I’ll keep this one short, as I’m still not fully tooled up mentally for writing, despite my nagging urge to get back in the ring, even if only to declare this an official starting point from which more effective momentum can be built.

As some of you may know, over the past several months, I had to temporarily decommission my writing brain to free up mental resources for the complex logistical challenge of moving halfway across the US as a non-driving dyspraxic person with legal disability status. More accurately, it's the cumbersome bureaucratic paperwork that accompanies any major life transition when you have said legal disability status that adds a needless layer of complexity to whatever life decision you might make.

To be exact, I moved from the US state of Kansas1 back to my familiar haunt, Ellensburg, Washington, in the Pacific Northwest.

Under the presidency of Trump 2.0, I no longer felt safe living in a red state as a disabled person. Plus, homeownership, the very thing that motivated my move to Kansas in the first place, was no longer working for me as a disabled author. I thus sought to absolve myself of the burden of homeownership and move to a community with better public transit connecting outlying areas and more resources for my unique health needs, such as fully accessible gyms. This was something I had planned to do for some time, as I described in this post:

In that post, I also discussed some of the broader issues many neurodivergent people face in finding appropriate housing and communities that align with our unique needs, but I digress.

The basic move and settling in have gone reasonably well. Some of us dyspraxics can actually be quite adept at long-term logistical planning.

In fact, I might be more fully in the headspace for writing if not for the fact that just as I was nearly settled in, the Social Security Administration (SSA) arbitrarily, capriciously, and unlawfully suspended a major part of my disability benefits, placing me under the looming threat of catastrophic financial destitution.

Through the agency of an incompetent, if not unscrupulous, caseworker, this decision was prompted by changes in my personal resources resulting from the sale of my home and the redirection of the proceeds to my special needs trust. However, the trust I established is legally an excluded resource for most means-tested government benefit programs.

As of this writing, I have filed an appeal and am receiving provisional payments while my case is on appeal. So, financially, I should be fine while appealing the matter, and I have done everything I can. No more legwork is required on my end, at least for now.

I have also spoken with several legal experts, all of whom agree that I am not only legally in the right but that SSA erred, especially egregiously, in my case. Hence, by all legal standards, my case is solid gold and thus seemingly solvable.

Yet despite facing what should be an easy legal matter to resolve, I remain more terrified of the future than I have ever been and am really struggling. In fact, all of my firearms are in safekeeping as I write this, and I’m barely able to string words together into a coherent sentence to describe how I’m feeling. But why? Why am I so despondent over what, at least in theory, is a very solvable problem? Why do I spend hours obsessively reading every statute governing Social Security law, ensuring I understand every one that pertains to my case? Simply put, I have grown all too familiar with the crooked, corrupt way SSA operates.

My modest hope of fully restoring the federal disability payments, which are essential for my support, depends not only on having a strong, legally valid rebuttal to the SSA’s decision but also on the uncertain chance that my claim will be reviewed by someone who understands SSA laws and has the integrity to adjudicate fairly. They often create rules on the fly, and there is almost no effective legal recourse to hold them accountable. They hold all the power over your life, and whether they decide based on facts and law seems more like an honor system–a loosely followed one at that.

Imagine having to reckon with such a system for your basic survival. This has been my reality for the past twenty years. I would like to say that what I just experienced is rare, but unfortunately it’s not. Moreover, such abuses are only likely to grow increasingly commonplace in the wake of Trump’s signature budget bill, passed by Congress last year, which made unprecedented cuts to what little remained of our social safety net.

This is why I’m now struggling with debilitating psychological trauma stemming from my current situation with SSA. I have been through similar predicaments before and know that this type of cruelty is far from uncommon.

Moreover, such cruelty will only worsen as Trump’s signature budget bill, passed last year, further erodes our social safety net, which had long been criminally underfunded. The Big Heinous Bill has accelerated the neoliberal formula of ever-diminishing revenues from a shrinking tax base, diverted primarily to corporate welfare and frivolous military engagements abroad. This is what neoliberalism in its death throes looks like.

writes eloquently and powerfully about her own experience with this same phenomenon here

The Autistic Burnout’s Substack

The Big Ugly Eraser is Already Here

There is a specific, suffocating quiet that fills the house when you are a single mother waiting for a home health aide. It is the silence of a body trying to heal from a hand amputation, forced into stillness, while the mind is dragged relentlessly back into a bureaucratic theater of the absurd. I sit inside this quiet b…

Read more

16 days ago · 16 likes · 5 comments · The Autistic Burnout Project

My point in bringing up all of this is not to commiserate or elicit sympathy. Rather, my intent is to shed light on an aspect of the disabled experience that shows just how deeply embedded ableism is in society’s institutions. It is tragically commonplace for many disabled people to essentially live as amateur attorneys just to fight for our basic survival within a system that seeks to legislate away our basic right to physically exist. Institutions purportedly developed to support disabled people become weaponized as a form of punitive social control.

In this post, I describe what I believe would be a viable replacement for our current system.

I was hoping that by this point I would be in a headspace to devote my efforts to writing more in-depth, research-based political posts that will tie into the second book project I am planning, but instead I am struggling with a major setback inflicted by our cruel disability system. Even once I resolve the basic issue, I may still require lots of rest and recovery, and perhaps therapy, to fully get back to my full and normal functionality.

Suffice it to say, experiences like this often leave me wondering why on earth I had to be born in the US as a disabled person. Why not at least Denmark, Finland, or some other more civilized and equitable corner of the global capitalist world?

In my last piece The Phone Was Never The Problem, I described my experience of temporarily reverting to a retro flip phone and tablet to minimize online distractions and simplify my life. As a disabled person, I had succumbed to nearly obsessive news consumption habits in the wake of Donald J. Trump’s presidency. I felt increasingly compelled to keep up with the news, always on high alert for political actions that could have deleterious consequences for me as a disabled person living under America’s version of a fascist regime.

My flip phone experiment ended when it began to impede my social life, and I found a much more effective solution within the smartphone’s ecosystem: a widget that lets you temporarily turn off distracting apps. Perhaps I got so caught up in a sense of reactive nostalgia that I never considered the device itself wasn’t the source of the problem, and that it may have even had the solution within it.

My decision to revert to an earlier stage of digital life, while admittedly extreme, was also a manifestation of my ongoing ambivalence toward technology. While I obviously find digital technologies highly useful, I sometimes harbor a bitter resentment toward them, rooted in how my natural, functional proclivities impede my ability to leverage them optimally. Moreover, the difficulties I experience in assimilating new digital technologies lead me to be more broadly critical of such technologies, particularly their detrimental environmental and societal impacts.

However, as I will explain later, I wonder to what extent my personal difficulties with digital technologies, as well as their broader ecological and societal harms, stem from how these technologies manifest under capitalism.

How I experience the digital realm:

As a dyspraxic individual with NVLD1 (Non-Verbal Learning Disabilities), I often have a slower learning curve with unfamiliar digital technologies and, once learned, tend to apply them rather inefficiently.

When acquiring proficiency in new digital technologies, I generally need more tinkering, repeated practice, and occasional guidance from others to understand how the various components work. Many challenges stem from symbol coding—correctly interpreting unfamiliar icons or symbols without sufficient contextual cues. Determining which application, icon, or widget serves a particular purpose can be difficult for me. Establishing associations between unknown symbols and their functions in low-context, two-dimensional interfaces does not come instantly. Furthermore, my learning process may involve an extended period during which I depend primarily on rote memorization of procedural steps, rather than a comprehensive understanding of the underlying systems and algorithms.

Once I know what to do, I’m often less efficient in practical applications of digital technologies. For example, even when I know which app I need, it can take me longer to find it on a screen because of visual-processing inefficiencies. This also makes me less efficient and more error-prone when entering data into digital spreadsheets like Excel. Moreover, I’m more likely to accidentally tap wrong buttons or keys due to motor and perceptual impairments, so I must think carefully about what I’m doing. Even at that, I’m more likely to have to go back and make a few corrections. This gives you a sense of how I experience the digital realm.

I am also a late adopter of digital technologies, but once I do integrate them into my life, I quickly realize their benefits.

For example, after acquiring my first smartphone and familiarizing myself with its features, I quickly realized its undeniable utility in many aspects of my lifestyle. For example, if I wanted to identify a plant, I could quickly snap a photo and use Google Lens or look it up in a local field guide to find out what it is. I could even zoom in on key botanical features, such as leaf venation and seed-pod arrangements, to better inform identification. And given my inability to drive, which leaves me more exposed to the weather, I consider weather apps indispensable for accurately monitoring conditions when planning my activities. I also appreciate the convenience of checking my bank account balances online, without having to travel to the nearest branch or affiliated ATM.

My Indictment of Late-Stage Capitalist Digital Culture:

Despite the clear benefits I gained from smartphones and other digital technologies, these devices never quite sat well with me. Obviously, part of this ambivalence stems from how my NVLD hinders my ability to grasp such technologies beyond a superficial level. But I am keenly aware of the detrimental environmental and social impacts digital technologies have had, and as a Gen Xer, I have clear memories of a time when most people lived completely oblivious to the digital sphere, and the world still turned. Thus, I’m often inclined to wonder how necessary the prominence of digital life in our society really is.

Yet if I am to be perfectly clear, much of my critique of technology is not of the devices and implements themselves, but rather how they show up in the context of a late capitalist social and economic order, characterized by accelerated growth and extraction. I hypothesize that many of these negative externalities stem from systemic issues inherent to capitalism, which render the digital realm one of several barriers experienced by some neurodivergent individuals in contemporary society.

While I’m no longer as stridently anti-technology as I was after finishing high school, I often wonder if the fast-paced technological changes typical of late-stage capitalism are truly beneficial to society, or if they are merely an outcome of the planned obsolescence designed to drive growth, which is fueled by intensified competition. Obviously, much of the dynamism of the digital realm would be simply tied to increasing volumes of data, but the question is how much? Thus, to what extent are the difficulties some neurodivergent people face in keeping up with such rapid technological growth another marginalizing externality of late-stage capitalism?

Then there are the effects digital devices have had upon our culture writ large. It is widely hypothesized among researchers and social thinkers that overuse of digital devices has shortened our attention spans, blunted individual self-awareness, and made us more self-referential and exhibitionistic, while making us less thoughtful and observant of the three-dimensional space around us. And quite frankly, I can’t help but think there could be some truth to this claim.

In my time, I’ve noticed that average driving behavior has become much more reckless, aggressive, and dangerous since smartphones became ubiquitous. As a vulnerable road user who is unable to drive and walks and cycles for transportation, I actually suffer from C-PTSD as a result of nearly being run over multiple times. At 51, I’ve relied on walking and cycling since my early teens, and I distinctly remember when roads were much safer than today.

In general, I feel smartphones and the seamless online access they provide have normalized, perhaps even elevated, the most crass, debased, and obnoxious expressions of human behavior as a legitimate way to conduct oneself in public. Thus, in recent years, I have become something of a shut-in because I find the general public so difficult to be around. It sometimes troubles me that I have become something of a dour, judgmental misanthrope, as I was not always this way.

With regard to societal harm likely attributable to digital technology, it is important to recognize that the broader effects of any technology are largely determined by the economic and cultural context in which it is deployed.

While I can’t quite do this subject justice in the scope of this essay, I would like to toss out some ideas to stimulate thought and raise questions for discussion. This is also a topic I can easily see myself revisiting in future writings.

In a well-educated, degrowth-oriented socialist society characterized by reduced inequality, lower levels of consumption, strong work-life balance, cohesive geographic communities, and an economy prioritizing qualitative progress over financialization or quantitative growth, it is conceivable that the relationship between society and digital technologies would develop in a manner that is less marginalizing and less socially and environmentally harmful.

Within the framework of degrowth socialism, digital technology would be oriented toward developing regenerative, publicly owned, and durable solutions that prioritize social well-being over corporate profit. The approach would emphasize repairability, open-source software, and localized networks, shifting away from planned obsolescence and data-intensive surveillance toward a lower-energy, sustainable society.

Key strategies for implementation may include:

A Comprehensive Digital Tech Deal (DTD): This would establish a formal structure to diminish Big Tech’s dominance by socializing infrastructure and promoting decentralized innovation.

Repair and Reuse Economy: Facilitating repair cafes, device-sharing libraries, and knowledge exchanges to extend the life cycle of digital devices.

Slowing Digitization: Undertaking critical evaluations of digital interventions, adopting “low-tech” or community-oriented alternatives where suitable to minimize energy consumption.

In a degrowth economy, the technology sector would likely be subject to public ownership. This transition could foster a more environmentally sustainable material culture and increase accessibility of digital tools to diverse populations, regardless of ability. By slowing digitization, such technologies may become less intrusive, enabling roles and lifestyles that require minimal interaction with digital systems, thereby reducing barriers for individuals less adept at adapting to rapid, capricious technological change.

Additionally, a degrowth economic model—without the imperative to produce surplus value—would be better positioned to reduce reliance on digital and other technologies, particularly in arts and humanities education and academia, where excessive technification has been counterproductive. Again, this is one way in which a degrowth socialist paradigm could expand opportunities for low-tech occupations and lifestyles, reducing social and economic marginalization among neurodivergent individuals who encounter difficulties with digital technologies.

It should be noted that these observations merely represent speculative assessments on my part, rather than definitive conclusions.

If anything I said may have resonated or raised any thoughts or questions, please feel free to share them in the comments section below. Those always make for interesting discussions.

Last year, as I began focusing more on my writing, I found I needed fewer distractions to stay productive. For me, a major obstacle to that end was managing digital newsfeeds, which grew especially consuming and overwhelming amid concerns about Trump’s second presidential term and the compulsion it triggered within me to remain glued to YouTube for updates on unfolding events from the Oval Office. As an American with a disability, I grew increasingly fearful as to how various policies might affect me, which made staying informed seem a matter of life or death.

Interestingly, this was the first time I genuinely felt ‘phone addicted,’ even though I’ve owned and used a smartphone freely for years without feeling controlled by it. At times, I found myself so addled by distractions that it was adversely affecting my general ability to think, concentrate, and focus.

I’ve never been as drawn to common digital distractions like video games or social media as many others are. As an introvert, I’m generally satisfied with spending far less time on platforms like Facebook and Instagram—usually less than half an hour per visit. My nonverbal learning disability1 (NVLD) also means that there’s not a lot in the digital world that truly captures my interest. Much of it seems rather fake to me anyway. Thus, I tend to be something of a digital minimalist by nature.

To stay informed without getting completely obsessed with newsfeeds, I opted to up the ante on my digital minimalism by reverting to a retro flip phone for calls and texts, and using my tablet to watch video content at set times. Since I mainly write on my PC, I can keep my tablet in another room and keep my flip phone nearby for urgent messages.

With my smartphone getting old, obsolete, and due for replacement, anyway, I purchased a retro Nokia flip phone with limited internet capabilities. Once it arrived, I recycled my old smartphone and transferred my SIM card, linking it to my account. As a middle-aged Gen Xer and someone who has always been ambivalent about digital technology, I even found myself exuberantly embracing the touch of nostalgia this change embodied.

So how did it all go?

Initially, it wasn’t too bad. I actually enjoyed the tranquil, pensive, distraction-free moments this change brought into my life. After listening to my news podcasts in the morning, I would put my tablet to sleep, set it in my bedroom, and work at my computer in my office, with my flip phone beside me—working distraction-free like it was 1999.

After a while, I became more selective about which newscasts I listened to, deliberately choosing content that seemed comprehensive and grounded in verifiable facts, without resorting to sensationalism or doomsaying. I also found myself listening more intently, and I seem to have been mentally metabolizing the information more effectively.

Eventually, however, some of the self-imposed boundaries I had set began to break down, and digital distractions seeped into my working hours.

As months went by and the Trump Administration grew more unhinged and reckless, I grew increasingly alarmed and terrified of political decisions that posed a more personal and immediate threat to my well-being as a disabled person. I would find myself listening to podcasts for longer stretches each morning and evening, cutting into my writing and research time as I frantically sought insight into what the future might hold for me as a disabled person under Trump’s regime.

However, what ultimately led me to conclude my “flip phone experiment” and return to using a smartphone—albeit with a more informed approach—was the significant social impediment incurred by using relatively outdated communication technology. At times, it felt like I might as well have been trying to use Morse Code and pen letters. Such limitations can notably hinder active participation and engagement within modern social circles.

Having moved to Kansas about five years ago from Washington, I still have many friends in Washington state, some of whom aren’t on Facebook or WhatsApp, so we communicate through texting and occasional phone calls. As an introvert, I prefer text and messaging platforms to phone conversations. Hence, my preferred mode of communication, i.e., texting by phone, became much more burdensome by dint of my choice to revert to a flip phone.

Texting on an old-school flip phone is far more tedious and time-consuming than on a smartphone, and many types of messages are difficult, if not impossible, to send or receive on a retro flip phone. For example, if I found a YouTube clip I thought someone might find interesting, I had to write out the link on paper, type it into a text message by hand, and send it. This worked, provided I didn’t mistype a character, or misread my own writing, both of which were all too easy to do, given my dyspraxia. If I took too long to compose any text, another common dyspraxic problem, the app would abruptly stop, forcing me to start all over again. Moreover, I couldn’t send screenshots, and sending links to articles, while feasible, was an extremely cumbersome process.

It seems that retro flip phones are best suited for brief, practical texts vis-à-vis an IRL event or gathering. For example, informing a friend or family member that you’re running a little late to meet them at a given time and place. In other words, they’re practically made for a world that no longer exists–one in which in-person events and conversations still made up the bulk of human interactions. They’re not as well-suited for extensive conversational texting and sharing of online content as many people might do more frequently with long-distance friendships. I worried about drifting apart from my out-of-state friends because I was texting less and taking much longer to respond than usual. There had to be a better solution.

After almost a year of using a retro-digital setup, I bought a new smartphone from my service provider, initially planning to do all my writing at the local public library or community college library, leaving my earbuds at home. Unlike many people these days, I don’t play audio on my phone in public without headphones. In general, I avoid anything overly distracting in public, preferring to stay attentive to my immediate surroundings. This is something you learn if your primary modes of transportation have you more exposed to the whims of nature and human stupidity, but I digress.

Soon, my new smartphone arrived, and I began tinkering with some of the apps and widgets, which led me to what now seems a much more effective solution to all the distractions. I found a widget in the phone’s settings that temporarily mutes distracting apps for a set timespan. My tablet doesn’t have this feature. I set the focus widget to turn off YouTube from 9 am to 5 pm on weekdays. Sure, I could simply undo this setting if I wanted to. But for reasons I can’t quite explain, this feels like a much more impermeable boundary than simply keeping a potentially distracting device in another room.

