Autistic children need accommodation, understanding

A plan to support autistic children isn’t supportive if it doesn’t include input from actual autistics.

Recently, Nova Scotia’s provincial government announced plans for what it’s calling a “new care model” aimed at families with preschool aged autistic children. At a glance, this looks positive - getting people the support they need in a timely manner can never be a bad thing. However, I encourage everyone to look at these plans with a healthy dose of skepticism.

The language from the province is broad and somewhat vague. Still, there are things listed in the press release that give me pause. For one: “an intensive 12 month intervention program for children identified with the greatest social communication and behaviour needs.” In particular, the words “intensive” and “intervention” make my stomach drop. During these intense 12 months, when will this child have time to be a kid? If these children have been identified as having the greatest needs, are those needs being taken into account?

The government release also references multiple organizations involved in this plan (Autism Nova Scotia, Hearing and Speech Nova Scotia and others) as well as a parent representative. There’s no mention of an actual autistic representative. Including an autistic person who has already been through the school system could change the game. They could point out the struggles they faced and would have first-hand experience about what needs to change. But autistic voices are rarely prioritized. The focus, instead, remains on parents and teachers.

When I reflect on my time in grade school, part of me is grateful I wasn’t diagnosed until well into adulthood. Students with disabilities were often talked of as if they were a different species. That said, I knew I was different and teachers knew it, too. One elementary school teacher offered my mother a book on how to deal with a “spirited child.”

Once I hit grade two, my classroom tantrums subsided and I instead became debilitated by fear. I was constantly terrified of failing. Teachers commented on my quiet demeanour and my intense focus. It’s as if I was thinking, “You want a straight back and eye contact? Oh, I’ll give you eye contact!”

Later, teachers expressed concern of a different kind: I didn’t smile. I seemed unhappy. I was unhappy, tired of morphing myself to fit into a world that made no effort to accommodate me. I loved to learn but school was often a social and academic nightmare. Any joy or progress I experienced in the school system was due to my own determination.

I don’t want children to grow up feeling as though they need to be fixed. I want to see communication tools for non-speaking autistics rather than “therapy” that tries to force them to be verbal. I want to see noise-cancelling headphones and fidget tools allowed in the classroom. I want people to understand and embrace difference rather than combat it.

Students with disabilities were often talked of as if they were a different species.

Rebecca Dingwell is a freelance writer and editor based in Halifax, N.S. A self-proclaimed nerd and horse girl, she is learning to navigate her life through new eyes after being diagnosed as autistic. Rebecca is also working on a memoir chronicling her family’s life after her father’s ALS diagnosis.