that people never saw the real me. I usually feel like I’m holding my breath so that I won’t do anything that makes me stand out, and it made me anxious all the time. When I was younger, I didn’t know to hide parts of myself, and other kids just thought I was quite an odd duck and were quite mean to me. I think my teachers didn’t like me much either. Last year, I learned I was autistic, which was such a relief, and started taking this program. When I’m with the kids and teachers in social skills, I can just relax and don’t have to hide my idiosyncrasies. I plan to take the class the rest of my senior year as well.

I also started and facilitated a club for neurodivergent young adults, called Cool Aspies. I felt it was important that it be a peer-mediated model, meaning that autistic people support fellow autistics. Many members have told me that they have been in inclusive social groups in which they felt that the neurotypical buddies or advisors were patronizing or too focused on helping them to be “normal.” In contrast, Cool Aspies members know that stimming, pacing, and talking about one’s passions are all perfectly acceptable behaviors. They don’t have to explain fears or aversions or pretend they aren’t experiencing sensory overload because everyone in the group understands.

Inclusive settings can—and should be—safe spaces. However, there is great value in creating safe spaces where nobody perceives others in the group as different or unusual just because their brains work differently than the majority.

Deborah Hammer has worked professionally for more than 30 years as an advocate and educator for neurodivergent students; for the last 15, she has been in Arlington Public Schools. She is the inaugural chair of OAR’s Self-Advocacy Advisory Council. She has spoken at national and international conferences and trainings on a variety of topics, including self-determination skills, student-centered IEPs and transition plans, and interdependence. She is a Disability Services Board member with her local government and served as chair. She is also a member of the Virginia Autism Council and the Virginia Autism Leadership Initiative.