Thank you Pat and TASH!
A two-part response to the Philadelphia Inquirer’s article: “Medical debate: Should autism block a man from getting a heart transplant?”– August 15, 2012. http://www.philly.com/philly/health/20120814_Medical_debate__Should_autism_block_a_man_from_getting_a_heart_transplant_.html
Autism is a neurological difference, not a “mental problem.” Describing an autistic person as having a “flawed mind” is blatantly incorrect, dangerously ignorant, and psychologically hurtful to a recently estimated 1% of the world’s population. How do I know? I listen to my 37-year-old daughter Peyton. From her, you will hear no despair about her neurological differences, but an appeal to be seen and treated as a real person, supported to share her gifts as a valued member of her community. A committee of doctors deciding who gets a chance to live should begin with truthful understandings. Denying opportunity for treatment to those labeled autistic is murder, and it is pre-mediated.
I’m Peyton Goddard, called by you autistic. Wherever I look, I’m pitied. I’m pointed to as trash. I’m esteemed as exempt. It hurts. And I’m tired of it. I’m trying to find peace, but powered pointers say I’m expendable. It is a life painfully sharp and feared. I’m no fool. I’m a real person whether you like it or not. I’m eased where you see my quest to live potently and I’m greeted as a real person. Poignantly I want you to stop jeering at me as feared, fretted murder by tyranny of killing persons of differed gifts. It is treasures in each that ready us for peace where I’m freed to live. I’m ready to greet you, nary to error you. Are you ready to error me no longer? Yearn I you see this as way to greet peace.
Pleasured I am pointed to hearing your understanding that lasted, large, limiting, linear labels are hulking jungles greeted by limitations. Keeping one limited is to measure there wastes of their great gifts. One’s tears taste lime. Understares, terror builds. One washes their tears by return try freed to their Creator, as rest there they hunger. Polling my limits I kettled boiling red, as heard I’m trapped. There I wasted my lived times in pity.
Limiting labels murder poignancy of sweet journey. I watered my liking to keep open living by questing for others better lives poignantly sweetened by encouraging swiping labels away. Wastes caging pertinent persons must stop. A trepid heart needs verses assuring “I’m deared by this very looking world. I can be me. My heart need caw no longer.” There joy is heard. These awesome pertinent persons can be freed to limitless. It greeted I hurrah.
I spent much of Peyton’s first twenty years deliberating and comparing the severity of differences in persons labeled with disabilities that I met or read about. In the early years, this private, internal discussion between me, myself and I, offered some relief to my worries over Peyton’s delays and differences, as her challenges did not seem insurmountable if I therapied her enough. And professionals agreed.
In the days before Internet could bring me many children to compare her levels of functionings and measured progress to, I found I could usually comfort my fearful self with observations that the few children we met with disabilities seemed to have much greater challenges than hers.
A case in point was my own cousin’s (on my father’s side) son who was several years younger than Peyton. When talkative Wilson was three and not walking, he was tested. Duchene’s muscular dystrophy was diagnosed. Devastated and sad describes our entire family. Debilitating muscles until death in his early twenties was the best case scenario. Pity him I did. And compare I did. While Peyton would be continuing to improve, he would be suffering a slow and sure death.
Not so. Peyton lost functioning and filled with a suffocating sadness she could not begin to shake for well over a decade. Yet Wilson lived happy. At his celebration of life five years ago I reflected on my foolish attempts to comfort myself by comparing the severity of challenges, and how thankful I am for new understandings of acceptance and valuing Peyton for ALL she is. Above all, I am comforted knowing she can really feel my love finally.
I’m heard that Independence dawned 236 years ago. Was it reason to hurray I or tear I? Still, I’m weeping. Iffy awed, I journey. Treaders still trying to point to freedoms hasten, awe all. I’m wagering that each treader yearns to journey fret-not being judged. There they can be try their bettered certain, sweet selves. Freedom estimated fills yearns in folks feeded fears that rest they will greet nary, being there fettered by red fears that “freed I worry I’ll never be.” If questions of easily sweeping away certain folks in jutty treads, deeding them to destinies of free-never, there I saw tears. If rest is to be heard, it must be freed by free ALL. Testy yet is our democracy. Eagered, all treaders want to be free to live in esteem as their deed assures. Referenced I, they need sweet-pointed, hesitated-never, certain support to ponder hopes of opportunities as best hurray. I’m plotting independence I’m measured by everyone freed as we polish our journey to Independence by all included leap to no one left out. Hurray!