As for the flip phone, I’ll just keep it around as a burner phone, perhaps get a different SIM card and separate number for it, and use it strictly for business communication.

I now feel I have arrived at an effective solution that lets me enjoy the efficient communication and information access offered by smartphones while managing many of the distractions these devices bring, even amid the dire humanitarian and constitutional crisis my country remains embroiled in. As I grow even more selective about the news content I listen to and get more out of my scheduled listening sessions, I don’t feel as compelled to just mindlessly consume any relevant content that comes up on my feed. It’s like I’m freeing up more mental bandwidth and regaining my general ability to concentrate, focus, and reflect, so critical to being an author. In fact, I’m even having fewer and fewer occurrences of walking into a room and forgetting what I came in there for.

However, the phone itself was never the problem. Again, I had never experienced digital distractions before Trump took office. The problem was living under a fascist administration as a disabled person, which constantly threatens our very physical existence and puts us in a constant state of fight or flight. Moreover, this illustrates the effect authoritarians seek to instill in their subjects– keeping everyone too traumatized, distracted, and addled to mount any effective resistance against the regime. Thus, for me, reclaiming my ability to reflect and focus is integral to sustaining my resistance to late-stage capitalism and the authoritarian regimes it ultimately culminates in.

Happy New Year, everyone! At the risk of being too cliché, time certainly flies, doesn’t it? It’s hard to believe that I have now officially been a published author for a whole year, and I look forward to many years to come writing and producing work about dyspraxia, dyspraxic life, and neurodiversity politics.

With the global rise of fascism, primarily here in the States but also abroad, last year was a very trying one for many of us within the neurodivergent community. For me, one decided bright spot amid all the unvarnished ableism, cruelty, and chaos of the Trump administration has been the invaluable community of other authors, thinkers, and visionaries I have found here on Substack. I make no exaggeration when I say that writing, connecting, conversing, and collaborating here on Substack was absolutely indispensable in keeping me going. For that, I am infinitely appreciative to say the least.

After a period of retooling and resetting, I’m now ready to get back into the swing of posting content regularly here on Substack again.

In this post, I talk about my future goals and visions as an author, for both my work here on Substack and, relatedly, for a second book project titled Divergent Nation: Why a Neuroinclusive Human Society is Humanity’s Most Viable Path Forward. I elaborate a little bit about the book in the video clip, and much of my future content here on Substack will relate to the book’s overall theme.

This is my first video post, not only here on Substack but the first time I have ever created and uploaded video content on any online platform. I have never been comfortable appearing on camera, but I think that if I am to advance as an author in this day and age, it would behove me to become adept at using this mode of content delivery.

I look forward to another year of writing, collaboration, and conversation. If there’s anything in particular regarding dyspraxia or neurodiverity politics, please drop a comment in the comments section. I’m always open to suggestions!

Here is a link to my author website:

allanwhiteauthor.com

My book, Dysrupted Pathways: A Dyspraxic Odyssey, is available at that website, as well as at the link below:

https://books2read.com/u/4NEyLY

So I have some significant changes materializing in my world, which may mean I have to cut back on long-form posts to either a bi-monthly or once-per-month frequency. I feel like, in my efforts to post frequently enough to stay visible to the algorithm, I have really been faltering in the quality of my long-form posts lately. For that, not only must I apologize, but I also thank you, for those of you who have remained subscribed despite my decline in quality, for granting me such grace.

Starting in December this year, I will focus most of my efforts on compiling my second book and developing it into a polished manuscript before I need to move next year. Some of you may already know that next year, for a variety of complex, multifaceted reasons, I will likely be moving back to Washington State from Kansas.

So, between writing and editing my second book manuscript, promoting my first book as much as I can, and preparing to move halfway across the USA, I will need to cut back on my longform posts and only keep those relevant to my second book, which I am currently working on. I’ll still be posting in notes, and hopefully improve the quality of those. I also hope to do some live streams and video updates every so often, as I want to become more comfortable appearing on camera and using other technologies related to writing and promoting my work. So, that will be another focus while I step back slightly from my long-form posting routine. Hopefully, this will at least keep me visible to the algorithm while I’m posting less frequently.

As I may have written in other posts here on Substack, given my neurotype’s slow cognitive processing speed, I just can’t juggle too many things at once.

In case you’re wondering about my second book, it will be a single-author anthology titled “Uncategorizable: An Alt-Neurodivergent Dyspraxic Anthology.” It will feature fleshed-out, elaborated, and edited versions of my selected Substack posts, divided into three thematic “parts,” if that makes sense. I have so many posts that, for the sake of brevity, I didn’t elaborate on as much as I wanted, and many of those will be included in my book. The first part will consist of essays that mainly address the theme of “understanding dyspraxia.” The second part will focus on the theme of “dyspraxic life.” The third part will include chapters that are exclusive to the book, focusing on neurodiversity politics, political strategy, and the “long game” of how I ultimately envision a neuroinclusive human society—along with how my dyspraxia informs that worldview.

While on the subject of books, I will post a link to the one I published earlier this year, if anyone would like to take a look. It’s my memoir titled Disrupted Pathways: A Dyspraxic Odyssey. The link is embedded in the title.

While my presence within this amazing Substack community will likely span many different phases over time, I look forward to being part of it for many years to come.

Also, if anyone has any general thoughts on platform algorithms, the frequency of content posts, or anything else, please drop a comment or question in the comments section. I always enjoy the discussions that result.

I hate holidays — or at least the way they’re traditionally observed in Western culture, anyway. If you’re also neurodivergent in any way, you probably can relate at least a little to that feeling.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, which marks the start of the holiday season here in America. As I shall explain, holidays have never squared too well with my natural dyspraxic proclivities.

Thankfully, in my case, however, the combination of incurable strangeness and my long-time atheism has enabled me to live a life where holidays are largely inconsequential. Being a lifelong bachelor certainly helps, too.

So why, specifically, do holidays really suck for me as a dyspraxic person?

Let’s start with the holiday feasts. That one gets me in several different ways.

First of all, cooking is somewhat burdensome for me as a person with dyspraxia. In my case, the combination of fine motor impairment, as well as impaired organizational ability and poor sense of timing, impede my ability to prepare a multi-ingredient recipe with consistent results. This is particularly true with any recipe that deviates too far from the range of foods I usually prepare in my day-to-day life.

I can generally handle sharp utensils safely, albeit slowly. However, I end up cutting ingredients in highly variable sizes and thicknesses. I can usually operate a stove or oven without burning down my house, though there is a somewhat better-than-average chance I'll either burn whatever I’m cooking or at least over- or undercook it. Plus, I have to be ever so careful to follow the recipe to the letter to avoid accidentally skipping a step and screwing the entire thing up.

In general, due to special health concerns related to my dyspraxia, my relationship with food is almost strictly practical and health-related. In particular, I tend to have a slower basal metabolism1, as well as GERD (Gastroesophageal Acid Reflux Disease), and thus have to plan my diet around both of these issues. The link between GERD and dyspraxia is well established, but the link between dyspraxia and metabolism is entirely speculative. I just know that unless I am painstakingly asiduous in both diet planning and exercise, I will gain weight virtually overnight. Thus, the ancient Hippocratic adage of “Let Food Be Thy Medicine” has almost literally become a way of life for me. This means, however, I have never learned how to prepare the more highly processed, multi-ingredient foods typically consumed at holiday meals. It’s just not something I’ve ever been able to integrate into my life.

As far as day-to-day food prep, I have a range of things I prepare for my own meals that satisfy the nexus of being both reasonably easy for me to prepare and compatible with my health needs. The consumption of many highly processed foods is a big no-no for me. Typically, in the mornings, I’ll make a fruit-and-yogurt smoothie with a scoop of collagen peptides for extra protein, sweetened with Stevia. Then I might snack on raw fruits, vegetables, unsalted nuts, or canned fish throughout the day. In the evening, I might have some cooked meat or legumes that had been simmering in a crockpot all day. I’ll have this along with some cooked whole grains and steamed vegetables. That’s basically how I eat—very basic, simple, and minimally processed. I also make sure that everything is well balanced in terms of both macro- and micronutrients, in line with my nutritional needs, relative to my physical activity levels. I’m also very mindful of not consuming too much added sugar, sodium, or saturated fat. But again, if I were required to shift gears and prepare a dish more appropriate for a holiday feast, I may not be able to follow through. One exception would be that when I lived in Washington state, I used to smoke salmon or steelhead filets as a holiday dish, and they were always a hit whenever I brought them to a holiday get-together. And it’s something I can easily prepare and is compatible with my dietary regimen.

If I’m invited to a holiday meal, I often make up an excuse not to attend, simply because I don’t want to show up without bringing a dish. Yet I feel terrible about lying, which is why holiday invitations present an ethical dilemma for me. Do I make up a false reason for declining the invite, or do I show up empty-handed?

Socially, a significant problem for me with any such gathering is that it is difficult for me to follow the thread of any larger group conversation and contribute in a timely manner. Thus, I will remain mostly silent during those occasions, hoping that nobody will misread or misjudge me.

Also, I have difficulty holding a conversation while eating and thus tend to remain completely silent during a shared meal. Many people misread this, however, and think that I’m angry or upset for some reason. But that’s not the case at all. I simply cannot multitask with my mouth and thus must choose between either eating or talking. I can’t do both. I wrote about this, and other social issues I face as a dyspraxic person, in my post, titled "Lost In Translation."

I generally don’t get severely overstimulated by such occasions, unless the gathering is either too large or too noisy. Usually, if fewer than five people are present, I won’t have any such issues stemming from crowd density or noise levels. However, if more than about five or six other people are present, I’ll want to run and hide somewhere.

So what exactly will I do for the holidays?

I spend most of my time alone and am totally okay with that. For me, it’s a time to revel in the quiet and kick back a little bit.

I may use holidays to catch up on archaeological or historical documentaries I've been meaning to watch. Sometimes I might have a few beers or so while I’m at it, and admittedly, even get somewhat wasted without really trying. I’m a total lightweight.

Provided there’s no snow or ice on the ground, I might run or do some rucking2 outdoors for my workout, all while enjoying the unusual calm, quiet, and tranquility created by nobody else being out and about. Of course, for obvious reasons, this will usually precede any alcohol consumption.

For a variety of different reasons, holidays can be quite torturous for many neurodivergent people. So if you are neurodivergent, please do whatever you need to do to take care of yourself this holiday season. Stay safe, and remember, you don’t owe anyone an explanation for doing what feels right for you.

“Sometimes you have to catch the rabbit slowly” is an expression I once heard to describe situations in which patience, strategy, and a long-term view lead to the best solution for complex or overwhelming problems. Though I don’t quite recall where I heard it, I’ve long cherished this idiom, perhaps because it resonates so strongly with my own approach to life as a dyspraxic individual with a slow cognitive processing speed. I may not be particularly fast, efficient, or dynamic, but I am persistent and strategic over time.

Pairing persistence with a long-term yet flexible strategy is the approach I’ve chosen to address a challenge I previously wrote about: my efforts to revive my long-dormant special interest in ancient stone tool-making (also known as “flintknapping”) and other ancient skills, such as friction fire-making, natural cordage weaving, etc. Primitive technologies and human prehistory are subject areas I have long been passionate about, having first become acquainted with them during late adolescence, at around the same time I also first realized that I am likely neurodivergent in some way. I wrote about this pivotal moment in my life in my published memoir, Disrupted Pathways: A Dyspraxic Odyssey. For me, it wasn’t just a hobby; it became a grounding force in my life, ultimately leading me to earn both a BA in anthropology and an MA in Experimental Archaeology. While I don’t presently work in those fields, I maintain an interest in the subject matter.

Over time, however, numerous factors gradually pulled me away from my special interest. Among them were traumatic experiences that became associated with it, resulting from the bullying and exclusion I dealt with in graduate school. I wrote about these experiences in a much earlier post titled Poisoned by Ableism. However, the more long-standing and still highly relevant barrier for me in reconnecting with my special interests has been dire time famine, resulting from an intractably slower working speed combined with the necessary burden of devoting countless hours to a rigorous, time-consuming health regimen. Both the slow working speed and special health needs that necessitate such monastic devotion to cumbersome health regimens are related to my dyspraxia, and leave me with little time and energy for anything else. Hence, any non-writing-related special interests fall by the wayside all too easily. I wrote about this in my post Quasi-Athletic Lifestyle by Reason of Dire Medical Necessity.

Other neurodivergent authors here on Substack have written about losing touch with special interests and the gigantic hole in the heart this creates for neurodivergent people. This is a pain that has tormented my soul for years now.

This past summer, I attempted with every fiber of my being to get in more flintknapping time. Still, ultimately, I was barely able to even skim the surface of the amount of knapping I intended to do. The combination of working on producing more written work for publication, my ever-so-vital health regimen, and the additional burden of never-ending lawn maintenance very much ate up most of my time.

The truth is, as a dyspraxic person, I don’t have the same twenty-four hours a day as everyone else. Thus, it is difficult for me to juggle too many different things in my life. It seems this can be said for other neurodivergences, too.

Moreover, it almost seems like, as a dyspraxic, it is difficult to “mentally shift gears and retool” for activities that differ too drastically from those that are more customary to your day-to-day life—In my case, writing and working out assiduously. I get locked into a specific range of activities and cannot easily shift my focus to anything else, no matter how much I might wish to.

My Current Resolution:

I’m not ready to give up just yet. Those times I was able to get out and knap, I was every bit as engaged in the process as usual. My passion, enthusiasm, and inquisitiveness haven’t wavered one iota. My mind would formulate hypotheses about technological practices in human prehistory and ways to test them through experimentation. I was captivated by the same wonder and intellectual curiosity that first drew me to this activity as a high school junior. This is the kind of engagement my mind needs—something completely esoteric, with no seemingly practical purpose other than personal enrichment and the satisfaction of doing something to the best of my abilities, just for its own sake.

Obviously, my literary activism on matters pertaining to neurodiversity is very satisfying and rewarding in its own way. Still, much like my health regimen, it feels more like an endeavor I had to take up out of necessity—a necessity incurred vis-à-vis the various forms of systemic ableism I have dealt with my entire life.

So while a part of me is mentally preparing for the eventuality that it might, at some point, simply be best to let go of my special interest in primitive technologies peacefully, I’m going to make another go at it next year before calling it quits.

While I have folded up all my flintknapping tools and equipment for the year, I am already planning my flintknapping and primitive technology projects for next summer. I hope, by that point, my second book project will be in the professional editing phase, and I will plan my other writing projects to better enable me to build in time for flintknapping. Perhaps longer-term planning and setting goals will be key here. I’ll see if it works.

If I can complete at least half of the knapped stone implements I plan to make next year, I will have another go at it the following year. If not, and I just cannot get any traction on these projects, perhaps that will be the point where I may just peacefully let it go. At some point, it just no longer makes sense to expend too much time and energy fighting the tide of the inevitable.

Conclusion:

What I just related is an account of dyspraxic inquisitiveness and creativity coming up against the temporal reality of intractable inefficiencies and the strained time budget these incur.

Special interests are often a critical cornerstone and anchor in neurodivergent life, but sadly, life can pull us away from these pursuits, leaving us greatly diminished. If anything I’ve said here resonates in any way, please feel free to comment down below. Thanks for reading!

In my last post, Punishment Barely Cloaked As Support, I discussed not only the US Social Security Administration’s patent ineffectiveness, but the cruelty the agency inflicts upon the very people it purports to help. I highlighted the long, torturous appeals processes, paltry benefit payments, strict phaseouts, and harsh restrictions on extra income and assets that affect both the SSI and, to a lesser extent, the SSDI program.

Here, I aim to highlight and evaluate what I believe to be, overall, a highly viable solution to America’s unjust and inadequate system of disability-based income support. It is a model developed by David Trimmer of the People’s Policy Project (3P), which is a progressive think tank founded in 2017 with the primary mission of publishing ideas and analyses focused on socialist and social democratic economic ideas.

I will start by describing the ADC policy proposal in detail, followed by my evaluation of said proposal.

The ADC: How It Would Work

Trimmer’s proposal, referred to as American Disability Compensation (ADC), is modeled after the Veterans Administration’s (VA) Disability Compensation, America’s oldest and most effective disability program, which provides compensation to veterans for disabilities resulting from military service.

VA disability criteria assess disability and assigns it to an ordinal percentage ranking, ranging from 10% to 100% based on the assessed severity of the impairment (Trimmer, 2024, www.va.gov). While I think some aspects of this proposal could benefit from further research, I firmly believe the idea warrants serious consideration.

VA disability compensation may be awarded for various disabilities proven to have resulted from military service. These include, but are not limited to, the loss of limbs, Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI), and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).

Additionally, the VA has a system to evaluate and consider “pre-service impairments” a claimant may have had before joining the military. These might include: Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), ADHD, and many others. These are then included in their overall disability percentage rating (Code of Federal Regulations, Title 38, 2025). While the VA cannot award benefits solely for these types of impairments—like any other non-service-related condition—it will factor them in when assessing a claim for disability compensation based on impairments incurred during military service.

Currently, recipients of VA disability payments gain access to health services through the VA, ensuring comprehensive coverage for their medical needs. This is analogous to how disability or retirement compensation through the Social Security Administration guarantees healthcare coverage through both Medicare and Medicaid, depending on whether one is awarded SSDI, SSI, or both. This provision, of course, wouldn’t be necessary if the US joined the rest of the developed world and adopted a single-payer universal healthcare system, as many of us believe it should, but that’s another matter altogether.

The administration of VA disability compensation is often described as straightforward yet highly effective. Medical professionals evaluate veterans with service-related disabilities. After a medical assessment, these professionals assign each veteran a disability rating ranging from 10% to 100%. This rating directly determines the benefit amount the veteran receives each month. As of 2025, those benefits range from $175.51 (10%) to $3,831.30 (100%) monthly (See Fig. 1), with additional supplements for veterans with a spouse and dependents. According to Trimmer, this structure customizes the program to address the needs of all disabled individuals, including those with what might be considered “partial disabilities” who may not readily qualify for existing programs like SSI or SSDI, if at all. While at the same time, it guarantees that those with severely debilitating conditions receive monthly benefits and a living wage.

Unlike both SSI and SSDI, VA disability compensation does not examine and factor in a veteran’s work history or the sum of their assets. Also, VA disability compensation does not take into account SGA limits.

