AGXStarseed
Well-Known Member
(Not written by me)
I need you to understand that while my condition may seem crippling to you, I actually have a pretty good life
When you offered me the job, it seemed perfect. You said I blew the competition away and you wanted me to start as soon as possible. You beat my current pay and promised a family-style atmosphere where emphasis was on the “right personality”.
As someone with autism, I wasn’t looking for special treatment. If anything, telling you about my condition has made my job worse. Now rather than being seen as “cutely eccentric” I am “the one with the developmental disability”.
I didn’t complain about the fluorescent lighting, or when you moved me from a quiet office to a busy one, or when you cancel our meetings and then lean in the doorway and regurgitate your weight loss goals to me.
If I mention that these things make me panic, want to vomit, make my ears ring – you tell me to get it together. Then you ask me for my personal input on autistic patients.
I am not here to tick boxes on an equal opportunities form. When I told you I needed support in the workplace you immediately extended my probationary period, knowing that this new insecurity around job safety was directly related to a disability.
Yes, I can hear you whispering two offices away through closed doors. Just like I can hear washing machines three doors down on my road or my partner opening a plaster. Yes, I know my eye contact is poor, but don’t bully me into making it. And do not touch me. It makes my skin burn so I’d rather you didn’t. Yes, I do have very rigid routines and travelling alone is difficult, but I manage.
I need you to understand that these things may seem crippling to you, but actually I have a pretty good life. A couple of good friends, partner, planned holiday and a mix of interests.
I wish I could tell you this is the first job where I have felt disabled. You remind me weekly of my special needs. That time you shouted at us in a meeting, I began shaking because the volume of your words made me feel sick. And afterwards everyone else was asked if they were OK, but I was avoided. You told people to leave me alone and whispered that I just couldn’t cope.
I wish I could tell you how confused I was when you encouraged me to make a statement against a discriminatory member of staff and said you’d back me. When your boss was there and told me I shouldn’t be pursuing it, you said nothing. Later, you told other staff that you thought I was trying to catch out the company for my own personal gain.
HR policies state I should take this up with your boss, but the one time I told them about it, I wasn’t allowed back in the meeting.
When you say: “Don’t you worry that if you have kids they’ll be autistic?” I need you to know that only you feel shame and worry about my disability. For me, my autism isn’t a problem.
Source: What I wish I could tell my boss: ‘My autism is not a problem’
I need you to understand that while my condition may seem crippling to you, I actually have a pretty good life
When you offered me the job, it seemed perfect. You said I blew the competition away and you wanted me to start as soon as possible. You beat my current pay and promised a family-style atmosphere where emphasis was on the “right personality”.
As someone with autism, I wasn’t looking for special treatment. If anything, telling you about my condition has made my job worse. Now rather than being seen as “cutely eccentric” I am “the one with the developmental disability”.
I didn’t complain about the fluorescent lighting, or when you moved me from a quiet office to a busy one, or when you cancel our meetings and then lean in the doorway and regurgitate your weight loss goals to me.
If I mention that these things make me panic, want to vomit, make my ears ring – you tell me to get it together. Then you ask me for my personal input on autistic patients.
I am not here to tick boxes on an equal opportunities form. When I told you I needed support in the workplace you immediately extended my probationary period, knowing that this new insecurity around job safety was directly related to a disability.
Yes, I can hear you whispering two offices away through closed doors. Just like I can hear washing machines three doors down on my road or my partner opening a plaster. Yes, I know my eye contact is poor, but don’t bully me into making it. And do not touch me. It makes my skin burn so I’d rather you didn’t. Yes, I do have very rigid routines and travelling alone is difficult, but I manage.
I need you to understand that these things may seem crippling to you, but actually I have a pretty good life. A couple of good friends, partner, planned holiday and a mix of interests.
I wish I could tell you this is the first job where I have felt disabled. You remind me weekly of my special needs. That time you shouted at us in a meeting, I began shaking because the volume of your words made me feel sick. And afterwards everyone else was asked if they were OK, but I was avoided. You told people to leave me alone and whispered that I just couldn’t cope.
I wish I could tell you how confused I was when you encouraged me to make a statement against a discriminatory member of staff and said you’d back me. When your boss was there and told me I shouldn’t be pursuing it, you said nothing. Later, you told other staff that you thought I was trying to catch out the company for my own personal gain.
HR policies state I should take this up with your boss, but the one time I told them about it, I wasn’t allowed back in the meeting.
When you say: “Don’t you worry that if you have kids they’ll be autistic?” I need you to know that only you feel shame and worry about my disability. For me, my autism isn’t a problem.
Source: What I wish I could tell my boss: ‘My autism is not a problem’