Thanking I’m friends old and new for a joyous celebration of “we are all bettered by being togethered.” Operated in I is “treasure all.” Mining for jewel in each person is destination I desire. Could you please heart heard help?
My memoir, i am intelligent: From Heartbreak to Healing – A Mother and Daughter’s Journey through Autism, is available now in local bookstores and online. I wrote my bloody-beared truths, though sad they were, so all would be called to change this worrisome world. Joy is that we can make living better for all by seeing we are one in human union as the path to heart-healing peace. The fresh freedom of feeling “I’m treasured just as I am” is my desire for all persons!
Excited by your interest in reading my story, and pining to meet you, I invite you to join us at fest-freed Fiddler’s to feed eases pointed to treasuring all persons.
Thank you, Autism Society San Diego for 45 years of believing that with pure support and proper opportunities cherubs wired differently can feel their each great worth and succeed in making their valuable contributions to society. Thank you for your growing focus on supporting teens and adults in poppy poignant programs like Adaptive Swim Lessons and Surf Camp , along with your support group for Family and Friends of Adults on the spectrum. www.sd-autism.com
The writing team will all be there to welcome you! Hoping to see you at Fiddler’s Green!
”Real Supports for Real Lives: Whose Life is it Anyway?”
Closing Panel, with Dr. Rich Villa, of CalState University San Marcos-
University of San Diego Autism Conference
“Autism Spectrum Disorder: Real Supports for Real Lives”
June 16, 2012
I am me, Peyton Goddard. I pine for a worry free world where value and pertinence penetrates the peaceful rest of all persons. So I wrote my story, i am intelligent—from heartbreak to healing. For decades, quietly I was captured by pity. Errored and pouting, segregated, silenced and sad, I heard treasures are absent in I. Looking for nuggeted jewels in I is a powerfully challenging feat that I tune each day. News nifty is I’m awesomely now eased to ignite my lips and begin to speak my typed words, aquaed by I’m finally feeling I am dear to me.
Saw that in my freedom dawned in joy, I’ll write freeing others. I’m trying to awed journey to testimony treasure each of the great Creator’s poppy persons
“What types of supports have been most valuable in assisting you to become the successful person that you are?”
A quote from Laura San Giacomo, mother, actor, advocate, and my golden friend–“Most people take communication for granted. For some it is a simple task, mastered in an automatic, unconscious way. For some it is a quest. But for all, it is a basic component for a fulfilling meaningful life.”
First, and utmost valued support, I reply, is the insurance that a dependable mode of communication, Facilitated Communication aka supported typing, supplies me! For that I exclaim “Thank you, God” and “Thank you Anne Donnellan and Darlene Hanson” and thank you “All my facilitating friends.” Please let voices not yet freed know you will never stop pursuing facilitating their waiting voices until they can be heard. Wastes must stop. You can help.
Second, sweet readying to move my body is journey I chase. Being I is messed by maddening mover motions that shame my heart and strip the reason to live right out of I. Tastes of fears powered get weaker as I saw yes you understand my ceaseless moves. There I wear hope as dependable movement is my trying goal each waking million moment. Motor eases I reality hunger for. I need sweet support that rests my boggy, scared body that frets, worried that I cannot move it as my mind requests, upping red fears I will fail. I point to swept moments where I can mope nothing, greeted by your help easing I to believe I can regulate dependably my emotions and my motions. It is cuttingly imperative you ask which support I need: (i.e. communication, sensory, emotional). Quest I awesome trust in you questing I’m best as I can be.
What types of support provided to you in the past have been a barrier to your achieving success?
Supporters that devalue me are my great barrier to succeeding. Wherever I’m treasured nil, therefreed I’m scared that I waste in agony yet another opportunity. There it masks utterly my moving to join in. There it estimates I’m pity pout. Pity poses powerful treasons of dread. There I’m nervous I’m farther fail, and distresses in I get punishing. There I’m not understood. There I’m jestered, appearing a buffoon, nullifying my success. Each dark tunnel is lit by easily net of my yearning you try see me as worthy and not as unequal to you, because there I’m lunged into poses of pity that freeze I or tip I to jungles of jitters. Under fret, I fall limp or flail. My success is gestated by how you read me. If you read me as ogre, I’m wasted. Years I lived there, swept away in fear of my own settled-never, seethed-as-less, littered self. I need you to see me as equal, as I’m watered pity or pretty by you. You seed my new news there that I’m awesome as I am. This feeds my desire to be me. Please try to understate no one.
