T****’s attack on our community
People in power like T**** are the reason stigma continues to plague the neurodivergent community.
People in power like T**** are the reason stigma continues to plague the neurodivergent community.
I don’t even like to say his name out loud, so nor will I type it without censoring it. I’m sure many of you know who I am referring to in my blog title. The US President continues to baffle me with the misinformation his government continues to spread. I could rant on this topic for a long time and properly write a book, but today, I want to focus on what was announced on Monday night.
T**** declared that reliable evidence supposedly proves that autism is caused by pregnant people consuming Tylenol (acetaminophen, known as paracetamol in the UK). Pregnant people often take paracetamol to manage common symptoms of pregnancy, including headaches and abdominal pain(1).
T****’s administration loves to speak of an autism epidemic. Not only is it abhorrent to frame autism as an epidemic, but the claim that Tylenol causes autism is unsubstantiated and extremely offensive. Many medical experts and regulatory bodies have already called it highly concerning and unsupported(2).
This claim is extremely harmful for the following reasons:
1. It fuels stigma against autistic people
The fake claim reinforces the idea that there is something ‘wrong’ with us and that we should be cured or prevented. It echoes the same anti-vax rhetoric that campaigns to ‘prevent’ autism(3).
2. It burdens parents with guilt
Parents may blame themselves for their child’s neurodivergence, believing they ‘caused’ it or that they could have ‘prevented’ it. I’m sure you know my stance by now, but I’ll reiterate: autism is not something to prevent or cure. The most harmful thing for autistic people is a non-neuroaffirming society that continuously damages our mental health and well-being.
3. It endangers pregnant people’s health
Pregnant people who avoid this safe medication because of the false claims made could put themselves and their babies at serious risk. Untreated fevers or severe pain can be greatly concerning during pregnancy(4). They are playing with people’s health.
The REAL crisis
This is an ableist attack on our community; it’s an attack on evidence and on science. It tells autistic people that our existence is a mistake, it tells parents with autistic children that it’s their fault.
It shifts attention away from the real issues that we face as autistic people, including (but not limited to): systemic ableism, inaccessible education, employment discrimination, lack of community support and an administration that sees us as a problem to eradicate.
We are not an epidemic or a public health crisis; we are a key part of human diversity.
The real crisis is that our world is plagued by ableism. The real crisis is that one of the world’s most powerful and influential administrations would rather scapegoat us than address the ever-growing barriers in the US in healthcare, education, housing and employment.
Every moment that is spent amplifying pseudoscience is a moment stolen from building neuroaffirming spaces.
Our community is strong
I, for one, absolutely reject this misinformation. I choose to stand with science and medical evidence over an administration that is trying to abolish equity, diversity and inclusion(5), and I refuse to bend to what is an outright ableist narrative.
In the face of the current state of our society, which is fuelled with disinformation and attacks on diverse communities, our strength must lie in solidarity; we must join and uplift one another through amplifying our truths and challenging harmful narratives.
To my beautiful autistic community and allies, I ask you to unapologetically stand firm, speak your truth and share knowledge that is grounded in facts and evidence.
We are not a tragedy to be set right; we are not the problem. The problem comes from a society that refuses to embrace our neurodiversity.
Our resistance must be stronger than their despicable disinformation.
Sources:
2. The Guardian (2025) https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2025/sep/22/trump-tylenol-experts-autism
3. FactCheck.org (2025) https://www.factcheck.org/2025/09/the-facts-behind-claims-on-autism-tylenol-and-folate/
5. The Leadership Conference on Civil and Human Rights (2025) https://civilrights.org/resource/anti-deia-eos/
Image credit:
vejaa, Adobe Stock
Why am I so ableist to myself?
For years, I told myself I wasn’t disabled enough to need mobility aids. Even as they gave me freedom, I carried shame and self-doubt. Buying my first electric wheelchair forced me to face the truth: the only person I was judging was myself.
Starting to use mobility aids can be challenging – not only getting used to the aids themselves, but also because of the shame we’ve been taught to feel about needing them. That’s internalised ableism, and I’ve been fighting it for years.
I first started using mobility aids around 5 years ago. I still have my trusty foldable walking stick that allows me to take weight off the most painful side of my body. I purposefully bought a foldable one, thinking I would fold it away as soon as I didn’t need it; however, it made a huge difference in my ability to walk – yet I still have this internal shame around using it.
This shame has intensified as my mobility aid roster has grown.
Buying my first electric wheelchair
Last week, I bought my first electric wheelchair. I was lucky to find the one I was looking for at a good price, second-hand.
