A Gracious Apology

Sorry in the Sand

A couple of days ago, I posted about an online article that appeared on a Catholic website, which I felt portrayed autism in a hurtful and inaccurate way. I mentioned that I had contacted the author and asked him to either reword his piece or remove it altogether. I also promised that I would keep you all informed.

Well, guess what? He got back to me, and in very good time. His first message was part self-defense and part apology for any way I felt hurt by his words. He was gracious in his words, but unwilling to make any concessions. His message came late in the evening, and I was too tired to formulate a response that would help him see the effect his words were having on the autism community. So I went to bed a little disappointed, but ready to continue the discussion the next day.

When I woke up, I was greeted by another e-mail in which he said that after sleeping on it, he had decided to take down his article after all. Sadly, he was hampered by the fact that another site had picked up his piece, and he no longer had control over where it was going. So he came up with another solution—one that really touched my heart. He attached the following note to the beginning of his article:

AUTHOR NOTE:  In an attempt to address a serious problem I feel impacts the Church, I attempted to use autism as a metaphor.  I made a sincere effort to do so sensitively, based upon my understanding of the disorder. Since then, it has come to my attention that many people have been offended by my characterization of autism and my use of it in this context.  It was never my intention to offend any parent of a child with autism or any person with autism.  I have nothing but the deepest respect for the many people I know personally who live tremendously admirable lives in the face of the challenges autism spectrum can present.  Unfortunately, circumstances prevent me from simply removing this post (which I would have preferred to do to avoid unintentionally spreading any ignorance about autism), but I would like anyone who reads this to know that I am sincerely sorry for any offense I have given and that no disrespect was intended by my original article.  For those who would like the best information on how people with special needs can be welcomed in the Church and supported in their faith development I encourage readers to visit and support the National Catholic Partnership on Disability.  I thank you for your understanding.

What a kind gesture! He could have let the whole thing go and just move on. But he chose to speak honestly and humbly, acknowledging the hurt he had caused. I was quick to reply and thank him for what he wrote—and for listening to my concerns in the first place.

See what happens when you advocate for your loved ones? It wasn’t easy for me to write to this fellow; I was putting myself out there in a way I don’t normally do. At least not to strangers. But I knew I had to do something. I’m just grateful that he was reasonable and open-hearted enough to listen. But even if he wasn’t, it still would have been worth it. Some things are too important to remain silent about.

The Unfortunate Theory of “Spiritual Autism”

Buzz & Woody Broad Brushstrokes

So this was fun—not. Last Thursday, a Catholic blogger named Gregory Popcak posted an article titled “Spiritual Autism and the Catholic-Evangelical Divide.” In his article, Popcak describes people on the autism spectrum in the following way:

Their brains tend to see people the same way they see objects. They aren’t good at picking up or even appreciating the need for emotions and emotional cues.  In fact, the emotional demands of relationships often feel intimidating. Because of this struggle with the relational dimension of their experience, they tend to become fixated on curious hobbies and obsess over minute details.

Needless to say, I was offended by this characterization, and I found it to be demeaning of people on the autism spectrum. My children definitely do not look at Katie and me as objects. They may struggle with relationships, but not for the reasons Popcak states. If anything, the “Intense World Theory“ explains their struggles much better than the “Robot” theory he is espousing. The same goes for the many other autistic people I have come to know. They know the difference between a person and a thing, and they know how to treat people like people. Again, they may have some struggles in knowing how to relate or in regulating their emotions—causing them to shut down or retreat into their shells—but it’s not for a lack of trying.

What’s worse, Popcak uses the term “spiritual autism” to describe a certain deficiency in some Catholics’ spiritual lives—that they favor ritual and routine over relationship and interaction. That may well be the case for some, but it’s unfortunate that Popcak links this spiritual “deficit” to autism. It gives the impression that autistics aren’t capable of religious sentiment or spiritual experience. Again, it may be challenging, but it’s not impossible. (As an aside, I’m not a fan of his theological premise either. It sounds as if he is setting ritual in opposition to relationship, which isn’t wholly the case. But that’s for another time and another place.)