Disability Percentage Rating:          Monthly Payment (Veteran Alone- 2025):
             10%                                      $175.51
             20%                                      $346.95                        
             30%                                      $537.42                                  
             40%                                      $774.16                                     
             50%                                      $1,102.04                                    
             60%                                      $1,395.93                                      
             70%                                      $1,759.19                                       
             80%                                      $2,044.89                                       
             90%                                      $2,297.96                                      
            100%                                      $3,831.30                                       
Fig. 1  (Source:www.va.gov) 

Medical professionals assign veterans a disability rating based on the severity of their disability. This structure, according to Trimmer, “orients the program to adequately compensate veterans based on their needs.” Veterans with partial disabilities receive a lower rating and a subsequent benefit. Those with completely debilitating impairments are assigned a 100% disability rating and receive a monthly payment that exceeds a living wage. At a 60% disability rating, the base benefit level would be at or above the federal poverty line for an individual. Thus, it has excellent potential to eliminate poverty among disabled beneficiaries. In the evaluation at the end of this article, I will discuss why I believe this is the point where “things could potentially get tricky.” However, I don’t see it as an unfixable problem.

The VA Disability Compensation is a universal program with no phaseouts. Veterans who can earn additional income can do so without their benefits being reduced. In this way, it serves virtually the same function as a Guaranteed Minimum Income for eligible veterans, potentially supporting rehabilitation and occupational development among disabled veterans. I personally have known a few disabled veterans who have successfully pursued self-employment while collecting VA disability compensation. Thus, I can easily envision more disabled people doing the same thing if both SSI and SSDI were replaced with the ADC or something similar.

If ADC were implemented, VA Disability Compensation could retain its current structure, fulfilling its purpose of dispersing benefits exclusively to veterans with service-related disabilities. Moreover, veterans with non-service-related disabilities or those who encounter difficulty proving that their disability is service-related could apply for ADC instead.

In his report, Trimmer proposes that Federal policymakers in the US should replace both the SSI and SSDI programs currently administered by the Social Security Administration with his ADC model for disability compensation. To do this, it would completely absorb the Disability Insurance Trust Fund, completely replacing both the SSDI and SSI programs. It would also have a child benefit program. It would eliminate the Disabled Adult Child (DAC) benefit program currently administered by SSA, and those who received childhood benefits would then receive adult ADC benefits upon attaining age 18.

The administration of ADC would mirror that of VA Disability Compensation, with medical professionals evaluating individuals aged 18 and above with disabilities and assigning each eligible applicant a disability rating ranging from 10% to 100%. According to Trimmer’s report, policymakers would have two options for determining specific criteria for each disability rating within ADC. These are:

• Adopt criteria similar to those used for VA disability compensation, which would compensate individuals based entirely on the severity of their disability and not factor in income and earnings from work or other sources. This would align ADC with VA disability compensation, which is a more effective and successful program than either SSDI or SSI.

• Utilize Substantial Gainful Activity (SGA) limits for each disability rating, which would focus the program directly on assisting Americans with work-limiting disabilities. This approach might seem most intuitive as benefits would be dispersed directly to individuals with partial or complete work limitations, and thus require support. Under this scenario, each SGA limit and benefit level could be tied to a percentage of the federal poverty line (FPL) for a single person (See Fig. 2).

Childhood Disability Benefits:

Trimmer’s ADC policy proposal also includes a provision for childhood benefits, as the Social Security Administration presently offers SSI benefits to income-eligible households of children with qualifying disabilities. The ADC would use similar criteria to determine eligibility for childhood benefits, but would apply four benefit levels rather than one. This ensures that children with more severe disabilities would receive a greater benefit amount than the current SSI and that those with a partially limiting disability would still receive some assistance. Benefit levels for children would be based on a percentage of the difference between the one-person and two-person poverty line (See Fig. 3).

Some Potential Concerns:

While I aim to focus my discussion of the ADC policy paradigm on disability determination processes, benefit payouts, and my overall impression of this proposal, I will also briefly mention other key aspects to better illustrate how it would work in practice.

In his report, Trimmer identifies two potential “edge cases,” including blind or low-vision Americans and SSDI beneficiaries with extensive pre-disability work histories, where a disabled person could lose money under the ADC compared to the current Disability and Retirement programs administered by the Social Security Administration. Two other potential concerns the report endorses are retirement and unemployment. I will briefly summarize the solutions he proposes for areas of potential concern that would need to be addressed. I think the author suggests very effective, well-thought-out solutions for each case.

These are the different areas of concern mentioned in Trimmer’s report:

• Blind or low-vision Americans: SGA thresholds for blind and low-vision beneficiaries are set significantly higher under SSA criteria. The (2025) SGA threshold for non-blind beneficiaries is $ 1,620.00, which is 125% of the federal poverty line for a single person and corresponds to a 50% disability rating under both the VA and hypothetical ADC criteria.

While $ 1,620.00 is higher than what any SSI beneficiary receives and around average for SSDI beneficiaries, low-vision Americans may see a reduced benefit, given that their SGA is higher at $2,700.00 per month.

To address this potential downfall, medical professionals could reevaluate the degree to which blindness affects work and accord a higher disability rating to blind Americans. This would result in a more adequate benefit.

• Some SSDI beneficiaries: Disabled Americans with extensive work histories might see decreases in their monthly payments under the ADC. Such individuals could receive higher SSDI payments than their potential ADC benefits. This situation would be especially problematic for those who became disabled near retirement age. If SSA switches to the ADC system, these recipients should be protected. This could be done by allowing current SSDI beneficiaries with a disability rating of 50% or more to continue receiving their SSDI payments under the old system, provided the SSDI payment is higher than their ADC benefit.

• Retirement: With the introduction of ADC and consequent elimination of both SSI and SSDI, it becomes essential to address the transition for disabled beneficiaries upon reaching retirement age. Thus, ensuring continued financial security upon reaching retirement age could be achieved by allowing ADC beneficiaries to maintain their ADC payments post-retirement.

• Unemployment: A newly disabled individual would receive enhanced unemployment benefits for one year, enabling them to adjust their finances to a lower income as they transition from unemployment to living on ADC benefits. People aged 18 to 64 who suffer a life-altering disability, as determined by qualifying for a disability rating of 70% or more, could receive a benefit equal to 90% of their previous year’s earnings, up to the median household income, instead of potential ADC benefits. This would help them readjust their finances and living situation to a lower income after becoming disabled.

Discussion and Conclusion:

The ADC system, developed by David Trimmer of The People’s Policy Project, I believe, could significantly address several issues attributed to chronic poverty among current Social Security beneficiaries. These issues include low benefit payments, strict means testing, phaseouts, and rigid asset and resource limits for SSI beneficiaries.

If adopted by the SSA, where determining whether an impairment is service-related is irrelevant, I can see how the VA’s ranked percentage system for assessing disability severity could lead to a more efficient and less traumatic process for benefit approval. Currently, only 36% of VA disability applications are rejected, meaning the claimant must appeal the decision. Most of these involve determining whether or not a veteran’s disability is service-related (Government Accountability Office, 2025). Contrast this with about 62%- 70% of disability-based claims being rejected at the initial application stage (U.S. Social Security Administration, 2025). Therefore, I can see how, when applied to the general population of disabled people, where combat-based causality isn’t a factor, the VA system of disability determination could result in much faster approvals for SSA disability applicants.

Under this system, I believe that anyone with an officially diagnosed impairment, clinically recognized as causing any level of occupational limitation, would more easily qualify for some form of help. However, if not implemented in a well-informed, good-faith manner, the opposite could easily occur.

The SSA currently relies on a terribly outdated and unrealistic “all or nothing” approach for disability decisions. But the reality of disability is never that simple. Many impairments, including less obvious ones, can cause quite drastic work limitations—even for those who seem to “look okay on paper”—but the current system does not reflect that. Switching to a ranked percentage system for disability determination could serve as a practical framework for addressing this issue.

However, the question remains how accurately such an assessment would assign the correct disability percentage to a claimant, given the much broader and more diverse population with disabilities than what the VA serves. It’s possible that with some populations, notably neurodivergent people, applying primarily based on their neurodivergence, it might be challenging to assess their actual level of work disability accurately. I say this because, while it is known that various forms of neurodivergence often incur significant employment limitations, there is also considerable variation in occupational outcomes across neurodivergent individuals, particularly those whose neurotype(s) fall under the rubric of Specific Learning Disabilities such as ADHD, Dypraxia, Dyscalculia, etc (Wells, 2025).

Suppose the US adopted the ADC system, using the same disability-determination criteria and system as the VA. A critical consideration, I think, would be that the agency conduct thorough, well-controlled, unbiased research on a wide range of disabled populations to accurately assess the typical level of work-related disability someone in any given impairment category might face, as a basis for determining disability percentage. This is also an area where I feel that disability determination boards should collaborate more closely with advisory panels comprised of disability beneficiaries, representing a wide gamut of different disability categories.

I could be mistaken on this point, and if so, I am open to a good-faith, fact-based rebuttal. However, it seems to me that the populations served by the VA disability compensation system encompass a much narrower range of impairment categories than those that the SSA might deal with. Moreover, not only is the range of impairments narrower, but most of the combat-related impairment categories recognized by the VA also involve work limitations that medical and vocational experts are better equipped to understand. If my assertion is correct, it would make sense that most of the controversy and appeals process in VA disability claims mainly concern whether a disability is service-related rather than the severity of occupational restrictions it imposes.

Also, in many cases, it can be difficult to accurately assess a claimant’s occupational limitations solely on medical evidence. Often, the effects of many disabilities in the workplace might only become apparent after attempting to work, only to encounter obstacle after obstacle, no matter what type of job they attempt. This is not an uncommon scenario among many neurodivergent adults, including myself. I wrote extensively about these struggles in my memoir, Disrupted Pathways: A Dyspraxic Odyssey.

Currently, the VA only considers clinical data when determining disability. The SSA, however, also considers non-medical evidence, such as accounts of impaired occupational performance written by former employers. While the exclusive emphasis on medical evidence streamlines the VA’s disability determination process, when applied to the SSA, it could create major blind spots when looking at a broader range of disability within the population.

Yet the problem with SSA’s current approach to evaluating non-medical evidence, such as eyewitness accounts of impaired occupational performance, is that the agency typically weaponizes this information to create some “mythical job” a claimant should be able to perform given their impairment, thereby justifying a denial of their claim. One solution I might suggest would be for SSA to continue examining occupational evidence, but only to the extent that it addresses the questions of:

1. Does the non-medical evidence of a failed work attempt correlate with the medical evidence?

2. How commonplace is/are the attempted occupations in the national economy?

Therefore, if the claimant tried to work in any job that exists in significant numbers within the national economy but their impairment(s) prevented them from succeeding, such evidence would be considered when determining a disability percentage ranking.

Currently, the SSA examines both skill level and exertional capabilities for specific occupations to assess which types of jobs a claimant can hypothetically perform based on their disability and past work history. However, this often does not reflect reality and only lengthens the appeals process for claimants who know they couldn’t perform the jobs the SSA claims they can. More often than not, by the time someone decides to file a disability claim, it’s usually as a last resort, and they have reached a point where they know they can’t work.

Currently, under the VA, a beneficiary can appeal to increase their disability percentage if their condition worsens over time. The SSA should adopt this same provision from the VA if the agency were to combine both SSI and SSDI into ADC. However, it may need to be modified to account for situations in which the full extent of occupational limitation imposed by a given impairment may not have been accurately assessed at first and only becomes apparent vis-à-vis “real-world experience” in the working world. For example, any proof of a failed work attempt would increase a claimant’s disability percentage by 10%-15% or something similar.

Having a disability compensation system that relies on simple, less refutable criteria and doesn’t penalize extra earnings, assets, or resources might be a more humane, equitable, and practical approach to income support for those with disabilities. It’s not just about providing adequate lifeline support but actually enabling disabled individuals to participate in society to the extent their impairments will allow. Combining support and empowerment is vital to equity and inclusion for disabled people, rather than penalizing us simply for being disabled.

Author’s Note: I incorporated the carts in Figures 1 and 2, simply by drawing them out in MS Word, printing them, taking pictures of the physical copies, and attaching them to this post. It’s a bit crude, but hopefully conveys the data effectively enough. There doesn’t seem to be a way to transfer tables and charts constructed in Word directly to Substack and while I know of a few programs where this is possible, I don’t know how to use them just yet. My nonverbal learning disabilities (NLD) cause me to experience a considerable level of difficulty in learning unfamiliar digital technologies.

Works Cited/Further Reading:

Government Accountability Office (2025). Implementing GAO’s Recommendations   
       Would Help Improve Quality Control Exams For Veterans. (GAO)  
       GAO.26.1087.83

Social Security Administration (2024). Annual Statistics Supplement. (SSA)

Trimmer, David. (2024). American Disability Compensation: A Framework to Fully     
       Support Disabled Americans. People’s Policy Project (3P)

Wells, M.B. (2025). Supporting Students With Disabilities: Discrepencies in    
       Educational Outcomes and the Need For Comprehensive Postsecondary    
       Support. Discover Education. (4) 303

While not a particularly glamorous topic, the politics of disability benefits systems is, I believe, a much overlooked and neglected subject worth shining a light on. The perspective gleaned from the lived experiences of many neurodivergent and disabled individuals, including myself, who have engaged directly with these systems, is crucial for challenging the widespread stigmas and misconceptions that fuel much of the abuses committed by these systems. So, in the spirit of honesty and the belief that disability shouldn’t be taboo and that having a body with limited utility to capitalist exploitation isn’t a crime, I will aim to do just that.

Before proceeding, I should mention that I am writing entirely from a U.S. perspective, focusing on issues specific to the Social Security Administration (SSA), and how structural failings within the agency allow too many disabled people to slip through the cracks of our increasingly porous, fragile, and threadbare social safety net.

However, I recognize that many other countries have similar programs to our Social Security Administration, which may also be plagued with the same types of problems. After all, the neoliberal economic order, attributable to austerity measures and reduced social spending, which in turn dismantles social safety nets, is a global phenomenon. Therefore, some of what I write about here might resonate with parallel trends in similarly developed countries.

I specifically address SSA’s two main programs aimed at addressing income insecurity among individuals with disabilities: the Social Security Disability Insurance (SSDI) program and the lesser-known Supplemental Security Income (SSI) program.

For clarification, SSDI is a public disability insurance program for those with a qualifying work history who have paid enough earmarked taxes into the Social Security Trust Fund to qualify for coverage. Thus, it is based on a person’s work history before becoming disabled. SSI, conversely, is a needs-based program, funded from the general fund, for individuals with limited income and assets who are either disabled, blind, or aged sixty-five and older. SSI is typically a program of last resort for those who have not worked enough in a qualifying occupation to be covered by SSDI.

The more widely recognized Social Security retirement pension, though facing its own crisis, is an entirely different issue and thus falls outside the scope of this discussion.

What’s Wrong With The SSA As It Presently Exists?

Lots! And I do mean lots! In fact, an entire book could be written on that topic alone, if not several.

Suffice it to say, however, that among advanced economies within the OECD, the US Social Security Disability System has some of the most stringent eligibility criteria for disability benefits and the lowest benefit payouts relative to those of other comparably developed nations (Romig et al., 2022). This partially explains why so many disabled people fall through the cracks and struggle with poverty, ill health, and homelessness.

Benefit payout levels are some of the lowest for both SSDI and SSI. The average SSDI monthly benefit is approximately $1,500.00 per month, which is slightly above the current (2025) federal poverty level for a single person, at around $1,304.00 per month. At the same time, the maximum monthly SSI payment is currently only $967.00 per month, thus well below the US Federal Poverty Level. Therefore, it’s no surprise that approximately ⅕ of SSDI beneficiaries live in poverty, and half of SSI beneficiaries live in poverty.

SSA’s disability payment programs are among the more treacherous to navigate and fall tragically short of meeting their expressed purpose of providing critical lifeline support for those unable to work due to disability. In addition to benefit levels being among the lowest relative to similarly developed nations, SSA’s disability determination criteria are also among the most stringent among comparably developed nations. Case backlogs and wait times spanning several years for a mere chance of being approved for federal disability payments are the norm among SSI and SSDI applicants. It’s not at all uncommon to spend three or more years constantly appealing an SSA case before finally being approved.

Whether SSI or SSDI, since 2020, 109,000 people with disabilities have died while waiting to be approved for benefits. These deaths occur not only as a direct result of a claimant’s disabling condition being exacerbated by stress and lack of access to adequate healthcare, but also due to suicide caused by hopelessness, anguish, and despair from often waiting years for basic lifeline support.

It is estimated that, due to strict eligibility requirements and limited information and outreach about the program, half of all eligible individuals for SSI end up being left behind by the program. Additionally, the program accounts for only 5% of benefits paid out by the administration but consumes about 35% of SSA’s administrative budget solely to enforce its complex eligibility rules (Romig, et.al., 2022)

In 2023, only 0.8% of the US GDP was allocated to public disability insurance programs, making the US the third-lowest among all OECD countries (oecd.org/en/data/indicators/public-spending-on-incapacity.html). This explains why disability payment systems in the U.S. are characterized by strict eligibility criteria and low benefit amounts, relative to similarly developed countries.

Poverty Traps

Many people wrongly believe that the relatively small cash payouts a disabled person typically receives from the SSA are what foster work disincentives, leading to an ongoing cycle of dependence and complacency among disabled people. This simplistic, misinformed, and short-sighted reasoning is based not only on outdated ideas of human behavioral economics but also on a limited understanding of how different disability payment systems operate.

In the foregoing discussion, I endeavor to illustrate how built-in poverty traps operate for both the SSI and, to a lesser extent, the SSDI program.

SSI:

As previously noted, the maximum SSI payment in the US is currently $967.00 per month for an individual and $1450.00 for a couple. Note the steep marriage penalty incurred if two people on SSI were to get married. Doesn’t seem right, does it?

Moreover, if an SSI recipient were to try to supplement their income with additional earnings, they would face punishing benefit reductions that defeat the purpose of earning more in the first place. With earned income, an SSI recipient can only earn an extra $65.00 per month without any deduction. Beyond that paltry $65.00 per month earned income disregard, any additional earnings will result in a deduction of .50 cents for every dollar earned. For example, if an SSI recipient makes an extra pre-tax income of $800.00 per month, their deduction would be calculated as follows:

Monthly SSI amount = $967.00

Monthly Earnings = $800.00,

Max Income Disregard = $65.00

$800.00-$65.00 = $735.00

$735.00 x .50 = $367.50 (i.e., Benefit deduction amount)

$967.00 - $367.50 + $800.00 = $1,399.50 (total monthly income)

Based on the example above, does it seem worthwhile trying to earn extra income as an SSI recipient when so much of it is pilfered by the Social Security Administration? It would only raise you slightly above the current federal poverty line for a single person, thus not significantly improving your financial situation beyond simply receiving the maximum basic benefit. That doesn’t even factor in work-related expenses such as vehicle fuel and repairs, transit fares, food, beverages, work clothing, income taxes, etc. It certainly doesn’t factor in disability-related specific expenditures, such as therapies, medications, and technical supports, to improve functioning, and in turn, support work activity. Working regularly incurs additional living expenses, and this is even more the case if you have any sort of disability.