On my way to collect the chair, I was filled with anxiety and had thoughts like What if the seller didn’t think I was disabled enough to justify buying this?, Am I going to have the guts to use it? And now I’m wondering why it takes guts to use aids that help us to live our lives to the best of our ability? Damn, it was a really tough day if I’m being honest, with mixed excitement and great anxiety.
When I got the chair home and sat in it for the first time, I felt like an imposter, like I didn’t really need this. But the truth is, for me to live a more fulfilling life and to be honest, just live in general, I do need further mobility aids.
My recent diagnosis of osteoarthritis and hip dysplasia forced me to freeze, stop and really look at my life. For a long time, I’ve been in survival mode, taking it day by day, but constantly overdoing it, causing many chronic pain and fatigue flares that last weeks or months. So, my decision to invest in further aids was out of necessity.
If I am going to really look after myself and my body, I could either choose to be too full of pride and become housebound (again), or I could implement equipment that would support me to continue to live without the huge relapses and crashes that I’ve been experiencing.
If I could afford it, I would have one of those really expensive off-road mobility scooters/wheelchairs that would allow me to do all the exploring I have yearned for years, but for now, my foldable electric wheelchair will do me very well!
Fear to freedom
I had my first outing in my chair the other day. The initial fear I had was Who is going to see me? Are my neighbours looking? They’re going to think I’m faking it! And the nerves of trying the chair over different terrains caused extreme exhaustion. HOWEVER, I drove over grass, fields, stones, pebbles and had for the first time in a long time been able to go for a dog walk with Lewis and Lotus without being bedbound directly after. Wow, is this what freedom feels like? I thought to myself – Why have I deprived myself of this for so long?
I’m asking a lot of questions here, but the truth is, deep down, I know the answer.
The root of my internalised ableism
The deep root of this huge internal shame and ableism toward myself is because when I was diagnosed with ME/CFS, I was met with all the incorrect information that caused a lot of worsening of my disability. I was told to exercise more, to try harder and to fight through my symptoms, and I did – I did it to the point that I would become extremely unwell at my job at the time, I’d be throwing up, shaking, hardly able to move or talk and then be stuck in bed for months on end (at the worst part of my illness). Despite the debilitating symptoms and post-exertional malaise, I was told to keep pushing.
Similarly, when I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia due to the nerves, joints and muscles throughout my body feeling inflamed and as if they were on fire, I thought the only thing I could do was push through.
Well, Murrin, I’m sorry to break it to you, but it turns out there was another option this whole time!! You can choose not to keep pushing and choose to be kind to yourself – if only I had learned that 7 years ago.
Learning self-compassion
But here I am now, I don’t want to necessarily say embracing my disability because my disability is extremely disabling, painful and has stripped me from a lot of the things I want to be doing in my life – I have dreams of hiking all the beautiful landscapes here in Scotland, of working full time in my chosen career and all of the normal things that able-bodied people can take for granted.
My mindset really changed when Lewis tried out my chair, and he was zooming around our garden. When I looked at him, it clicked that I didn’t judge him, I didn’t have any negative connotation toward him, in fact, it felt NO different than looking at him standing up. In fact, I don’t and have never judged any person for using aids, so why do I feel this way towards myself?
I realised I really need to look at myself using aids the same way that I do everyone else.
I think all the baddies using disability aids are brave and courageous, more courageous than I have found myself to be, and that allows me to see that there is another way of being. Here’s to defeating this internalised ableism.
Why We Need to Normalise Neuroaffirming Practices: My Story as an Autistic Woman of Colour
In this deeply personal piece of writing, I share my journey of growing up undiagnosed autistic and ADHD and navigating the layered challenges of race, gender, disability and queerness. From masking my true self as a teenager to enduring years of misdiagnosis, I explain the toll of being unseen and misunderstood.
My story shifts when I encounter neurodiversity through my brother and partner, leading to me to finally seek and recieve an autism and ADHD diagnosis. The diagnosis has brought me both validation and grief: relief in knowing myself fully and sorrow for my younger self who suffered in silence.
I argue that schools, healthcare systems and workplaces must do better, by embracing neuroaffirming practices that validate rather than pathologise difference. My hope is for future neurodivergent people, especially women of colour who are already marginalised, to grow up in environments who celebrate who they are rather than demand they hide.
Read my full blog here: https://jesicarbates.com/cares-blog/normalize-neuroaffirming-practices-my-story-as-an-autistic-woman-of-colour