When you set out to write about parenthood and one of your children has received a diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder from a medical professional, you run into a language issue pretty quick: assuming the diagnosis is relevant, how do you incorporate it into your description of your child?
“My child who has received a diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder from a medical professional,” while accurate, does not exactly roll off the tongue.
But what’s better? “Autistic daughter” or “daughter with autism”? “On the spectrum” or “autistic”? When my daughter first received her diagnosis, most professionals talked to me about “people with autism.” This type of description can be labeled “person-first language,” and the intention is to first acknowledge that a person is, well, a person, and second, that they happen to have a medical diagnosis. Under this theory of language, autism is secondary to personhood. I nodded my head when this was explained to me. Yes, that makes sense.
Later, when I visited a few communities for autistic adults online—and yes, I’m already foreshadowing my choice of language—they often commented that they prefer, or even demand, “identity-first language.” As a number of them explained, autism is an integral part of who they are—that is, it’s part of their identity.
“Person with autism” makes it sound like autism is an accessory—a pair of shoes, maybe.
If not shoes, maybe something else hanging in your closet. Maybe this orange tote bag I once bought at Target, imagining I’d take it on trips to tropical beaches filled with flip flops and light reading before realizing it was merely an oversized mom bag to fill with more diapers and take to places like, well, Target. In other words, “person with autism” implies the individual could simply return the autism to the store if they decide they don’t like it (as long as they left the tags on, of course), the way I considered returning my orange tote before my kids decorated it with mashed potatoes and it became a moot point. I’ve learned that many autistic adults see autism as non-refundable, a permanent part of their brain, their personality, their life. Not something they can change out like a purse or pair of shoes.
All that said, I think it’s fair to acknowledge that someone who uses person-first language may not intend any harm. On a daily basis, I could use either type of language to refer to a number of characteristics—even integral parts of someone’s identity—without implying anything negative. Lina is a creative girl, and a girl with creativity. She’s an energetic girl, and a girl with energy. Heaven knows she’s an opinionated girl with opinions.
However, until Lina can tell me her views, I’ll defer to those autistic individuals who’ve expressed their preferences for identity-first language and use it in my writing.
And let’s be honest, I’m also hearing the voice of my high school English teacher in my head, reminding me never use three words when two will do.
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