Additionally, the current 2025 Substantial Gainful Activity (SGA) limit set by the Social Security Administration is $1,620.00 for non-blind disabled beneficiaries and $2,700.00 for those who are blind. Neither amount is nearly enough to live comfortably in most parts of the United States. Furthermore, exceeding this threshold could lead to the loss or reduction of in-kind public benefits, such as Section 8 housing subsidies, Medicaid, or SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program), which SSI recipients are automatically eligible for, and which help make basic necessities more affordable. Therefore, an SSI beneficiary would, in reality, need to earn significantly more than either amount to truly improve their situation and make working worthwhile. However, the reality is often that if you have any disabling condition, consistently earning above that threshold is usually not guaranteed, especially given the low pay, unpredictable hours, rigid work structures, and poor working conditions that characterize many jobs in the neoliberal era.

And income is not the only thing that is restricted for SSI beneficiaries. There are also strict limits on the number of assets and resources one can have while collecting SSI.

For example, a single person cannot have more than $2000.00 in countable assets while receiving SSI, and a married couple cannot have more than $3,000.00. Once again, there’s a significant marriage penalty built into the system. Hence, being on SSI often results in a devastating financial penalty simply for marrying the one you love.

Additionally, a person can’t have more than one motor vehicle in their name, and even collectible items, such as jewelry or valuable antiques, could be considered an asset, unless you can prove that they are for “personal reasons” only and are not a financial investment. For example, consider an SSI recipient who owns a rare Civil War musket, prized at around $3,000.00. Should SSA become aware of it, the person would have to convince the agency that they merely own the vintage weapon due to a personal interest in history or historical weaponry and have no intention of possessing or selling the relic as an investment.

It’s important to recognize that monthly benefit amounts for the SSI program have changed little since it began in 1972, and earned income disregards have not been updated at all since then. Furthermore, asset limits haven’t been revised since 1989. This highlights the systemic neglect that has plagued the program from its inception. Since SSI serves the most marginalized members of society, those with the least social and political influence, this level of systemic neglect should not be surprising.

SSDI:

The SSDI program doesn’t have as severe poverty traps as those inherent to SSI. Additionally, since the average SSDI payments are higher than the maximum SSI monthly payment, this may explain why fewer SSDI recipients live in poverty compared to SSI beneficiaries. With SSDI, a beneficiary can earn up to the SGA amount, currently $ 1,620.00 per month, before losing their entire monthly benefit.

Suppose someone receives about $1,200 in SSDI each month and consistently earns around $1,000 through a side hustle, bringing their total monthly income to approximately $2,200. While such a person may be able to substantively improve their situation with these extra earnings, there would be a significant “donut hole” in additional income between $1,620.00 and $2,819.00 that they would need to surpass to make working beyond merely supplementing their monthly benefit worthwhile. Again, with any substantial work-limiting disability, this becomes less certain.

On a personal note, I currently subsist primarily on SSDI benefits, due not only to my dyspraxia but also due to psychiatric illnesses I have incurred as a result of childhood abuse and trauma, along with generally living in a world that is not kind to neurodivergent people.

A major reason my work here on Substack currently remains free is that I worry about potential problems with earning extra money to supplement my benefits, especially with an income stream that can be very unpredictable. Although the SSDI program is more forgiving than SSI, one receiving SSDI must still be careful about earning too much additional income.

Moreover, many staff members working in SSA field offices will play all sorts of dirty tricks to make improper deductions when a beneficiary reports additional earnings. I have had this happen a few times when I was still collecting SSI before being approved for SSDI. One such occurrence left me unable to pay my rent. Needless to say, I remain quite shell-shocked from such experiences.

At least with SSDI, there are no limits on the number of financial resources one can have. Savings, investments, and other assets aren’t penalized for SSDI, as is the case with SSI.

A Little Food for Thought:

Considering the widespread myth that public disability benefit systems are highly vulnerable to fraud and abuse by malingerers who fake or inflate their disabilities just to receive government checks, the very idea of it should seem especially absurd, given the low payment amounts and strict eligibility rules previously described. Think about it logically. What person who is capable of working and earning more would willingly go through extensive legal hoops to defraud the system, only to be essentially forced to live on roughly a thousand dollars or so per month? No one I can think of. It just doesn’t make sense, does it?

Then there’s the shame and stigma that come with receiving disability benefits. Given our cultural Puritanical work ethic, Americans have a peculiar social habit of asking acquaintances what they do for a living, often just moments after meeting them. If you receive disability payments, can’t work, yet don’t look obviously disabled, that question creates a dilemma about whether to lie and avoid judgment or to answer honestly and risk being ostracized or scorned. Again, who would scam the system just to live a life marked by such indignities?

Even those with limited or no ability to work due to disability should not be punished by enforced poverty. This should be an uncontroversial idea. Our society has the wealth to achieve this goal through the public sector. What’s lacking is the political will to make it happen.

Efforts At Reform Have Gained Limited Political Traction:

As of this writing, some lawmakers have recently introduced legislation to Congress that would modernize Social Security’s programs. However, the bills have gained minimal political traction and are likely to remain stalled in Congress, given the current MAGA Republican majorities in both chambers.

A perfect example is the SSI Restoration Act, introduced by the late Representative Raul Grijalva (D), formerly of Arizona’s Seventh Congressional District. If passed, the bill would modernize the SSI program by increasing monthly benefit levels to at least 100% of the Federal Poverty Level, remaining indexed to that standard and adjusted annually for inflation. The bill would also increase allowable savings thresholds to $10,000 for an individual and $20,000 for a couple, thus eliminating the marriage penalty for both income and savings. It would also update earned income disregards from only $65.00 per month to $486.00 per month before incurring an income penalty.

The bill currently has forty-four cosponsors, all of whom are Democrats, but it remains unlikely to be passed into law anytime soon.

Some Concluding Thoughts:

This post has been primarily descriptive rather than prescriptive. My primary intent here has been to illustrate exactly why and how severely the SSA fails so many disabled people. My next post in this series will highlight and analyze what I believe to be a viable model for overhauling both the SSI and SSDI programs and replacing them with a system devised by David Trimmer of The People’s Policy Project, called American Disability Compensation (ADC). To describe it briefly, ADC is a hypothetical system that uses similar criteria to those of the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) to determine disability, based on an ordinal percentage system, ranging from 10% to 100% disability. Compared to SSA, this has proven to be a much more accurate and efficient system utilizing less contentious disability determination criteria. With VA disability compensation claims, controversy arises in determining whether a disability is service-related, not whether a claimant is disabled. The ADC system, as described by Trimmer, also has the potential to support rather than penalize work among people with disabilities.

As for basic income, since it has become a hot topic in recent years and is highly relevant here, I will briefly describe my position on it. I once held a more robust support for basic income, but this is no longer the case. I’m still intrigued by the idea and enjoy reading about the various pilot projects and the findings they have yielded. However, at this point, my position on basic income remains critically supportive at best.

My contention is certainly not that a basic income would lead to work disincentives and complacency. In fact, none of the basic income pilot studies have indicated that work disincentives are a potentially widespread effect of a basic income. However, even if any nation were to successfully implement a national basic income, some targeted system of income support based on disability will always be needed for disabled people to be able to participate in society. A basic income alone could never obviate this need.

In fact, one of my concerns about basic income is whether such a policy could be implemented without hollowing out the revenue needed for other critical forms of social spending, such as public disability compensation systems.

As far as work disincentives go, to some extent, I don’t see them as such a bad thing. To a certain degree, what economists call work disincentives, I would argue, is simply leveling out the power imbalance between labor and capital, thereby weighting it more in favor of labor. Thus, a measure of work disincentive only gives workers greater bargaining power to increase wages and improve working conditions.

Improving working conditions and enhancing worker bargaining power could also have a positive impact on making work more accessible for people with disabilities.

In this post, I hope to have elucidated some of the systemic failures of the Social Security Administration and the detrimental impact these have on the lives of disabled people. Again, my second post in this two-part series will profile one proposal that I believe has great potential to serve as an overhaul of our current system of disability-based income support.

If anything I’ve mentioned resonates on any level or raises any thoughts or questions, please feel free to share them in the comments section below. Thanks for reading!

Below is a link to my book, titled Disrupted Pathways: A Dyspraxic Odyssey. The book is a memoir about coming of age with late-diagnosed dyspraxia. Here’s the Link:

https://books2read.com/u/4NEyLY

Further Reading:

Altman, N.J., Kingson, E.R. (2015). Social Security Works: Why Social Security Isn’t

Going Broke And How Expanding It Will Help Us All.The New Press

Immervol, H. (2024) “Financing Social Protection In OECD Countries: Role And Uses

Of Revenue Earmarking”, OECD Social, Employment and Migration Working

Papers No. 312, OECD Publishing. Paris, https://doi.org/10-178710d53155c-en

Kathy Romig, Sam Washington. “Policymakers Should Expand and Simplify

Supplemental Security Income.” Center on Budget and Policy Priorities, May

4, 2022 https://www.cbpp.org/sites/default/files/6-30-21.socsec.pdf

oecd.org/en/data/indicators/public.spending-on-incapacity.html. Accessed on 11-9-2025

Trimmer, D. (2024). American Disability Compensation: A Framework to Fully

Support Disabled Americans. People’s Policy Project.

Dyspraxia, in case you’re new here, is a neurodevelopmental disorder that largely affects psychomotor skills, as well as perceptual and executive functions. The following narrative illustrates what it can sometimes be like to move through the world with dyspraxia, or at least my particular manifestation of it.

Years ago, while an undergraduate at The Evergreen State College in Olympia, Washington, a small group of my colleagues and I spent a day in Seattle for an academic symposium. After the event, we decided to do some downtown sightseeing and parked at a spot down a very steep hill from a museum we had visited. As we walked uphill toward the museum, most of my group was already somewhat winded, struggling to talk without heavy breathing before we even reached our destination. I, on the other hand, being long accustomed to walking long distances, was not the slightest bit winded, could talk normally, and even had to make a conscious effort to walk at their much slower pace instead of my usual broad, sweeping, fleet-footed gait. I really wanted just to say, “I’ll meet you at the top,” then rush ahead and find a spot to wait for the rest of my group to catch up, but I didn’t want to be rude. It’s actually very hard for me to walk too slowly, and doing so actually requires me to work harder at maintaining my balance. When we reached the top of the hill, some of my colleagues expressed relief and joked about that being their exercise for the day. Meanwhile, I wasn’t the slightest bit fatigued and was even visualizing in my head the best low-light running route in Olympia, just in case we didn’t make it back before the campus gym closing for the evening.

Given my dyspraxia, you might think I would be the one struggling to keep up with the rest of my group. Instead, with all due respect, I was having difficulty slowing down to match their pace. But I digress.

At any rate, after our museum visit and a pleasant discussion over coffee in the museum cafe, we decided to head back to the parking area to start our journey back to Olympia. On the way to the parking lot, we came across a very steep staircase descending a berm directly into the parking lot. Because I have difficulty with stairs, especially going down, I told my colleagues that I would take an alternate route to the lot and meet them there. Thankfully, they were understanding and didn’t judge my decision. After quickly scanning the area, I mapped out a route in my head, dashed about 300 yards to the nearest cross street at my usual quick pace, then looped back to the parking lot and arrived at the car right as my colleagues did. No one had to wait for me, even though I took a longer, more winding route to avoid the tall, nearly vertical stairs. “Wow, perfect timing!” one of my colleagues said, as if surprised that I reached the vehicle at the same time as everyone else.

I experience things like this all the time. Occurrences such as this remind me of how differently I move through the world as a dyspraxic person compared to others. Note that in this context, my use of the term ‘differently’ in lieu of any expression that might connote an actual deficit of ability. I say that not as a mere euphemism to dress up a seemingly unpleasant reality. Disability is not a dirty word, and I’m not the slightest bit adverse to admitting that my dyspraxia does indeed manifest as a marked disability when faced with certain features of the constructed environment, both architectural and social/cultural. Here are some other examples:

• Steps Leading to/from the entrance/exit of a building: Depending on the length and angle of the set of steps, as well as the tread length to each step, these can pose a risk of losing my balance or footing and falling. Once again, going down a flight of stairs is even more risky than going up. This is because descending requires a greater premium on sagittal (i.e., forward/backward) balance, as well as precision timing and dexterity in finer motor responses, such as foot and ankle movements. However, going upstairs can also be problematic for me, though to a lesser extent. When I need to go down a fairly long flight of steps to exit a building, I usually choose to just walk down the nearest wheelchair ramp. This occasionally draws some puzzled looks from others who see me doing this, as there doesnt seem to be any apparent need for me to take such measures. It almost makes me wish there were official signs posted near these types of ADA building access features, reading something like “Not All Disabilities Requiring Use of This (Ramp, Elevator, etc.) Are Visibly Apparent–Think Before You Judge.”

I also envision some type of third option between steps and a wheelchair ramp—a steeper, more direct ramp that runs parallel to the stairs and features horizontal ribbing throughout to improve traction. I could readily walk up and down an entrance ramp of that nature, set at about a 45-degree angle or shallower. For people with motor impairments similar to mine, it might offer a safe, yet more direct way to enter and exit a building, avoiding the trip hazards posed by steps. If widely known to be an access feature for individuals with psychomotor or similar impairments, its use among those with hidden disabilities wouldn’t incur as much misunderstanding from others. Moreover, simply knowing that such accessibility features exist might improve public awareness of a broader range of disabilities.

Of course, I’m speaking more or less speculatively here and not seriously advocating for the adoption of such a ramp as a standardized building accessibility feature. Save for cases like mine, I don’t know how many other people would benefit from that kind of building feature.

Dyspraxia is generally estimated to affect about 5%-6% of the population, yet it impacts each individual very differently. Some dyspraxics may find the type of ramp I described particularly helpful, while others may not. In general, the extent to which any such hypothetical building access feature could benefit a certain percentage of the population would depend on the extent to which other differences in human ambulation occur, which result in similar difficulties with stairs and steps – that is, not an absolute inability to use them, but rather an increased safety risk in doing so. Those are among many critical factors that would need to be researched and carefully evaluated before even considering the adoption of any building accessibility feature. Hmm, it’s almost enough to make me wish I studied architecture at University.

• Stairs/Escalators Within Buildings: As I mentioned many times in other posts, stairs are very difficult for me, and escalators are an absolute no-go. Thus, I will take an elevator if one is available.

Yet, my difficulties are such that climbing flights of stairs is somewhat easier than descending, and escalators, which of course require no physical exertion at all, are even more hazardous for me than stairs. It kinda contradicts how most people conceptualize disabilities that prohibit or preclude the use of stairs and escalators, doesnt it?

My impairments in physicality are more psychomotor than exertional, and these are two different types of physical capacities.

I will therefore use the elevator if one is available, despite the frustration of waiting for a slow one and knowing that, even with my relatively slow stair-climbing pace, I would already be at the floor I need to be if I just took the stairs. But is it worth the risk of falling and injuring myself, or at the very least, feeling bad when I inadvertently become an obstacle for anyone walking behind me on a flight of stairs?

Sometimes, if the stairs are at a shallower slope, with longer tread1 lengths and minimal foot traffic, I will take the stairs if the elevator is running slowly. This is a calculation I sometimes have to make.

One odd aspect of my difficulty with stairs is that it didn’t really start to become a problem until I was in my mid-twenties. In a seeming paradox, this was also a period in my life when I was getting back into shape after a long, unintended hiatus from working out in my early twenties. So while I had reached a point where I was leg pressing nearly three times my body weight and running a mile in just under six minutes, I found myself increasingly choosing to take the elevator. This was before I even knew what dyspraxia was or that I probably had it, making the entire experience even more confusing and perplexing for me. It also perfectly shows how dyspraxia can show up in very different ways throughout a person’s life.

• Cycling: Cycling is actually a significant part of my life, as I use either a recumbent bicycle or a recumbent tricycle for practical transportation due to my inability to drive a motor vehicle. Again, this is related to my dyspraxia. A recumbent bike is designed to be lower to the ground, and the rider leans back in a more horizontal position than on a conventional bicycle, which positions the rider more upright, similar to walking.

But here’s the odd thing: because of my dyspraxia, I find recumbent bicycles easier to balance than standard bicycles, but for many other cyclists, it’s the opposite. In terms of adaptive cycling, most cyclists look to recumbent bicycles due to orthopedic injuries, typically of the back and shoulders. Recumbent bicycles place less strain on these regions. Riders with knee injuries may also find recumbents less likely to aggravate their injuries. Yet I have often heard from riders who take up recumbent cycling for arthritic and orthopedic issues that it has been difficult, if not impossible, for them to get accustomed to balancing a recumbent bike. Yet I took to it with little difficulty at all, despite having what’s known to be a measurable impairment of equilibrium.

Moreover, when I was a kid, I could ride conventional bicycles just as adeptly as many of my peers could. In fact, I don’t remember having any special difficulty learning to do so, and I was able to ditch my training wheels within a similar time frame as most children. Yet, as an adult, I could no longer ride a conventional bicycle.

Another difference in my relationship to cycling is that when I gripe about hills, it’s usually with regard to going downhill rather than uphill. My proprioceptive2 impairmemnts mean that, without taking proper precautions, I’m likely to experience a frightening loss of control when descending too quickly. In fact, I often go much slower downhill than uphill. When descending, I usually shift to around 4th gear, which lets me pedal slowly enough to maintain stability without having to pump my brakes, which can be very damaging to a bicycle’s braking system.

One odd thing that frequently occurs when I go on group bike rides is that I’ll fall way behind the rest of my group when we go downhill, only to quickly catch up and take the lead once we’re back on level ground. Moreover, my lead will often persist even as we begin to ascend uphill.

This may even occur despite my sometimes adding about 20 pounds of evenly distributed weight to the middle-side bags on my bicycles for added stability in crosswinds, and again going downhill. This helps tremendously, as my equilibrium impairment makes me more prone to falling over in heavy crosswinds. However, most cyclists want as little additional weight as possible on either their person or their bike when cycling. Adding additional weight to their bicycle is usually the last thing they would want to do. But then again, my relationship to cycling is more practical and utilitarian, getting from point A to point B as safely and efficiently as possible. Whereas many American cyclists think of cycling in terms of sport and recreation, desiring to go as fast as possible, either competitively or just for the exhilaration of it.

In some contexts, despite my dyspraxia, I may move just as adeptly, if not more so, than many non-impaired individuals. I may even engage in activities in typical day-to-day life, like trekking home in the snow with a week’s worth of groceries in my backpack, that seem unfathomable to most modern people who can access the mechanized world more readily.

