Yeah, I know, the irony of me posting this on my free blog and my free Twitter and my sort-of-free Medium. I know. But let's talk about what this means.
What it does not mean: "Pay me for writing this blog." (That said, if you want to pay me, you can find a link on my About page.)
What it does mean: This blog is a choice that I make. Every time I write a post, that's my own free time that I am actively choosing to devote to writing about things that interest me. But people are very comfortable coming up to me, even at the most inappropriate moments - on a thread about abuse statistics, at Yom Kippur services, in the bathroom - to ask probably well-meaning but often exhausting or invasive questions about some aspect of my identity.
Now, don't get me wrong. I am a diversity educator, and I'm proud of what I do, and I find fulfillment in doing it. But that doesn't mean that I should have to be on all the time. It's the same reason I know I'm not ready to have kids or be a full-time teacher - I just can't maintain that kind of energy all the time.
My last post, on Autism Awareness Month, was more popular than I'd expected, in part because a number of friends and family with larger audiences boosted it and in part because I crossposted to Medium. This is great news for me, both as a personal achievement and because it means I get more exposure and more opportunities for both paid professional work and connections with people in my community. Unfortunately, it also means I get messages from strangers, and not all of them are productive.
I want to start by saying that the response to my last post was overwhelmingly positive; I don't want to imply otherwise. I got some very sweet messages from friends, family, acquaintances, and strangers. A number of my parents' friends expressed admiration for my work and my writing, and my own friends told me how much they loved and appreciated my message.
But.
I also got a message on my personal Facebook account from an Autism Mom™.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with this particular dynamic, there is a difference between moms of autistic kids, autistic moms, and Autism Moms™. A lot of moms of autistic kids are just that - parents doing their best for their kids. Autistic moms, of course, are autistic and moms and also doing their best for their kids. But Autism Moms™ are a whole nother bag.
These are the moms who post overly detailed and often embarrassing stories of their kids' struggles. These are the moms who record their kids' sensory overload meltdowns and post them on Facebook. These are the moms who post blue puzzle pieces ad nauseam and want everyone else to do the same. These are the moms who try to "correct" actual autistics when we talk about our experiences. These are the moms who make having an autistic child their whole identity.
I try to have patience for these moms, because I know that they think they're helping. They want the world to have sympathy and space for their children. But it's hard, because they don't want to hear that someone else might know more than they do - even when that knowledge could actively benefit their children.
So an Autism Mom™ messaged me. I knew right away, because her profile picture was one of a million variations on the classic Autism Mom™ combo: a puzzle piece design with a platitude about autism on it.
She told me my writing was fabulous - a given, I'll admit, but very sweet. Then, with no further preamble, she asked me if I had "ideas about how to better educate Autistic kids" (caps are hers), and told me that she was partnering with her local police department for bias training. Then she told me to add her if I wanted to; when I checked my Facebook notifications, she had already sent me a friend request.
Some of y'all know my thoughts on police department bias training, but that is most definitely going to be another post. Suffice to say, an allistic person offering bias training on autism to an institution infamous for harming disabled people did not fill me with glee. I considered not answering, but decided to go for it because hey, maybe I'll make a difference.
So I wrote back. I thanked her for her kind words, and then I asked the question I knew would answer my other questions: I see that your profile picture is puzzle pieces, so I'm curious about what you took away from my writing.
What did I hope for in this moment? I don't really know. On some level, I knew she wasn't going to be truly open to what I had to say. Maybe I hoped she would say that she had only just read my article and was currently looking for a replacement profile picture. Maybe I hoped she would say she didn't know how to change it. Maybe I hoped she was just struggling with the concepts and wanted clarification.
Instead, she wrote back telling me that the puzzle piece is "prevalent throughout all forms of advocacy for Autism" (again, caps are hers). She informed me that her adult autistic son was unable to advocate for himself and that she did what she felt was best for him. She told me that she was looking for "other perspectives" than her own, in a tone that suggested that she was only looking to know what the perspectives were, rather than to change her own. Then she added this:
"As for the puzzle pieces, I have come to see them as reflective of life in general. I certainly don't know where mine or anyone else's journey starts or ends. We are all just pieces of a greater puzzle."
After dropping that, she asked again if there was a "better method" to teach autistic kids. (She never mentioned a first method, so I have to assume based on my own article that her first method was ABA.)
I'm sure that a kinder and more patient person than I would have taken the time to talk her through everything that was wrong with this conversation. Instead, I wrote back:
"It doesn't sound like you're actually interested in changing your own perspective, so I'm going to pass on partnering with you as I have other responsibilities at the moment. I hope you continue to learn and grow."
And that was that.
Again, another person might have gone through it all with her. But guess what, y'all?
This is my job.
If I invited my electrician over for coffee and then asked him to fix the wiring in my basement, he would be well within his rights to charge me for that hour, and the vast majority of people would agree with this assessment. But when it comes to academic and lived expertise, people abruptly forget that experts should get paid for their services and should have separation between their work and personal lives.
If this mom had reached out to me through appropriate channels, said that she wanted to learn more, and asked to chat, I would have given her my Calendly, talked to her about my sliding-scale fees for education and consultation, and let her either pay me or go on her merry way. And then I would have talked her through everything she said and what was wrong with it, because in that situation, I would be an expert giving professional consultation. Instead, she messaged my personal Facebook - which, by the way, is not linked to any of my publishing platforms - and moved straight into asking questions with no thought for my time, energy, or expertise.
First of all, never message a professional through their personal, unlinked social media unless they have explicitly given permission for you to do so; it's as rude and invasive as going to their house uninvited. This is their personal space, not an extended waiting room. Second of all, never ask a professional to do free work for you unless a) they have explicitly offered free services or b) you are in a situation where the work is objectively necessary and you are truly unable to afford it. Professionals deserve to be paid for our work; if it was easy enough that any random person could do it, there would be no need for us.
And it's not an isolated incident. People message me, comment on my posts, or otherwise approach me online at least a few times a month asking for free education or advice. Some of them, like this woman, are strangers. Some of them are acquaintances with whom I have no real relationship. Very few of them are people I actually know well.
Y'all, stop this. Our time is valuable. Our work is valuable. I don't need you to bow and scrape, but a "please", a "thank you", or a use of my Calendly link wouldn't go amiss. (In the fourteen months since I created a Calendly, not one person has used it.)
I love this work. I'm proud to do it. And part of taking pride in it is valuing it, and myself, enough to get paid for doing it.
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