Yesterday, I wrote Popcak an e-mail stating my objections and asking him to either reword or remove his piece. I also posted a brief comment objecting to the article on his Facebook page. We’ll see if and how he responds. I’ll keep you posted. In the mean time, feel free to post your own comments on his page if you want. Just be sure to keep it civil and short. I don’t want to start a hate campaign against the fellow. He’s just misinformed, and a sloppy writer. He should know better than to paint with such broad—and harsh—brushstrokes.

“I’ll Miss the Kick-Ass Bitch”

jail-cell-bg

The following depiction of a homeless woman with mental illness was posted by my brother on Facebook a couple of days ago. It was so moving that I thought I’d share it with all of you.

A bit of background: My brother is an attorney in the public defender’s office in the suburbs of Baltimore. He acts as legal counsel for those who cannot afford their own lawyer. A good portion of his clientele are drug offenders. Many of them are homeless. Many also suffer from mental illness. And he’s there to make sure they get the legal counsel that is their constitutional right. It’s a job he has had for decades, and he relishes it. Anyway, here’s his story. I dare you to read it and not be moved.

“I Need Help!”

A long-time client of mine who became a dear friend was killed in a hit and run homicide. She was chronically mentally ill. Her illness eventually forced her mother to put her out. She kept coming back to see mom. After a few days, things would get out of hand. Her mother, understandably, had to get a protective order to keep my friend away.

She was on disability, but that paid only enough for her to rent a room in someone’s house. That always ended badly. The police were called. She went from one shelter to another. Again, it would work out for a while, then she would run out of her meds or lose them or have them stolen. She’d be asked to leave. They would eventually ban her because of her behavior. No medication always led to bad things. So my friend would eventually end up homeless. Alone. It was hard for her to be around people. But when everything was under control, strangers liked her. She had a genuine and open smile.

Not too long ago, I was visiting a client who was housed in the same unit as my friend was. She had to be locked in her cell because she had acted up. I heard her screaming louder than anyone could bear to hear, “I need help.” It went on for so long that I had to cut my visit short.

The last time I saw her, in a holding cell just before she was released, she told me that all she wanted to do was hug her mother. Just once. Now, my mother isn’t here to hug. I can’t imagine knowing that mom is not far, but she genuinely needs the law to keep her daughter away. Only one hug.

She died alone. The coward who hit her just kept on going. She was homeless. She was disposable. She was invisible. She was so funny that tears would literally stream down my cheeks when she got on a roll. She told me that when I needed help, the kick-ass bitch (her) would straighten things out. She was a human being. She was my friend. She was a human being.

She died alone on the street.

She was killed early last Monday morning. I found out about it Tuesday afternoon. Wednesday morning, it hit me like a cyclone. Spun me around. I remembered that a friend always says Mass on Wednesdays near my office. I met him in the parking lot, sobbing. He asked the people there to pray for her. They are a small group of retired nuns. Some in their eighties, a few over ninety. They will pray for her. I will pray for her. I’ll miss the kick-ass bitch.

Homeless, Hopeless, Helpless.

It is a sad fact that many people with mental illness end up like this woman—homeless, hopeless, and helpless. Disposable, as my brother said. So many end up in prison because they have nowhere else to go. In fact, there are those who purposely commit crimes so that they will at least have a shot at food and shelter. That’s how low they have fallen. That’s how much society has failed them.

I have written before about my children having comorbid conditions along with their autism: OCD, anxiety, and the like. These are mental illnesses, plain and simple. The only difference between them and this woman is demographics. I make a decent living. Katie and I are able to provide a stable, loving home environment where they can grow and thrive. We make sure that they receive the medical and psychological care they need so that they have a good chance of living independent, self-sufficient lives. Of course, none of this is a sure-fire guarantee, but the odds are significantly better.

Many, many people are not so lucky. They are the forgotten, the ignored, the abused, the ragged people living on the margins. Thank God for people like my brother—true advocates and servants who are committing themselves to helping these people as much as possible!