Editor’s Note: See Jane Write now publishes articles and personal essays by writers who identify as women, non-binary folks, and our allies. Learn more here.
By Lara Boyle
“Why can’t you let her speak for herself?”
That’s what family members and friends would ask my mom. I’d be at the dinner table in a crowded restaurant or even in our living room when my throat would close up. I opened my mouth to speak, but all the words I needed were gone. Under the weight of everybody’s eyes, I shrunk into my seat, unable to do more than clear my throat. I had no issues learning how to talk. I could ramble on and on for hours about horses, Percy Jackson, Harry Potter or my favorite cartoon show, Alex Hirch’s Gravity Falls on Disney. Yet, somehow I still struggled to say what I thought, to find the right words. I wouldn’t find out until I was eighteen years old that this struggle to speak was because I have a type of Autism Spectrum Disorder commonly known as Asperger’s Syndrome. My voice seemed to disappear until I found it scribbled out in jet-black ink on paper.