I don’t experience chronic pain or debilitating health problems as a result of my dyspraxia. Many dyspraxics, however, aren’t so fortunate in this regard.

Yet, what shows up in me as strength, stamina, and vigor, despite my disability, is, paradoxically, to some extent an adaptation to living with my disability. Health and disability are two different things that can coexist in the same body — often for reasons directly related to a disability.

Maintaining a high standard of physical conditioning not only minimizes some of the health risks many dyspraxics are prone to, such as arthritis, metabolic syndromes, and general bodily pain and fatigue, but also helps maximize my independence and autonomy, given my inability to drive. Yet, admittedly, maintaining my health standards comes at a significant cost in terms of time, energy, and effort. I am only able to afford these costs because I am unable to maintain conventional employment and thus have the time and space to set my own schedule and routine. So, as much as my health maintenance has improved my life experience as a dyspraxic person, it was also made possible due to some of the life circumstances incurred by my disability.

So at the end of the day, I still don’t have as broad a range of gear settings that non-impaired people do, and thus, I am more likely to experience disability in specific contexts. It’s important to realize that disability is much more complex and context-dependent than it might seem at first. Understanding this is critical to designing a world where everyone can live comfortably and succeed on their own terms.

October 18th, 2025, just about any and every town, USA:

History was made as millions of Americans took to the streets in mass protest against the Trump Administration’s authoritarian policies and autocratic unilateral decision-making, more strongly reminiscent of a tyrannical monarch than an elected official. All totaled, there were 2,700 such rallies held throughout the country, with nearly 7 million total recorded attendees, comprising about 2% of the entire US population. Those are the official numbers anyway. The actual number of attendees could be somewhat higher, given that many participants, including myself, didn’t formally register for the event; they simply found a local protest and showed up.

This most recent October rally was the second massive wave of protests held by No Kings - a network of progressive organizations fighting against Trump’s agenda. The first rally was held back in June.

Sometimes life can seem stranger than fiction. As unexpected as a left-leaning, politically conscious, neurodivergent American living in a small Midwestern US town writing about dyspraxia might be, perhaps more so is the fact that a No Kings demonstration also occurred in that same Midwestern town–one which overwhelmingly voted for Trump in the last presidential election cycle. Thus, needless to say, I was among the attendees present. It was a welcome reprieve from the day-to-day grind, reveling in the spirit of camaraderie among friends and neighbors sharing one common goal: saving our democracy.

Actually, protesting was one of the best experiences I’ve had all year since Trump’s election and inauguration. Over the past nine months, my mental state has swung between intense fear and raging anger. It’s more than just disagreeing with the MAGA agenda. As a legally disabled person, I have lived in fear for my basic existence, knowing that I now live under leaders who believe people like me shouldn’t even exist. That’s why it felt so urgent for me to attend the No Kings protest, despite my complicated and often frustrating history with organized activism as a neurodivergent person.

Contrary to what I expected, I’ve even faced ableism within many established progressive groups, including the one organizing our local No Kings protest. In previous meetings I have attended with them, I’ve experienced being “walled out” of conversations, dismissed, ignored, and more—those telltale nonverbal signs that clearly communicate you’re really not welcome there without explicitly saying it. I guess it should really come as no surprise, given how baked-in ableism is with our entire system.

Fortunately, none of the attendees at the demonstration I attended were among those I had issues with. So I was able to converse and share camaraderie with those I was on better terms. Yet as much as I enjoyed that particular event, it all got me thinking about the general frustration I have long contended with as a politically conscious neurodivergent progressive. On the one hand, I have long strongly desired to be more directly involved with local in-person efforts to help fight for the type of change and progress that would make life so much better for neurodivergent people. Yet, at the same time, there is a grave difficulty I have in fully integrating into those spaces in a way that I can contribute meaningfully.

Part of it is overt ableism, where others seem uncomfortable with some of my intractable but otherwise harmless dyspraxic mannerisms, such as my slower speech and more detailed, nuanced way of communicating. But part of the problem is simply my natural functionality and the difficulty it creates in merging with the types of larger group interactions related to organizing and campaigning. Organized activism spaces, like many established economic sectors, simply have no role for someone who functions best autonomously and at his or her own pace. And again, just as with many professional milieus, ignorance and misunderstanding abound with regard to neurodivergent and other disabled people.

Furthermore, considering the current state of US politics, the main goal of any grassroots activism is simply to reclaim what remains of our democratic institutions from an authoritarian regime. However, my focus as a radicalized neurodivergent individual has long been on issues more relevant to genuinely advancing human culture through a socialist degrowth approach, where production emphasizes qualitative growth over quantitative growth. This shift naturally creates a wider variety of jobs that can better utilize a broader range of human talent and abilities in the cycle of economic production. Hence, my focus and interest in progressive politics is simply on another level from what any local direct activism can effectively address at the moment.

This is why I will limit my involvement in direct activism to attending rallies and protests, where they basically need as many warm bodies as possible. My most suitable role in social change, as a holistic-thinking neurodivergent introvert, is the one I am fulfilling now—writing these words. Writing and speaking on neurodiversity-informed progressive politics is my particular form of resistance. I understand that many of my ideas might not seem immediately actionable or relevant given the current state of things. Still, I hope my words will reach the hearts and minds of the right people, inspiring them to work toward a more humane, just, and equitable future for all.

Below is a link to my memoir about coming of age as a late-diagnosed dyspraxic amid the hellscape of neoliberal late-stage capitalism:

https://books2read.com/u/4NEyLY

It’s now all but certain. Next year, I will probably be moving back to Ellensburg, Washington, from Pratt, Kansas, where I have lived for nearly five years. I placed my name on the waitlist for Section 8 housing subsidies in Ellensburg, and the last time I checked my status, it looks like I will be offered a voucher next year. This will allow me to secure rental housing in Ellensburg after selling my current home in Kansas.

As I get ready to move across the country, I can only hope this will be the last time I have to make such a big move and that I can finally settle in Ellensburg, or at least near the Central Washington area.

I mentioned this dilemma in a previous post called “Onerous Transitions.” However, back then, I wasn’t entirely sure whether relocating was necessary or where I should move.

I’ve decided, for various reasons related to my writing, mental and physical health needs, and personal safety as a disabled person living in the US under the Trump administration, that I would be better off in a blue state. While I personally think the US Democratic Party is very out of touch, they’re not nearly as dangerous as MAGA Republicans. Moreover, a few blue-state governors, including Washington’s current governor, Rob Ferguson, have been pushing back against the Trump administration in their efforts to unleash the military on US citizens. With Trump in office for the next three years, I want to be closer to the Canadian border in case the situation under his administration worsens enough that I need to apply for refugee status in Canada.

I now have everything prepared and planned so that once housing becomes available for me in Ellensburg, I can simply load most of my belongings into a moving pod, ship it to Ellensburg, and book a one-way flight back to Washington. This way, everything should go smoothly with minimal disruption to my writing routine. I’ve heard that long-term logistical planning is a noted strength of dyspraxics.

While I’m not stressing about the move itself, I have mixed feelings about having to do this yet again, especially since I hoped my current location would be where I could finally settle and spend the rest of my days. While I had long sought permanence and stability in my life, my current location no longer suits my needs in light of recent life changes, along with some of the practical realities of my disability.

A Lefty On The American Plains: Why Kansas?

For some background, I left Washington state around mid-2021 after receiving a large cash inheritance, following my mom’s passing nearly a year earlier, which was about a year after my dad died. My dad passed away in mid-2019, and my mom died in mid-2020. I managed both parents’ estates because I lived in Washington at the time, while my sister lived in Portland, Oregon, and still resides there.

After receiving my half of the inheritance in early 2021, I was determined to buy my own home. I had long wanted the personal space, independence, and privacy that come with owning a detached house. For nearly a decade before that, due to capitalism’s commodification of housing and threadbare income support for disabled individuals, I struggled to find housing that met those needs.

When I was found eligible for both SSI and SSDI because of my neurodivergences and psychosocial impairments in the early 2010s, I rented rooms in Tacoma and Olympia, Washington, for about a year before finally getting approved for subsidized housing through the Housing and Urban Development (HUD) Section 8 program. Once approved for Section 8, I was able to rent a one-bedroom apartment in Ellensburg, Washington, in a complex subsidized for elderly and disabled tenants. Having my own apartment was definitely an upgrade from renting a room in a house with several other housemates. However, the poor construction of the building meant I could still hear neighbors talking on the phone and smell cigarette smoke from outside seeping into my unit. These were more than mere discomforts; they were painfully tangible reminders that, as a disabled person under capitalism, I am not considered worthy of something as basic as my own space, where I have complete control over my living environment.

As a tenant, whether in a single room or an apartment, living in such close quarters with others was always very distressing. I rarely stayed at my place during the day, usually just sleeping and showering there. After showering and eating my breakfast in the morning, I’d pack my gym clothes, books, laptop, writing utensils, and enough non-perishable food to last the day, all in either a 40L backpack or my bike bags, and then disappear for most of the day. I’d spend days at a local university library, reading and writing, before hitting the gym, just before returning home around 6 or 7 in the evening. This was how I managed to stay mentally afloat.

Therefore, as a renter, I still felt like a nomad or a drifter, despite having what technically qualifies as a legal permanent residence. This was not how I preferred to live. You can’t truly build a life when your daily routines revolve around avoiding the insults and indignities of the marginal living space the system affords to you. I longed for the stability, predictability, and familiarity of having my own place where I could settle down and establish roots indefinitely.

By the time I received my inheritance, I had been exploring all options for buying a home within my budget for a long time. Years earlier, I qualified for the SSA DAC benefits program1, which gave me a slightly higher benefit than just receiving SS/DI alone. The combination of a large cash lump sum and my increased monthly benefit finally made me ready to buy my own home, just not in Washington state or anywhere in the western US. By then, the pandemic housing boom had driven home prices across much of the country up to a point where I could no longer comfortably afford the monthly mortgage payments based solely on my SSDI benefits.

I needed to buy a home outright with my cash inheritance, and the closest state to Washington where that was possible was Kansas. This was also where my dad’s family originally came from, and although I no longer had relatives there, I was somewhat familiar with it from visiting as a teenager in the late 1980s and early 1990s.

Soon, I found a home in the town of Pratt, situated somewhere between central and western Kansas. I purchased the home sight unseen with no mortgage and moved there in June 2021, still having enough money left to furnish the house.

Pratt is roughly the same size as Ellensburg, Washington — that is, a little over 7 square miles — but probably has a much smaller population and thus fewer amenities and resources. However, it has all the essentials—grocery and hardware stores, hospitals, a bank, and a post office—within easy walking or biking distance from my home. Since I can’t drive, I find it beneficial to live in areas where key amenities are close together.

The low population density in Pratt usually means less traffic, except during the morning and evening rush hours and around 3 pm, when all the children get out of school. As a vulnerable road user, I avoid those times when I need to leave my home. Aggressive and reckless driving have now grown commonplace across the country, even in small towns like Pratt, Kansas.

After living in Pratt, Kansas, for nearly five years, I now have no choice but to leave behind the life I tried to build here and move back to Ellensburg, Washington. Now that I’m serious about my writing, homeownership has become a burden I no longer need. My slower work pace, caused by my dyspraxia, means I am operating under a much tighter time constraint. Therefore, I cannot balance writing, my health routine, and the responsibilities of maintaining a home.

Granted, my home is relatively small — only about 750 sq. ft. — and I always thought this size should be manageable if I established a regular writing routine again. However, that hasn’t proven to be the case. It now makes more sense to sell my home, move back into a subsidized rental, and use some of the sale proceeds to invest in my writing, such as editing costs and promotional services.

Furthermore, the underdeveloped infrastructure in my town results in numerous inefficiencies and inconveniences in daily life. These issues have become especially burdensome given my increased time pressures.

We don’t even have curbside recycling where I live. I must haul all my household recyclables to the local recycling center, either in my bicycle trailer or a hand-pulled wagon. Sometimes, my tap water turns a rusty red color, usually after a fire hydrant in my neighborhood has been used or a recent repair to the mainline, and I have to use my wagon or bike trailer to go to the store and buy bottled distilled water until I can flush out my system and get clear water again.

Plus, there isn’t a bicycle repair shop in my town. Without the time pressure from my writing, doing my own bike repairs and upgrades isn’t a big deal. But now that my life has gotten busier, I need to live somewhere with a decent bike shop that has an on-site mechanic so I can offload repairs and upgrades.

Also, as I mentioned in my last post on this topic, there is no decent, fully accessible gym in my current location, and working out either at home or outdoors is proving very ineffective over the long run. Basically, none of the exercise options currently available to me really burns many calories, nor do they seem to actually boost my metabolism. All year, until recently, my morning weigh-ins have averaged about 3-4 pounds heavier than I’d like. Therefore, I have had to switch to a calorie-restricted, low-carb diet, which recently helped me bring my average weight to the 159-161 lb range, where I prefer to stay. However, such restrictive dieting is never sustainable in the long term. Plus, I’m doing more running than I should, given that I likely have a second inguinal hernia forming on the left side of my lower abdomen. Last year, I had to undergo surgery for a right inguinal hernia. The one on my left side isn’t quite surgical yet, but my doctor wants to monitor it closely. She seemed unsure about me doing fitness runs again, but without a suitable gym, I don’t know what else to do. I have an indoor fanbike, which is excellent for overall aerobic and VO2 max training, but right now, running remains my best option for both weight-bearing activity and deeper lower-body muscular engagement, which actually helps boost metabolism. What I really need is access to a good, fully accessible gym, which would eliminate the need for me to add running to my routine. However, I won’t have that until I can leave my current situation.

Since Ellensburg, Washington, has a larger population than Pratt, Kansas, and the general public everywhere is becoming increasingly insufferable to be around, I will likely adopt a more nocturnal schedule to avoid the idiots. At least Ellensburg offers more resources, such as more extensive municipal lighting, 24/7 gyms, grocery delivery services, and stores open late, which will allow me to live more or less nocturnally and thus avoid most people. This should help me escape much of the noise, over-stimulation, aggravation, and even the dangerous driving habits of our increasingly dumbed-down and degenerated society. Trust me, I’m not the dour misanthrope that I probably sound like here.

Is It Too Much To Ask?

Many neurodivergent individuals seem to have community and environmental needs that most people could never imagine. Much of my adult life has been a constant struggle to find a safe, comfortable living environment that matches my natural functioning and specific needs related to my neurodivergence. I even have C-PTSD from nearly being run over many times as a vulnerable road user. This especially keeps me on high alert and makes me feel like I need to leave whenever an environment starts to feel even slightly threatening. All I want is to feel safe and at peace for once. But in the noise and chaos that define late-stage capitalism, maybe that’s just too much to ask.

I envision neurodivergent public infrastructure that shares many of the same features as more sustainable and livable cities. These would include:

• Expand the supply of publicly owned social housing, like in Vienna, Austria, where such housing is owned by the city as a public good, without the stigma of subsidized housing for the poor common in many other countries, such as the USA. Tenants in these developments, on average, pay only a fraction of what they might in comparable European and other cities. Rents stay stable, and people from all backgrounds live there, enjoying privacy, housing stability, and building wealth without the burdens of homeownership. This would be an ideal housing solution for a neurodivergent creative

• Stricter regulations on motor vehicle noise, emissions, and steep, unwavering fines for violations.

• Banning certain classes of privately-owned motor vehicles, such as SUVs and “muscle cars.”

• Make most urban core areas “car-free zones”, excepting only certain classes of authorized vehicles such as emergency and delivery vehicles.

• Stringent and careful screening of prospective drivers before issuing a driver’s license is essential. For example, I believe that individuals should be required to be tested and found free of any Cluster B personality disorders to qualify for a license.

• Extensive networks of physically protected and segregated bicycle lanes and trails with impermiable barriers, left turn lanes, and their own appropriately-timed signal systems tuned to the pace of human-powered transportation. In the Netherlands, for example, there are even vast “bicycle highways” that connect to neighboring Germany and Belgium.

• Noise-reducing urban planning, like what exists in many Finnish cities. For example, Helsinki uses porous asphalt for roads, which reduces noise and improves drainage. Sound-absorbing facades for buildings, as well as natural sound barriers such as parks, forests, and waterways, further insulate neighborhoods from noise. I’ve never been to Helsinki, but I have been to Pori, Finland, which also had many of these noise-reducing features, and it was one of the few larger urban locales where I didn’t feel totally agitated and overstimulated.

Transportation, housing, and urban soundscapes relating to ecological and human health, wellness, and economic concerns are all areas I want to explore and write about further. For example, I often imagine public works projects where 3D printing is used in developing low-cost social housing that includes small, sturdy, detached, low-maintenance, single-family homes for better privacy, with features like secure, weatherproof bike storage capable of holding adaptive cycling gear, such as recumbent bikes and trikes.

If any of what I wrote about in this piece resonates with anyone, please drop a comment in the comments section. Those always make for interesting and engaging conversations. Thank you for reading!

Below is a link to my Book, Disrupted Pathways: A Dyspraxic Odyssey. It is my self-published memoir about coming of age as a late-diagnosed and previously misdiagnosed dyspraxic person. Here is the link below:

https://books2read.com/u/4NEyLY

A common question in online dyspraxia communities is whether dyspraxia and developmental coordination disorder (DCD) are the same. Adding to the confusion, apraxia, a distinctly different condition primarily related to speech, is sometimes mistakenly grouped with dyspraxia or DCD, and used interchangeably.

For clarification, apraxia is a motor disorder caused by damage to the posterior parietal cortex, also known as the corpus callosum, resulting in difficulty with motor planning needed to perform tasks or movements, particularly those related to speech and general oral motor functions. It can be acquired after a brain injury or stroke, or developmental, meaning it is present from childhood. However, with apraxia, there is difficulty in planning and coordinating the movements necessary for speaking, leading to errors in pronunciation, articulation, and sequencing sounds. Other motor skills may also be affected with either acquired or developmental apraxia, but to a much lesser extent than dyspraxia.

Dyspraxia, or DCD, affects motor coordination more broadly, not just speech. While speech can be impacted by dyspraxia, it tends to be less severe than with apraxia. Apraxia can be acquired or developmental, whereas dyspraxia is solely developmental by definition. The difference between dyspraxia and apraxia is a well-known clinical distinction, recognized by healthcare professionals and most laypeople. Still, confusion can sometimes happen among the general public, even within the dyspraxia community, leading to the incorrect use of the term apraxia as a substitute for dyspraxia.

Dyspraxia vs DCD:

What remains unresolved is whether dyspraxia and DCD are the same thing or slightly different variations of a common entity. Even among professionals, this question often yields different answers, depending on whom you ask. Hence, no officially agreed-upon working definition for this phenomenon currently exists.

