From The Margins

From The Margins is a series of short stories and two podcasts I created as part of a project exploring the self and lived experience as a source of data and to help make sense of my experiences working as a neurodivergent person in academia. 

Something Wrong

“There is something wrong with your daughter.”

My partner and I sit opposite the school’s preschool teacher in chairs meant for much smaller frames. Crayon pictures of cats, dogs, and rainbows decorate the walls. A laminated list of the ABC’s hangs above a chalkboard I can feel as much as see. The feeling is not a pleasant one. I try to focus on the teacher’s words, but the clock on her desk is raucous.

“There is something wrong with your daughter, “ she repeats.

Her hand rests on a file in front of her. Its contents - evidence of my daughter’s ‘otherness’ - spread out before us. The teacher goes on to tell us about how our daughter cannot sit still in class. She won’t listen. She doesn’t play with the other kids. She runs out of the room when no one is looking. She won’t do her schoolwork. Exasperation is evident in the teacher’s voice, but it is hard for me to get past her opening words:

“There is something wrong with your daughter.”

As a parent, there are certain words you never want to hear, and I don’t blame the teacher for uttering them. At least, not solely. Her understanding of what is ‘normal’ reflects larger hegemonic narratives that center neurotypicality and positions neurodivergent individuals as ‘wrong’, ‘different’, and ‘other’. That I hear those words in reference to my child during her very first year in the US school system is not surprising. I’ve heard it my entire life. It is still enough to make the bottom drop out of my stomach. 

There is nothing wrong with my daughter; the wrong is in a system that tries to convince a four-year-old and her parents that she is the problem.

CLAIM DENIED

I read the email notice again, scanning down to the decision section on my Explanation of Benefits sent from my insurance provider. 

“Decision: Claimant no longer insured. Amount due: $318.00”.  

My heart sinks. Anxiety and stress set in. 

As a graduate student on a fixed-income who is preparing to move in less than a year, I don’t have $300 to spend. After a flurry of emails and 4 hours of back-and-forth with the campus benefits office, I learned that a recent change in my contract had led to the cancellation of my insurance. 

“While you see it as a transfer, we see it as a termination and rehire”, explained the email from the student benefits representative. “Though you have been in your position for more than four years and are returning to the position next semester, the change in contract terms means that you are classified as a ‘new hire’, and new hires don’t get summer insurance coverage”. 

I would be uninsured for two months until I began my ‘new’ position.

As someone with a recognized disability and ongoing care needs, losing insurance means losing the support I need to navigate the world effectively. My medication helps me focus on tasks requiring extended attention and detail. This is particularly important as a developing scholar conducting research and working on my dissertation. The monthly meetings with my counselor - who specializes in supporting people diagnosed with ADHD/ASD - helps me work through the anxiety and depression that neurodivergent individuals often encounter while navigating oppressive systems and ableist microaggressions. 

My daughter - who is neurodivergent with similar needs - was also covered under my insurance. Not having insurance equates to potentially several thousands of dollars in unexpected bills, but money is only part of the cost. The stress, additional time, the emotional space, and the spiritual toll is just another reminder of how much harder I have to work just to exist

Freire

“Can you stop that?”

The voice breaks my concentration as I am reading through a chapter in Paulo Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed. This particular chapter had been assigned as an in-class group reading with the intent to help broach the conversation of the use of anti-oppressive teaching methods in higher education. Generally, reading is something that I enjoy doing, but as someone who is neurodivergent, it takes me a bit longer than others to process information and make sense of what I am consuming. With complicated pieces, such as the one before me, it takes me even longer as I need to force myself to concentrate to glean enough information to passably participate in a group discussion. Not being able to do so in the past has led to being subjected to ableist microaggressions from peers and instructors when I fail to live up to their expectations of participation.

“Can you stop that?”, my group partner repeated, pointing at my leg, “It’s distracting.”

I had been unconsciously shaking my leg for the past several minutes. Stimming is my body’s way of controlling and regulating the anxiety and tension produced when navigating a space not designed for me. 

“Sorry, it’s hard to control sometimes”, I replied as I shifted my leg underneath me. 

“Well, learn to,” they muttered, returning to their reading. I take a deep breath and, after a moment, I return to mine.