How old is your child?

I got my first curebie spam to my Facebook page. This is, at the least, the start of my reacting. I might have more. We will see.

"How old is your child?"

Did you even read my page before you sent me your things? I have to say, I doubt it. You and your curebie spam, telling me that you can hugely improve a nonverbal boy. I thought that telling you I didn't trust ABA but that if you were talking AAC, I was listening might give you an idea. I thought the fact that I capitalized Autistic and used it as a noun might tell you something. "Yes, That Too is an Autistic blogging about anything. Anything seems to be mostly related to autism/disability. Updated daily at midnight EST." Does this not suggest, perhaps, that I might not want your miracle cure? Does this not suggest, perhaps, that I might think your miracle more likely abusive than not? Miracle curebies, I know what you think of neurodiversity advocates. I am one, hear me roar. Or... hear me laugh at you, really. 

"How old is your child?"

Is that really the question you want to ask? Did you really just compare autism to cancer? Do my eyes deceive me? No, I think you did, and I think you denied it, and I think you're condescending too.

"How old is your child?"

I think you need to read my tagline, and perhaps not assume that being an Autistic is the new synonym for Autism Mom. And I think you need to not try telling me that it is in the diet, this miracle that fixes autism. It's not. It never was a. Diets don't rewire brains. You have no college degree, no qualifications, you said as much, but you say you have the solution, and...

"How old is your child?"

I am 20. I am an adult. I am no child, I have no child. There are no children here for you to make your claim for, and you will not see them when there are. 

Your side of the tracks, as you call it, is not better. It is one where children are taught they are broken and adults silenced if they try to disagree. It is one where I could not function the way I do, and where people burn the,selves out trying to prove themselves not to be who they are.

"How old is your child?"


Oh, and by the way, parents: When I am so insistent that people recognize that Autistic adults exist, this is part of why. That page says, right on the top, that I am an Autistic blogging about things, and (yes, we had an actual conversation in messages here) I still got "How old is your child?"