Some, like Dr. Priscilla Tamplain, PhD, see dyspraxia and DCD as somewhat different conditions. According to Tamplain, DCD is a formally recognized and well-studied condition, whereas dyspraxia isn’t. Dyspraxia, by this definition, is a term that has long been used colloquially by professionals for DCD cases, in which a child or adult struggles with organization, speech, memory, social and emotional skills, sensory processing, and other abilities. Thus, these emotional, social, and cognitive features observed in some DCD cases are what are embodied in the term dyspraxia. In such cases, those non-psychomotor impairments aren’t better explained by autism, ADHD, and other neurodivergences. Hence, dyspraxia is not actually an official diagnosis that a person could ever have.

Outside of clinical settings, however, the terms dyspraxia or dyspraxic have gained a new identity as self-identification among people like myself who essentially have some variation of the DCD neurotype.

However, because DCD is the officially recognized term included in both the DSM and ICD series, it is the most appropriate one to use in official contexts, such as seeking medical treatment and receiving official recognition of and relevant services for the condition.

My official diagnoses per DSM criteria are DCD and a specific learning difficulty, not otherwise specified (NOS), with slow cognitive processing speed as its primary feature. Thus, it falls within the rubric of what is often referred to unofficially as dyspraxia. Hence, this is how I identify socially and culturally. According to clinicians who have evaluated me, the cognitive aspects of my neurotype cannot be categorized under the rubrics of other recognized neurodivergences, hence the NOS designation. I have been informed of numerous anecdotal accounts that this occurs frequently among those with DCD. Perhaps there is a case for the clinical community to investigate this matter further to determine if either the DSM or ICD criteria for DCD need to be updated to reflect this.

Why it Matters:

In 1994, confusion surrounding the lack of a universal term for the condition prompted researchers and medical professionals to create a specific title for the condition, leading to the adoption of the term DCD as the official name and its subsequent inclusion in the DSM (Carslaw, 2011). However, confusion persists because the term dyspraxia is still used in many clinical contexts, with uncertainty as to whether it refers specifically to psychomotor symptoms or to both these and the cognitive and emotional features that may accompany them. Many neurodivergent people, like myself, who identify as primarily dyspraxic, will state that it is so much more than just coordination. Yet this is not widely recognized within the clinical community.

The lack of consistent nomenclature is one of several factors contributing to the limited awareness and understanding of dyspraxia (Meachon, 2017). Moreover, the fact that dyspraxia varies so widely in its presentation, both among individual cases and within the same individual with dyspraxia throughout their lifespan, adds further to the confusion and obscurity of dyspraxia as a phenomenon (Meachon 2017).

Dyspraxia, as a phenomenon, seemingly transcends the Cartesian mind-body duality. The term comes from the Greek words dus - ‘bad’ or ‘difficult’ + praxis - ‘action’.

My Thought:

I am in favor of removing the term DCD from both the DSM and ICD series entirely and replacing it with either dyspraxia or something similar. I don’t like the term DCD. While I don’t consider it pathologizing or disparaging in any way, I simply think it is too superficial and fails to accurately reflect the realities of dyspraxia. Such inaccuracies can be highly damaging in themselves.

The term developmental coordination disorder implies that only psychomotor functions are impacted. Yet, dyspraxia is much more than just coordination. Many other dyspraxics will be the first to opine this.

Moreover, I can’t help but wonder to what extent the use of the word “developmental’ in the context of Developmental Coordination Disorder unconsciously reinforces the fallacious idea that dyspraxia is somehow less consequential, possibly irrelevant in adulthood. Much of the online literature and resources on dyspraxia seem to be aimed at parents of dyspraxic children. Likewise, so many of the dyspraxia discussion forums on Facebook are dominated again by parents of dyspraxic children. Like many neurodivergences, early recognition and intervention with dyspraxia is key. However, it is essential to recognize that such neurodivergences are lifelong and will therefore often require ongoing support and resources throughout the lifespan.

Dyspraxia, as a term, can potentially encompass a range of neuropsychologically rooted impairments that impact a person’s ability to carry out even mundane physical actions, not just those involved in playing sports, performance arts, or executing skilled physical work. Thus, I think the term dyspraxia works as both a standalone diagnosis or as a comorbidity with other neurodivergences such as autism, dyslexia, ADHD, etc. Moreover, the term dyspraxia implies nothing regarding age and the developmental phases of the human lifespan.

My only concern about officially recognizing the term dyspraxia as a clinical diagnosis is that it carries the baggage of confusion and ambiguity, not just with DCD but also with apraxia. Therefore, I might even prefer to see an entirely new term created to replace both dyspraxia and DCD, if possible—one that embodies the same full range of meaning as dyspraxia. However, since I am neither a linguist nor an etymologist, I have no concept of what such a term might be.

Does dyspraxia require a rebranding of its nomenclature to enhance awareness of this neurodivergence and advance the dyspraxia conversation? I think it would help. Obviously, simply renaming the neurotype won’t completely close the persistent awareness gap on dyspraxia. But I do think it would be a critical step in the right direction.

Below is a link to my book Disrupted Pathways: A Dyspraxic Odyssey. It is my memoir about coming of age as a late-diagnosed and previously misdiagnosed dyspraxic person in the context of late-stage neoliberal capitalism. Please check out the link below if you’re interested:

https://books2read.com/u/4NEyLY

References:

American Psychiatric Association. (2013). DSM-5: American Psychiatric Association

Bishop, D.V.M. (2010). Which Neurodevelopmental Disorders Get Researched and

Why? PLoS ONE, 5(11).

Carslaw, H. (2011). Developmental Coordination Disorder. InnovAiT. 4(2), pp 87-90

Meachon, E.J. (2017). An Investigation of Dyspraxia: What We Know and Why the

Research is So Far Behind. Http: // st-annes-mer.org.uk/staar/-Issue 7 147-152

Tamplain, P. (2023). Are Dyspraxia and DCD The Same Thing?

https://www.understood.org. Accessed October 4, 2025

1. It’s More Than Just Impaired Coordination and Equilibrium: While dyspraxia is most commonly associated with psychomotor impairment, it encompasses much more. Below is a list of other impairments and functional impacts associated with dyspraxia:

• Overall organization and planning ability: For example, planning and following through with the sequence of steps involved in preparing a meal or organizing household items.

• Navigation: Understanding one’s location in the environment and planning routes.

• Numeracy and Mathematics Difficulties: This can manifest as difficulties with academic math classes, as well as with practical, daily activities such as managing personal finances.

• Reading Speed: Slower reading speed, which can adversely impact learning, critical thinking, and imagination if not recognized at a sufficiently early point in a person’s life.

• Energy Levels: Because having dyspraxia means having to exert more mental and physical effort to perform many basic life activities, our energy reserves become more depleted, which may further impact our ability to meet basic life demands.

• Emotions: The daily struggles and frustrations we encounter, along with misunderstandings from others, can cause anxiety, depression, and often lead to social withdrawal and anger outbursts.

• Sensory Sensitivities: We may be either over-sensitive or under-sensitive to certain physical sensations, most notably temperature. Many people with dyspraxia often exhibit extreme temperature preferences or a very narrow temperature comfort zone, likely due to impairments in thermoregulation. Some individuals with dyspraxia can be sensitive to certain clothing textures, such as wool, which may feel too scratchy or heavy. One of the reasons I dislike winter so much is that it requires wearing thick, heavy clothing, which to me feels intolerably cumbersome and restrictive.

• Physical Health Issues: Individuals with dyspraxia frequently experience digestive problems, such as gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD) (Lino, F, et al., 2022). I personally must steer clear of most fried foods. Additionally, many carbonated drinks, except for beer or seltzer water, are a “big no-no” for me. I also need to avoid highly acidic foods and be cautious with certain spice and fat combinations—especially involving seed oils. Dyspraxic people are also more prone to cardiovascular disease and arthritis than the general population.

2. Motor Impairments Impact More Than Just Athletics and Performance Arts. They may also impact many mundane aspects of life.

• Social Interaction may be affected; For example, body language and physical expressions may be impacted in a way that can convey the wrong impression to others. We may also struggle with the pace and timing of social interactions, such as participating in larger group conversations.

• Ambulating through various physical spaces: For example, I must be extremely careful when climbing and especially descending stairs if that is the only option available. I’m prone to missing a step, losing my footing, and falling if I don’t exercise caution. Going downstairs is more challenging for me than climbing upstairs, though the latter can also be problematic. Many people with dyspraxia experience some level of difficulty with stairs, and this is often not related to low physical strength or stamina. Instead, it’s due to impaired depth perception, motor timing, and sequencing related to foot placement when going up or down stairs. On most natural or paved slopes, I have no trouble walking up or down at all. Some individuals with dyspraxia may even bump into objects, stumble more easily over ground irregularities, or need features like walk-in showers with grab bars, even relatively early in life. I don’t experience those kinds of difficulties. Again, my main issues with buildings involve stairs and sometimes feeling claustrophobic in small spaces.

3. Dyspraxia is more prevalent than one might realize:

   Dyspraxia is estimated to affect 5%-6% of the population, making it as common as dyslexia or ADHD, both of which are highly comorbid with dyspraxia (Lino, F, et.al, 2022). Yet a highly problematic awareness gap persists.

4. It’s highly varied in its presentation:

Some individuals with dyspraxia may have more significant fine motor impairment compared to gross motor impairment, and vice versa. Some of us may have relatively mild or minimal cognitive impairment, but instead have more of the psychomotor impairments. It’s quite a mosaic. Some of us may even become athletically adept in certain domains if accorded patience, understanding, and allowed to learn at our own pace.

Some dyspraxic people learn to drive okay, but could never imagine walking or cycling the vast distances that I do, given my inability to drive. Some can’t do either and might prefer to use public transportation.

It almost seems as if there are an endless number of ways dyspraxia can show up in different individuals.

5. We’re working several times as hard to accomplish the same things as others:

This almost goes without saying. The combination of motor and cognitive impairments typical of dyspraxia means that more effort and energy are needed to do many tasks that others accomplish with little to no effort. Therefore, we may require more breaks, rest, and time to recharge, as well as more alone time, to prevent burnout and fatigue. In other words, we are not lazy, and our need for solitude is not a reflection of our feelings toward you.

6. It is lifelong. In other words, you don’t “outgrow” it.

It was once widely believed that “clumsy children” would eventually catch up to their peers, and some people still hold this view. However it is patently false.

7. It can’t be “cured”

In fact, I think that the occupational therapy (OT) often administered to dyspraxic children in schools needs to be reevaluated. Based on my own experience and what I frequently hear from other dyspraxics, I am skeptical that OT really improves motor function overall and that any perceived improvements that might be observed in a dyspraxic child during occupational therapy are simply practice effects specific to the therapeutic exercises administered during OT sessions. For example, any child, whether dyspraxic or not, can improve their ability to walk across a balance beam relative to their baseline by practicing the activity often enough. But will that translate to improvements in the child’s ability to skip rope during recess without tripping and falling over the rope? I highly doubt it.

I have had people give me totally tone deaf and thoughtless suggestions that I should consider taking up Yoga, Tai Chi, or perhaps Pilates to address my dyspraxia. I’m sure that a person with dyspraxia who takes up those exercises may enjoy many of the general benefits that come with them, such as improved muscular strength and endurance. But again, it won’t cure the impairment.

Some researchers have opined that because there are so many different areas of the brain involved with dyspraxia, it makes it impossible to develop an actual cure for it (Meachan 2017). As with so many neurodivergences, it is simply best for society to accommodate and support it.

While I have mentioned some of the adverse impacts that dyspraxia can entail, it is critical to bear in mind that it also comes with many gifts. Many dyspraxic people are described as highly empathetic and intuitive. We are also big-picture, out-of-the-box thinkers and can develop novel solutions to many problems. Understanding and embracing neurodivergence means being able to hold space for complexity and nuance.

Below is a link to my book, Disrupted Pathways: A Dyspraxic Odyssey. This is my memoir about growing up with late-diagnosed and previously misdiagnosed dyspraxia, and it is written in a way that hopefully illuminates wider sociological factors that can impact the experience of Neurodivergence. Please click the link below if you’re interested:

https://books2read.com/u/4NEyLY

Works Cited:

American Psychiatric Association (2013). Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (5th edition). American Psychiatric Publishing

Fagan, A. (2025). Why Dyspraxia is Often Misunderstood. Psychology Today, Neurodiversity Blog. https://www,psychologytoday.com. Accessed: 9/27/2025

Lino. F, &Chieffo, DPR (2022). Developmental Coordination Disorder and Most Persistent Comorbidities: A Narrative Review of Children, 9(7) 1095

Meachan. E.J. (2017) An Investigation of Dyspraxia: What We Know And Why The Research is So Far Behind. STARR (7) 147-152

“Any situation in which some men prevent others from engaging in the process of inquiry is one of violence…to alienate humans from their own decision making is to change them into objects.”

-Paulo Freire

As with many dyspraxic individuals, crystallized verbal abilities are an area of relative strength for me. This was confirmed by a few different neuropsychological evaluations I’ve taken throughout my life. In traditional academic settings, however, I struggled to showcase these strengths, particularly with regard to written expression. While I always understood perfectly what made for effective writing, I experienced difficulties producing work quickly due to slower cognitive processing and fine motor impairments. The only academic areas in which I actually struggled to understand the subject matter were both mathematics and hard science classes like physics and chemistry.

A few of my teachers saw potential in me, describing me as a highly imaginative and curious boy. These descriptions also align with strengths found in many dyspraxic people. Yet these qualities are usually not recognized as strengths or gifts within traditional Western capitalist school systems.

Being both neurodivergent and from a working-class background made me a marginalized student from the start. As a result, I didn't begin exploring the world of scholarly inquiry until relatively later in life and through an unconventional path compared to most of us who pursue the life of the mind.

The Awakening:

“Experience teaches only the teachable.”

– Aldous Huxley

It was my auspicious introduction and subsequent immersion into the realm of primitive technologies that opened up a new world for me. By primitive technologies, I'm referring to ancient skills like making stone tools, also known as "flintknapping," creating fire using friction, and building primitive shelters such as huts and igloos. The pivotal moment of my discovering this endeavor occurred rather fortuitously, at the age of seventeen.

My fascination with this topic was sparked after watching a news report one morning about a 5,400-year-old frozen mummified body found in the Austrian Alps, nicknamed "the Iceman” or Ötzi. It was in the early 1990s, and the discovery made headlines worldwide. Along with the mummified remains, several well-preserved artifacts were found, including a flint dagger, a copper axe, and clothing made from various animal hides and plant fibers. The report sparked within me a powerful and insatiable curiosity about what life must have been like in such a distant ancient era, especially considering the technology available at the time. If you’ve read my memoir Disrupted Pathways: A Dyspraxic Odyssey, you know the story.

I wanted more than anything to master the skills required to make the types of implements found with the Iceman. It became an obsession. Little did I realize that my desire to satisfy this basic curiosity would fully awaken a long-dormant, broad-ranging intellectual curiosity about the human condition writ large that neither the school system nor my family environment could.

Not long after my passion for primitive technologies was ignited, I also realized that I was likely neurodivergent in some way. I initially “self-diagnosed” as being either dyslexic or possibly having ADHD. Some of the literature I encountered on both dyslexia and ADHD in the early 1990s indicated that motor impairments can accompany these neurotypes, so at the time, anyway, it all seemed to add up. However, it would be several years before I found out that I’m actually dyspraxic, rather than any other neurotype. Nonetheless, having at least this rough understanding of my neurodivergence and specific learning needs likely guided my life in a better direction than what otherwise may have been the case. I then had at least a vague sense of why I had always struggled academically and socially.

Discovering various recognized neurodivergences at that time and being able to at least loosely identify with them also helped me address some of the emotional aspects of learning, typically neglected in traditional academic approaches. Attending school with an unrecognized neurodivergence was like navigating the experience, hobbled by a constant, nondescript yet debilitating pain that you couldn’t name and had no means to address.

Having both a pursuit to focus my creativity, intellectual curiosity, and, to an extent, physical energies towards, and a better understanding of my neurodivergence was exactly what I needed. If only all of this could have occurred sooner for me.

Flintknapping in particular was a pursuit with multifaceted academic dimensions, making it a very holistic learning experience. So much was embodied in it, and thus my curiosity eventually branched off from merely learning the technical “how to” of primitive skills to other areas of human scholarship. From the geology of how the toolmaking materials are formed to the prehistoric organization of labor involved in the extraction of said materials, the teaching of this skill to the youth, the various culturally distinct technical approaches to manufacturing different tools, how these relate to the symbolic life of the cultures who made and used them, to the entire human ecology involved. It proved exactly what I needed, given the more holistic dyspraxic intelligences that I tend to possess.

It was also learning that I could take ownership of, rather than a mere obligation imposed from without, in which some outside party expected me to learn, achieving arbitrarily set competency standards within rigid timeframes. So, it was a challenge that I could embrace free from the invidious comparisons, harsh judgment, and derision that can accompany learning and coaching delivered from some outside agent in a marginalizing and degrading manner.

Through my pursuit of primitive technologies, I also learned the value of collaborative learning. I had never experienced this before. The collaborative, rather than competitive, information exchange networks I was getting connected with truly helped to develop my intellectual and social world.

I had several pen pal exchanges throughout the US, Canada, the UK, and Australia with others who also shared my interest in primitive technologies. We would exchange knowledge and experience related to primitive technologies through our correspondence. Sometimes, I would also attend in-person events held by different clubs dedicated to primitive technology enthusiasts. I would attend knap-ins, which are gatherings of flintknapping enthusiasts who get together and knap material in a circle, have lunch, share information, play games, etc.

I grew quite a bit socially during this time in my life. It was akin to catching up on what I never had growing up. This was the first time I actually knew what it was like to have a conversation with someone in which I was an equal participant. My parents and older sister mostly just talked at me, not with me. Teachers and peers at school mostly didn’t speak to me at all unless to discipline or disparage me,

With pen letter exchanges, my slower rate and delivery of speech were a non-issue. Yet eventually, the more I wrote, spoke, and otherwise exchanged information on subjects I studied, the more my speech began to improve in terms of lexical access, or “finding the right word” when speaking.

Today, I can mentally access words with reasonable fluency, but my rate of speech is somewhat slower, and my enunciation might be rather “choppy”. Slower yet more staccato speech patterns seem common among dyspraxic people, where impaired psycho-motor modulation of the vocal tract is the underlying causal factor.

Years after graduating from high school, I gained the confidence to start attending college. By that point, I was in my mid-20s, and my ability to concentrate on and comprehend reading material had improved considerably from when I was younger. In fact, many people who knew me were asking why I wasn’t studying anthropology at a university.