“Peyton, what do you hope to accomplish by writing your book?”
Because I saw a life I’ll never want anyone to teach as acceptable for any human being — including decades of understaters uttering I’m no one, I’m broken, moldy bread, throwaway trash, great leper — I have written my story. Yes, nothings need to be heard. In my book i am intelligent, my bloody beared truths are for telling this worrisome world that yearns are in all persons to be verifiably valued and supported by their sisters and brothers. In it I hope readers are eased to understand there is vast value in all humans. Trying I am to urge tip each reader to understand that, though different-each, we are in human union one, and to urge each person feeling peaced rest we can reach by being together in treasuring each person. A new world sounding tunes of harmony will help our looking angry world.
Weeds grow where reporters say ritual of separating people with differences is needed as lips wise. Wherever all are together, truer wisdoms are greeted. In togethered, sweet hastens data that reasserts angers appeared neared never. Mutters of persons betting on segregation are full of errors that rupture our planet. Therefreed irregularities that fry our guts, awe our poppy persons, and try our sweetest pinings for peace. Ethers of ease I’m trying to find. It’s best pouring is in purely supporting all. Some will worry how, but our best leaders worry not equalization how, and will ready us to sweetly support all persons together, importantly measuring their strengths and plotting their progress. Try please, all of us. Thesis is ones needing support are everyone. We are all our best together. So, let us return to valuings of all persons. Wedded in our oneness, dear each pure pretty pertinent person is.
In just six dawning days my memoir, i am intelligent: From Heartbreak to Healing – A Mother and Daughter’s Journey through Autism, will be in local bookstores and online. Freed to be me, I am feeling jitters and joy at the same operating moment. Ignited in I is hope you wept no pity-tears when reading my truths, but were pointed to help out the thousands wasting in ripping ghettos of prisons who wait there tropic, tired, and deeply depressed. Let us understand they too warrant being freed to be their each treasured self.
Each cherub is wired greeting dear differences. That is great. Each desires to rest in “I’m okay as I awesome seeded am.” Fears that say “I’m best rest awesome be greeted in estimators’ eyes by trying to be someone other than I,” feel testy-red nutty. Tears depthed in trying to become what we are not, feel freezed in us. Each cherub very cries to bear their treasures welcomed by their dear brothers and sisters. Wedded we are in our deep desires for peaced dessert of “I’m okay, as you are okay,” together freed to be our vastly valued selfs. Questing my eases to rest my red, by wretch I’m not, I wrote my sweet sweeping song with joyed Michelle to try to seed my greatness. Cries stun me nary as I sweet try to sing my weared words. Perhaps you, cries masked, can try tears stop by new thinkings estimating you are greeted yourself as great too.
Lyrics to “I Am Me”
Tell the truth
I am just different than you!
You expect me to be great
You open your mind.
You are you and I am me!
You are not better than me.
Yes, I am me!
I am me. I am me.
Tell the world I am great, just great!
I am me. I am me.
Tell the world I am great!
Open thoughts to just fly.
I am polite no more.
I am my different self
I am great!
Trying to be me is hard.
You are great because you just are you.
You tell me to control my just crazy body.
I am great just because I am me.
You and me have just
different happy to be true
to just true be.
Lyrics by Peyton Goddard
Music by Peyton Goddard and Michelle Hardy
ready for whetting thesis that
reared worth-reported-nurtured-net-zero cherubs wired differently
will try and try to bystanders please,
yet years and years understaters see them as beasts,
until their certain withered selfs are potently puny
and rest they pray urges them
to stop treading tear-filled waters and give up.
This is my story.
Teaming with Dr. Carol Cujec and Dr. Robert Friedman
eased I am that epic book is written.
Joined with Stacey Glick and Mary Norris, my truths are freed.
Thank you Esteemers.
– Peyton Goddard, author of i am intelligent: From Heartbreak to Healing
A Mother and Daughter’s Journey through Autism