All the prior years of autodidactically studying anthropology and later other social sciences and philosophically laden subject matters put me on a sound academic footing to succeed in college. As an anthropology major, most of the classes I took focused on social sciences, with occasional courses in history, philosophy, or health sciences. I breezed through tests in social science and philosophy classes, often passing them with minimal preliminary study. My philosophy instructor was even impressed with my debating skills and was surprised that, by that point, I had not read very much philosophy. Health science and history classes, while interesting to me, required more effort to study for, as I had less prior exposure to these subjects. However, the major heavy lifting in college was in completing essays to a high standard, and with my math classes. Although passing in-class tests required minimal time and effort, the effort needed to write effective essays and study adequately for math exams far outweighed it.

My Current Frustrations:

As an independent scholar and author who spends much time writing, publishing, and speaking on sociological, philosophical, and economic dimensions of neurodiversity, most people I encounter, especially outside the academic and intellectual milieu, consider me very well-spoken and well-read. Even among accomplished academics and intellectuals, who are more broadly read than I am, I can often carry on a decent academic conversation where the other party remains engaged, interested, and walks away feeling that the discourse was worthwhile for them. Yet I’m probably not quite as broadly read as most scholars and academics will tend to be. Thus, I feel that my cultural capital1 within those spaces remains somewhat limited.

Several factors related either directly or indirectly to my neurodivergence tend to hamper me from becoming as deeply or broadly read as I would prefer. I sometimes feel this keeps me relatively impoverished in terms of cultural currency within formal literary and academic settings.

To begin with, I’m a slow reader. Yet when given the time and opportunity to read, I comprehend and extrapolate from it very well. In fact, the very first neuropsychological exam I ever took indicated that my ability to understand contextual and metaphorical information was at the 93rd percentile of the population. It’s very commonplace for dyspraxic people to have this strength.

Much of my time is also spent managing my physical health. Thus, I’m simply left with a vastly diminished time and energy budget for things like reading, analysing, taking notes, as well as experiential academic endeavors like flintknapping.

Many dyspraxic people can have other physical health considerations, like digestive, metabolic, and musculoskeletal health concerns. I wrote about the time-draining temporal impact of managing these concerns in an earlier post titled Quasi-Athletic Lifestyle By Reason Of Dire Medical Necessity.

Over the years, I have found that I am especially susceptible to weight gain, diabetes, and repetitive strain injuries, and there is no other way to keep these in check than to follow the burdensome, time-consuming lifestyle options that, for decades, I have adhered to religiously. Were I not burdened with having to live in such a manner, I would have more time and space to satiate my multifaceted intellectual curiosities more fully. Perhaps I might have even reached a point where I could enjoy reading just for fun, perhaps developing an appreciation for fictional literature.

When I was younger, I only read for information, despite reading being more difficult for me at the time, because it was my only means to learn anything. I was always brimming with curiosity, yet I had no one who could meet me where I was at with that curiosity, match pitch with me, and help nurture my learning based on my natural inquisitiveness and imagination.

Now that my reading abilities have improved dramatically from when I was younger, the biggest obstacle to reading more broadly and expansively is time and energy constraints incurred by my medically necessary lifestyle.

Also, despite the many psycholinguistic advancements I’ve made since late adolescence and early adulthood, l still feel as though I lack the language to fully appreciate the more aesthetic and emotive qualities of literature as well as other forms of artistic endeavor. Sometimes it troubles me that this aspect of the human experience is one that I remain largely closed off to–yet this is not a conscious choice.

I still very much think of literature in very practical, functional terms, such as “how informative is this piece?”, “How well does it present its case?”, “How well researched is it?” etc. Moreover, I’m often left wondering if things might be different for me in this regard, if not stuck in constant “survival mode” due to some of the existential realities of living with my particular disability.

A different way of looking at the world:

My approach to scholarship is also just simply unique in ways that, while not problematic, are different and may not align well with conventional approaches to inquiry within our culture. For one, I’m what might be termed a more intuitive scholar. My “intellectual style” is more intuitive, holistic, and involves a lot of “big picture thinking”. For example, when I moved to where I presently live in Western Kansas, I was quickly able to assess, based on the landscape, where most of the indigenous artifacts in my area would likely be found. My initial assessment was based on many factors I couldn’t quite explain. Then, once I started consulting site reports and local museum archives, I found that I was very much spot on.

Very often, I will read about a particular discovery in a peer-reviewed journal article or a magazine article based on peer-reviewed academic research and find that their findings align with what I have intuitively understood for a long time. This happens frequently with health and social science-related subject areas.

I’ve been told that I formulate very insightful research questions and often figure out effective ways to test them, and I think this is where my intuitive mindset comes into play. It tends to lead to a lot of big-picture and out-of-the-box thinking.

As a slow but deep reader, I get a lot of “interpretive mileage” from what I do read, often interpreting it to very wide-ranging implications. I also tend to rely more on basic philosophy of logic to support my arguments or debates, rather than drawing on history, literature, or other sources. This approach is very efficient in the sense that it doesn’t require being very broadly read on many different subjects.

For example, as an atheist who has successfully debated many creationists, people who know me have been surprised that I have never read any version of The Bible as literature, nor have I read any of the classics of evolutionary literature, such as Charles Darwin’s The Origin of the Species.

In general, my approach to reading is very pragmatic, born out of a need to economize whatever reading time I can muster. Sometimes I even get rather impatient with seemingly ostentatious or “flowery” verbiage. However, when I describe my approach to reading as pragmatic, I don’t mean that I only read to obtain actionable technical information. Perhaps it’s a matter of how we define the term “practical”. While I tend to read a fair amount of archaeological site reports, field guides, and literature on health and wellness, I also read social science, philosophy, and logic to satisfy intellectual curiosities and to make sense of the world. And since I have gotten into disability politics, I have taken an interest in reading disability memoirs and, of course, recently wrote and published one myself. Yet I probably read disability memoirs somewhat differently than most people do, using more of a sociological lens, analysing it in terms of what can be gleaned regarding societal factors that may have influenced the protagonist’s experience in the world.

Yet, literature seldom impacts me from an emotional, affective, or aesthetic standpoint. This is one reason why it’s always been difficult for me to get into fiction. It’s hard for me to get lost in a story that didn’t actually happen. I think this is why religion never made sense to me, and it’s almost as though I’ve been an atheist since before I even knew what the word meant.

Also, when I describe myself as practical and pragmatic, I don’t consider it to mean simple, superficial, or even harsh and unempathic. Many people seemingly conflate these qualities, which I find very erroneous. It only means that I value concrete, measurable, empirical proof and think about things in terms of their applicability and consequences to the real world. I also derive a lot of philosophical meaning from concrete experience.

If I hear a news story or read a historical account of a tragic event, I can be deeply haunted by it. But if I read a tragic fictional account, I’m not impacted by it in any way because I know it didn’t happen.

Anyways, I hope that what I wrote made sense and resonated in some way or another. If any of this sounds familiar or has raised any questions or elicited any thoughts, please feel free to share them in the comment section below.

By Allan White-Dyspraxic Lens

In 1996, the late historian Thomas Cahill authored the highly acclaimed book, How The Irish Saved Civilization: The Untold Story of Ireland’s Heroic Role from the Fall of Rome to the Rise of Medieval Europe. Though Cahill’s core thesis was somewhat debated, it roughly states that Irish monks played an essential role in preserving Western culture and knowledge after the fall of the Roman Empire. As Europe entered the Dark Ages, Irish monks tirelessly copied and preserved classical texts, both Pagan and Christian, preventing their complete disappearance. Cahill argued that these efforts ensured that the foundations of Western Civilization weren’t completely wiped out and that learning and culture could eventually be revived across the continent. According to the author, these texts likely would have been lost on the European Continent due to widespread destruction and illiteracy, but they were reintroduced to Europe once stability was restored, fueling the cultural and intellectual revival of the region.

Analogous to those Medieval Irish monasteries which became beacons of learning and erudition amid rampant cultural ruin, the neurodiversity movement has spawned an entire culture of creative, inquisitive, socially and politically conscious neurodivergent individuals dedicated to activism, autodidactic scholarship, and the arts. Such is only a natural outcome of the marginalization and exclusion of a population of individuals who naturally possess a high degree of intellectual curiosity, varying levels of hyperfocus, and divergent creativity.

We pursue these endeavors largely in our own time and space, outside the constraints and rigid structures of formal institutions. At the same time, the global oligarchy is eroding the cultural and institutional foundations of enlightened democracy, pushing us toward a collapse similar to the Dark Ages that followed the fall of the Roman Empire. Could the growing community of neurodivergent creatives serve as conduits of culture and enlightenment in a post-fall rebirth, similar to the role that the medieval Irish monks played in Cahill’s thesis?

The neurodiversity movement emerged historically as an extension of the disability rights movement to include individuals with neurological and cognitive differences. Suppose you've been following my work for a while. In that case, you might know that my main view on neurodiversity is this: forty years of neoliberalism and its economic and societal shifts have essentially given rise to the neurodiversity movement during the late 20th century. Neoliberal social and economic policies have both moved responsibility for individuals with neurological and cognitive challenges back to their families and accelerated the pace of work and life to an unprecedented level, demanding ever more efficiency and levels of sociability and flexibility, rendering more people debilitated or disabled. In essence, the combination of more individuals becoming debilitated and left behind, with diminishing public resources to address their needs, has been the historical impetus of the neurodiversity movement.

Neoliberalism’s Inevitable Cultural Degeneration and Societal Collapse:

The same hyper-accelerated late capitalist drive for growth under neoliberalism has not only left many neurodivergent people marginalized but is also accelerating ecological and societal collapse. The fact that we are in this state of collapse is virtually the consensus of most ecologists and social thinkers.

Our environment is in crisis as we face the sixth mass extinction in Earth's history. Our ecosystems are reaching a tipping point where they can no longer support us. Meanwhile, our laws, culture, politics, and other aspects of social organization are deteriorating year after year. Growing socioeconomic inequality and declining living standards worldwide have led to the rise of authoritarian leaders who promise renewal but only bring more chaos and destruction. This is how late-stage capitalism degrades into fascism

Essentially, capitalism, especially its late- and end-stage forms exemplified by neoliberalism, does not foster an ideal human environment for anyone to thrive, particularly neurodivergent and other disabled individuals.

Flattening out of inquiry/education, and academia:

A key feature of fascism, arising out of late-stage capitalism, is the systematic and institutionalized erosion of the arts, humanities, and critical inquiry. This diminishment undermines the development and maintenance of a thoughtful, empathetic, and critically engaged culture, which is essential for sustaining a functioning democracy. In a sense, it is a postindustrial analog to the feudal Dark Ages.

Decades of systemic austerity and consequent defunding of the educational sector under neoliberalism have led to a flattening of education and thus a narrowed curriculum that has had not only incalculable societal and cultural impacts but also played a significant role in marginalizing many neurodivergent people. The narrower curriculum inherent to neoliberal education has the following characteristics:

• The emphasis on standardized testing and pressure to meet specific benchmarks, combined with a narrow focus on subjects like math and reading at the expense of others, such as the arts, social studies, and physical education, results in a less well-rounded curriculum.

• Additionally, the approach emphasizes rote memorization over critical thinking, focusing on recall of facts rather than developing critical thinking, problem-solving, and creativity.

• Promotes limited assessment of abilities through standardized tests that may not effectively measure the diverse talents, strengths, and learning styles of all students, potentially disadvantaging those who excel in areas outside the scope of tests. This tendency disproportionately impacts many neurodivergent pupils.

It is important to understand that beneath the rhetoric of cutting costs and improving the ‘efficiency’ of education is a very clear goal of maintaining the power structures that support the system and creating a workforce of efficient, compliant workers and obedient soldiers, i.e. pons for the system, whose only role is to effectively generate surplus value for corporations and defend the geopolitical structures that underpin and support the economic interests of corporate elites. Deep thought and creativity are a liability rather than an asset here.

Stemming from widespread cultural illiteracy, over-production, and over-consumption is a widespread cultural decay that leads to the eventual fall of human societies. Thus, the education system that marginalizes neurodivergent learners, a production system that cannot effectively utilize our unique talents, and the imiserated, degraded human culture that cannot sustain a functional democracy, all share a common root cause.

As humanity goes through a period of cultural decline, neurodivergent intellectuals and creatives must keep our work alive by educating ourselves, nurturing our minds, building on our achievements, and connecting with one another to form bonds of mutual support. This will be vital in preserving the tradition of neurodivergent artistry and scholarship, which I believe will become crucial for rebuilding human society and culture sustainably, that is, if we survive what lies ahead, so long as we don’t perish as a species before we have a chance to rebuild.

Obviously, I’m sure it won’t be only neurodivergent people creating literature and art amid widespread cultural decline. However, I believe our unique out-of-the-box thinking, shared experience of marginalization, and the fact that many issues affecting our wellbeing are connected to those impacting all life on earth should make our voice and perspective especially important during a time of rebuilding.

For example, as a dyspraxic person, I have never been able to drive a motorized vehicle due to my impairments. Therefore, I primarily get around by walking and using my recumbent bicycle, which are marginalized modes of transportation in much of North American society, where roadway infrastructure is designed around privately owned motor vehicles. However, if the developed world rebuilt and planned its transportation systems to focus on active transport and extensive railway networks, it would not only empower people like me who cannot drive because of impairments but also create accessible, economically viable, and environmentally sustainable transportation for everyone.

Also, within most sectors of employment, my natural functionality works against my ability to meet neoliberal standards of productivity. Yet, I have worked successfully as an adjunct instructor in terms of learner outcomes and student satisfaction. However, I could never attain a position as a full professor because health issues prevented me from working the necessary hours, nor could I cope psychologically with the cutthroat, ableist work culture of the field. Thus, I have had to forge my own path in life.

In a degrowth socialist economy, all educational institutions would be fully publicly funded, liberated from the influences of corporate interests, more democratically managed, and largely focused on developing human consciousness rather than merely producing human capital. Teachers would have less need to work outside classroom hours or attend lengthy, bandwidth-draining meetings for which they aren't compensated. As a result, the education sector could then create slow-paced, intellectually stimulating jobs that would not only provide secure and meaningful employment for a large portion of the neurodivergent population but also fulfill a valued social purpose.

In a socialist degrowth system where political decisions are made democratically based on the collective good rather than corporate interests, and where there is greater knowledge and understanding of neurodivergence and the diverse ways various neurodivergent people naturally operate, socially beneficial jobs that employ a significant number of neurodivergent individuals could easily receive legal protection and be codified into law. Through the combination of legal protections and societal planning and restructuring, guided by our natural functionality, neurodivergent people can play an active role in shaping systems and guiding humanity's transition out of the Dark Ages of end-stage capitalism. This would be akin to the Medieval Irish monks who served as conduits of culture and enlightenment while feudal Europe was rebuilding after the societal collapse caused by the fall of Rome.

Works Cited:

Cahill, T. (1996). How the Irish Saved Civilization: The Untold Story of Ireland’s Heroic Role From the Fall of Rome to the Rise of Medieval Europe.Vintage

Here is a link to my book, Disrupted Pathways: A Dyspraxic Odyssey, if you’re interested:

https://books2read.com/u/4NEyLY

Okay, so the title of this piece is admittedly more hyperbolic than a literal statement of how I actually feel. Moreover, this post might take on a rather salty tone, so please forgive me for approaching it that way.

Forced to Live Among the General Public-The Cruelest Outcome of My Disability:

I often say that if I didn't have dyspraxia preventing me from driving and didn't have so many time-consuming health and bodily needs, I would live mostly off-grid, like a hermit, in a remote location away from society. If that sentiment sounds appallingly arrogant, please bear in mind that I did not always feel this way.

For a bit of context, I’m a middle-aged GenXer, and based in the USA, and thus, I’m old enough to remember a time when things were not like the way they have become. Also, I realize that many of my observations might not be as applicable to other parts of the world.

Our entire culture and society have degraded considerably, even down to the way people generally move through life and carry themselves in casual daily interactions. Moreover, I’m not the only one to have noticed this.

In general, people exhibit a total lack of self-awareness, a complete obliviousness towards others around them, and even a sort of casual aggressiveness in their overall behavior.

Let’s Start With Those Driving Habits:

It’s a sad state of affairs when someone who has never been able to get a driver’s license due to neuropsychological impairments can easily criticize others' driving habits. But since this also makes me a vulnerable road user—being a frequent pedestrian and recumbent bicycle commuter—it also really makes sense. American roads have become war zones.

Since the late 2000s, I have noticed a sharp rise in aggressive, reckless, and careless driving behaviors, such as speeding, running red lights, cutting off other drivers, and failing to yield to pedestrians, even in marked crosswalks. Additionally, drivers often and deliberately produce loud exhaust noises and blow out large, billowing dark smoke clouds from their tailpipes, known as “rolling coal”. These behaviors stem not only from blatant disregard, even outright hostility towards others in the environment, but also from a desire to dominate a space and draw attention to themselves.

As a frequent pedestrian and cyclist, I have been nearly run over so many times over the past few decades that I can't even keep track. Again, it did not use to be this way. For me, long-distance human-powered transport has been a way of life, borne from my disability, since early adolescence. From adolescence and throughout my twenties, I hardly ever encountered such problems with motorists. You could walk through the city, confident that most drivers would follow the rules and stop at crosswalks because they are legally required to do so. These days, however, you can never be entirely sure of this.

I find myself looking further ahead and even over my shoulder before crossing a street to avoid someone rushing past at full speed while I’m in the process of crossing. This is just one of several tactical maneuvers I’ve developed to help keep myself safe in a world where the general public has, on average, become more narcissistic, thoughtless, and aggressive. I even wryly refer to these tactics as “playing dodge the dumbass”.

I have actually been diagnosed with Complex PTSD (C-PTSD) as a result of the many times I have nearly been run over by aggressive and careless drivers.

Moreover, as a vulnerable road user with sensory sensitivities, I am not only more at risk of physical harm from these behaviors but also more negatively impacted psychologically by the noise and chaos they create. For example, the sound of a loud roaring motor can literally trigger a rage attack–not only because of my sensitivity to loud, discordant noises but also due to my overall moral sensibilities.

I find some comfort in knowing that I am not the only one to notice this. I have read numerous studies and op-ed pieces about the rising number of injuries and even deaths among both pedestrians and cyclists, caused by collisions with reckless and aggressive drivers. There are also studies suggesting that aggressive dominance and attention-seeking behaviors have become an increasing trend on US roads. While it would be beyond the scope of this article to explore the research details and cite sources, I assure you that even a brief Google search on the topic will yield many results, including archived online chats, general commentary, and in-depth systematic studies.

So Many People Act Like They’re The Only Ones Around For Miles And Miles And Miles:

The same attention-seeking, domination, casual disregard, and even aggression toward others, as seen in commonplace driving behaviors, also appear in general public behavior writ large across many different situations. This is why I often find it miserable, even aggravating, to be out among the general public unless there’s a practical reason for it.

I can’t even count how many times I’ve gone to cafes and libraries only to have my writing and study sessions interrupted by someone’s loud conversation–either in person, over a mobile device, or streaming a video in public without headphones. It happens so often that I now read, study, and work from my home office. I used to enjoy being able to go to a cafe to read occasionally, but these days, there seems to be less assurance of an optimal reading environment in those spaces.

And don’t even get me started on grocery stores and gyms. Not only are there issues with various mobile noise-producing devices and loud conversational behaviors, but it’s almost as though people have forgotten how to navigate three-dimensional space on foot, amongst others, within the environment.

It's common for people to block walkways with their carts in one half while standing in the other half. In most public spaces with a lot of foot traffic, people will walk right into your path while you're moving and invade your personal space by following too closely behind you if you need to slow down for any reason. It’s as though others don’t exist.

In gyms, it's now more common than ever for people to crowd the space because they have to bring an entire group with them, monopolizing equipment and space, and going about their workout more like a party rather than a focused, efficient exercise routine. It's also common for people to slam weights, grunt loudly, and, of course, make other extraneous noises with mobile devices or in any other way they can.

For most of my adult life, I have been a regular gym-goer for health reasons. However, I recently quit and now work out at home or outdoors, as I find much of the general public to be absolutely obnoxious and insufferable to be around.

So, What Does Being Neurotypical Versus Neurodivergent Have To Do With Anything?

Again, I’m more or less being hyperbolic when I say that Neurotypicals are difficult to live with. I fully understand that it might be very difficult to test, objectively, to what extent neurodivergence versus neurotypicality factors into the types of behaviors that I discussed above.

I’ve mentioned how the decline in public behavioral standards has made public spaces less tolerable for me, especially considering my neurodivergence, such as my inability to drive and my need for more personal space, along with slower-paced, quieter, less chaotic environments.

But I sometimes wonder how much my neurodivergence has militated against me developing some of those nasty habits that have become almost trendy among the general public writ large. My inability to drive would obviously keep me from picking up some of these totally stupid and dangerous driving habits that are now common on American roads, so that’s a no-brainer. I’ve also been told that I have a quieter, more thoughtful, and subtle manner than what seems typical among people today. Moreover, this naturally more low-key demeanor seems somewhat commonplace among many neurodivergent people. There are lots of reasons why this might be.

As I mentioned in my post, "Lost in Translation, My Most Misunderstood Dyspraxic Quirks," I’m often very careful about not invading others’ personal space and avoiding unnecessary noise, given that I myself tend to be quite sensitive to such sensory aggressions. So this could be one reason why I’m often described as thoughtful, quiet, or taciturn by those who know me.

Generally, social isolation can be part of the neurodivergent experience, and I have often personally gone through this. However, it might also mean you're less likely to be negatively influenced by the broader society around you and therefore are less likely to pick up some of the bad habits that can become trendy, especially in this era of apparent social decline. Combine that with the intellectual curiosity many neurodivergent people have, and thus the proclivity to satisfy that curiosity through reading, which can develop the heart as well as the mind.

So, who knows—maybe, in some ways, being neurodivergent can serve as a safeguard against the widespread societal mind rot that comes with a declining culture and society. Perhaps we could be the ones to revive advanced culture and civilization after the decline.

Below are some additional links that might be of interest:

• If you’re interested, here's a link to my latest book, “Disrupted Pathways: A dyspraxic Odyssey.” It's my memoir about growing up with late-diagnosed and previously misdiagnosed dyspraxia, written to hopefully illustrate the broader societal barriers faced by neurodivergent people. Please check it out below:

https://books2read.com/u/4NEyLY

• Also, here is a link to a related article: Lost in Translation: My Most Misunderstood Dyspraxic Quirks.

So it’s been a minute since my last long-form post. Additionally, Substack was unable to set up my microphone, so I apologize for the lack of a voiceover for this piece, especially since it is somewhat longer. I will need to take some time to identify the underlying cause and determine the best way to address it.

This will undoubtedly be a somewhat quirky and eclectic piece, but hey, Substack seems a good space for experimental writing, right?

Once again, I am posting an update on my quest to reconnect with my neglected special interest of stone tool manufacture, also known as “flintknapping,” and by extension, primitive technologies, archaeology, and human prehistory more broadly.

For me, this has been a multi-layered project. The most obvious part is the technical and logistical side. Specifically, this relates to my dyspraxia and how it affects my muscle memory, particularly regarding my concerns about losing proficiency since I haven't practiced flintknapping for a long time. Furthermore, as I’m sure I have mentioned in previous writings, my slower pace when working on any task means I have a naturally tight time limit and therefore cannot juggle too many different activities at once. Between researching, writing, working out, and all the other activities required to sustain life, my plate is full. Thus, part of my challenge has been allocating time to ensure that I have sufficient opportunities to engage with my primitive technologies.

Another aspect of this project has been its emotional, psychological, and philosophical dimensions. For me, this has involved shedding some of the traumatic associations tied to my pursuit of primitive technologies. I wrote about this in my most recent post titled “Poisoned By Ableism”. In that piece, I discussed my experience in graduate school, pursuing my Master's degree in Experimental Archaeology, and how I dealt with exclusion and psychological bullying from colleagues, which, for a while, soured me on primitive technologies and archaeology, as I became more focused on my political radicalization that also resulted from this experience.

But before I elaborate on how these various dimensions of this project have manifested for me, I first need to describe what I have been doing in my projects from a technical standpoint. In doing so, I will endeavor not to delve too deeply into the technical aspects of my project, thus avoiding a sharp divergence from my primary focus, which is my process for reconnecting with this special interest of mine. My goal here is to provide enough information to better inform further discussion of my psychomotor, logistic, and psychological processes involved.

My Project:

My first primitive technology project this year has centered on the production of ancient handled, or “hafted,” ground stone woodworking tools, such as axes. adzes, and in some cases, chisels. This has included not only producing the ground stone woodworking edges themselves, but creating wooden hafts for them using cutting and scraping tools made from stone. I have long been fascinated by the carpentry technologies of more recent human prehistory.

Much of my work on ground stone tool production has focused on creating primitive stone woodworking tools, characteristic of those produced by the more recent stone tool cultures that emerged after the beginning of the current Holocene epoch, which started around 11,700 years ago. Examples include the manufacture of ground stone axes, chisels, and adzes used in felling trees and shaping the timber. Such hafted ground stone woodworking tools became especially important to human material culture during the early Holocene as forested areas became more widespread globally, and human societies grew larger and were trending towards the establishment of longer-term settlements. These settlements required both larger, stronger dwellings to house larger kin groups over longer durations and storage facilities to hold surplus food staples derived from either intensive hunter-forager economies or more recent horticultural and agricultural economies.

For additional context, archaeologists broadly categorize stone tools into two main groups: flaked stone tools and ground stone tools. Flaked stone tools were the first types made and used by human ancestors. They involved fracturing fine-grained materials, such as flint, chert, and chalcedony, to create sharp cutting edges. Over time, these tools evolved from the simple handheld pebble choppers used by early hominids, approximately 3.3 million years ago, into highly specialized forms employed by anatomically modern humans, including projectile points, hide scrapers, fishhooks, and awls. Ground stone tools are a more recent development that involve grinding harder stone (i.e., lithic) materials to produce durable, sharp edges for various tasks, like woodworking, butchery, and more.

For years, I have had several ground stone tool preforms on hand that I have needed to grind, sharpen, and attach to a wooden handle, known again as a haft. These include a fully ground Archaic North American ¾ grooved basalt axe head, a flaked and pecked celt axe head, a large flaked Mississippian chert adze blade, a small flaked Mississippian chert adze blade, a small ground hornstone adze blade, and a small flaked hornstone chisel bit. (See photo.) To clarify, I intentionally made the small hornstone adze and chisel blades for this project, as both will be useful in making wooden hafts for the other implements. This has been my project so far, and one that I can foresee myself building upon.

My Progress:

The Technical Aspect:

So far, I haven't experienced as much skill loss as I expected, considering my dyspraxia and the long absence from flintknapping. All of my instincts regarding where to remove the next flakes and how to strike the material to remove them remained intact from the last time I knapped stone.

Now all I have to do is grind serviceable cutting edges on both the Mississippian chert adze blades, the basalt axe head, and the chisel blade, and all items will be ready for me to make hafts for them. If I get an early enough start, I should be able to accomplish the remaining grinding and sharpening within a day or two before hafting all of my implements.

Regarding the issue of skill loss and dyspraxia, I recall an interesting Zoom conference I attended on dyspraxia and physical activity, where a participant who was also an editor for the UK-based publication Dyspraxia Magazine mentioned that individuals with dyspraxia can paradoxically have well-functioning muscle memory despite their motor deficits. In reflecting on my own experiences, I can see how there might be some truth to what the editor stated.

For example, I have shot archery after a long hiatus, and everything felt just like the last time I shot. Thus, I now have a little less anxiety about losing skill proficiency due to long periods of absence from practicing a given skill. However, I still hope to one day reach a point where I’m knapping consistently enough to actually improve my proficiency at it further.

As for finding time for endeavors like flintknapping and traditional archery, I think it will simply be a matter of planning things out a bit further in advance, rather than being more spontaneous, as was the case when I was much younger and my life was in some ways a lot simpler and less multifaceted.

The Academic Aspect:

With all of the flintknapping I have been doing recently, I find myself entertaining many questions, academically, that pertain not only to the mere technical and archaeological aspects of this prehistoric skill but also how my experience as a dyspraxic knapper could inform experiments that seek to address issues on the variable abilities and capacities that would have existed within prehistoric human populations. For example, I have examined many prehistoric stone artifacts with various imperfections in craftsmanship that nonetheless exhibit easily discernible use wear. Cultural values ascribed to aesthetics and craftsmanship notwithstanding, in prehistory, a wide range of individuals across the ability spectrum could have been adept flintknappers when the objective was simply to make functional, utilitarian implements.

Many modern flintknappers, even within academic circles, tend to view our endeavor through an artistic and craftsmanship lens. This is fine if it is merely a modern artistic expression. However, when pursuing flintknapping from an anthropological perspective, this approach is misaligned, given that prehistorically stone tool manufacture was a necessary practical skill and virtually everyone, regardless of how “good” they were at it, had to learn how to do it.

Some types of stone tool manufacture, such as grinding a ground stone axe or adze on wet sandstone, involve a lot of mindless, repetitive motions. I say mindless because the action itself doesn’t require a lot of mental engagement with the immediate activity that you’re doing.

While grinding a ground stone tool, I find myself not only thinking about academic questions related to stone tools but also reflecting on my own writings about dyspraxia and neurodiversity–essentially matters not directly related to what I’m doing. The same thing happens whenever I shoot traditional archery.

More than flaked stone tool manufacture, in which you have to be more focused on the here and now of what you’re doing, ground stone tool manufacture can be very conducive to divergent contemplation and reflection–almost a moving meditation in itself. Perhaps this is why I have always favored the manufacture of ground stone tools more so than do most modern flintknappers and students of prehistoric lithic technology. I have always considered myself a thinker at heart.

With the current batch of implements I have been working on, I started maintaining a journal in which I write down questions and insights that come to me as I engage in the process. Academically, this not only helps with formulating questions about the practice of stone tool manufacture in prehistory but, on a more practical level, enables me to keep track of what I’m doing more effectively and thus plan future knapping sessions a bit further in advance. This will serve me well going forward, enabling me to incorporate primitive technology endeavors more consistently into my life. Going forward, I will continue to maintain a journal of my experiences with primitive technology.

Emotional/Psychological Aspects:

Throughout this project, I have found myself letting go of some of the bitterness and anger that I have long harbored over my graduate school experience of being psychologically bullied by colleagues, which had long been a factor that caused me to lose my passion for primitive technologies and archaeology momentarily. I believe that writing about this experience, both on my Substack and in my recently published book, Disrupted Pathways: A Dyspraxic Odyssey, has been very therapeutic in helping me move past the graduate school traumas that my mind has associated with flintknapping and other primitive technologies. This in itself has been a significant step forward for me.

Now that I see how my interest in flintknapping and other primitive technologies can be integrated into my writings about neurodiversity and also help explore the archaeology of disability, I am more motivated than ever to find time not only to practice these skills but also to read relevant academic literature.

Moreover, I still feel the same sense of wonder and curiosity I had since I first began knapping arrowheads from locally available basalt and glass bottle bottoms as a teenager, growing up in suburban Washington State during the early 1990s.

Conclusion:

While this post concludes my three-part series on reconnecting with neglected special interests, the project itself is far from over for me. I will likely continue with my knapping until the days start getting too short and cold for me to do so, for the remainder of the year. Additionally, I will post updates on my progress, primarily in the notes section, from time to time.

If any of what I said resonates with you, please feel free to leave a comment below. This often leads to engaging and enlightening discussions.

Link to My Book:

https://books2read.com/u/4NEyLY

Speaking of creative outputs, as an update on reclaiming my special interests, I managed to do a little bit of flintknapping today. Still, I didn’t produce anything “photo-worthy”, hence the lack of photos in this post. The algorithm probably won’t like that, but what the heck.

Mostly what I did was prepare some cutting edges on core-struck obsidian and chert flakes to create scraping and whittling tools for woodworking related to different primitive technology projects I have planned. These are items one wouldn’t recognize as a tool unless a person knew what to look for. The archaeological record is replete with stone tools that can be described in this manner. But that’s only obliquely related to what this post is about.

In this post, I aim to explore one mechanism by which a neurodivergent person may become alienated or estranged from a formerly passionate special interest. In my case, as you may know, that special interest has always been ancient stone tool making, also known as flintknapping.

For just as special interests can be a hallmark of the neurodivergent experience, so too can misunderstanding and exclusion from others. This post is about what happens when these two phenomena collide, resulting in a toxification of one’s special interest(s). Perhaps it needn’t be related to exclusion and misunderstanding specifically, just anything traumatic that creates a negative association with one’s special interest(s) as to break you away from it, at least for a while,

Before proceeding any further, I just wanted to ask, has anyone ever had this experience? If so, what was it like?

Some of you may already know how I became radicalized as a disabled person was when I experienced a lot of bullying in the form of group shunning and social exclusion when I was a graduate student at the University of Exeter in the United Kingdom. I was studying experimental archaeology at the University, as by that point I already had a long-held special interest in primitive technologies, particularly ancient stone tool manufacture known as flintknapping. In archaeology, the study of stone tools is known as lithics, which was my specialty in the field.

Needless to say, it was nothing short of traumatic to be so coldly shunned for no good reason, treated as though I didn’t even exist. The entire culture of the department I studied under was very petty, small-minded, elitist, and one-upmanship-oriented. And that was what I came to associate with primitive technologies and lithics, which had previously been a source of passion, enrichment, and curiosity for me. This was especially the case the more radicalized I became, immersing myself into disability studies.

As the fog lifted, I could see more clearly the many ways in which ableism had always shaped my life, even before I encountered its most blatant form in graduate school. From my family of origin, where I never felt unconditionally loved, to the costly inefficiencies I’ve long faced due to my inability to drive in a transportation system that favors privately owned motor vehicles, to capitalism’s failure to create slow-paced, well-paying, intellectually stimulating occupations where naturally methodical thinkers like me can excel. The bullying I endured in graduate school in the long run ended up being just the revelatory catalyst that enabled me to see not only the dynamics of ableism within the confines of my graduate school class but within the broader body politic of society.

As I became more aware of these dynamics, my desire to understand them deeper grew uncontrollably, and my interest in primitive technologies started to seem like a minor distraction I no longer had time for. But it was much more than that. By that point, archaeology began to look like nothing more than an avocation for the elite, petty, small-minded, and privileged—much like my so-called colleagues in my graduate program who bullied me. Moreover, it also began to symbolize to me the years I spent in relentless pursuit of an artificially scarce gem, intoxicated by the placebo effects of the philosophical snake oil that hard work and determination can conquer all of life’s obstacles, even those incurred by disability.

Detoxifying And Reclaiming My Special Interest:

While writing my recently published memoir, Disrupted Pathways: A Dyspraxic Odyssey, I began to reflect on my entire relationship with primitive technologies over the many years and decades I had been involved in this pursuit. It was only then that I began to relive some of the wonderment and sense of empowerment that compelled me towards this interest in the first place. It was an aspect of my relationship with primitive technologies that I had long forgotten about. The times that I could walk along a riverbank and procure adequate sustenance directly from nature, all while struggling to integrate into the world I inherited.

It was at that point that I began to realize that there’s so much more that I can still glean from remaining involved with primitive technologies, both emotionally, psychologically, and even academically. I later discovered that there is even a subdiscipline in archaeology called the archaeology of disability. From what I’ve been able to read on this matter, there are numerous instances where archaeologists have found both skeletal and archaeological remains from prehistoric cultures around the world that indicate cases in which people with disabilities were well integrated into society and well cared for by the community at large—much like any healthy functioning society of today. Thus, findings like this contradict the popular social Darwinist folklore that disabled people would have been considered a burden in prehistoric societies and thus left to the elements of nature to perish. Perhaps I may report on some of those studies here on Substack, either as an essay or a podcast.

So, in revisiting my special interest through an activist lens, derived from disability studies, I came to realize that the social Darwinist attitudes of my colleagues who bullied me in grad school were what truly represented an abomination of human nature. Moreover, these were individuals whose academic backgrounds, not to mention just plain human decency, should have led them to know better. These realizations have proven instrumental in detoxifying my special interest, so that I may reclaim it and embrace it as passionately as I did the first time I sat down to knap a stone arrowhead.

Here is a link to my book, Dysrupted Pathways: A Dyspraxic Odyssey:

https://books2read.com/u/4NEyLY

A short time ago, I was able to sit down for the first time in a few years to do some flintknapping, which is the ancient art of stone tool manufacture. This had long been a special interest of mine and one that I aim to reconnect with. Thus, over the coming weeks, if not months, I will be writing a series of posts about reconnecting with neurodivergent special interests through the lens of reconnecting with my own.

Subject areas of intense focus, often pursued with near-exclusive devotion—commonly known as special interests—are considered a hallmark of neurodivergent culture. These are often linked to a neuropsychological tendency toward intense, sustained mental focus attributable to certain neurotypes, most notably the autism spectrum and certain presentations of ADHD and AuDHD.

I’m nearly willing to bet that other factors might also influence the development of special interests among neurodivergent individuals. Deep mental processing, often referred to as slow cognitive processing, is a trait of many different neurotypes, including mine, which is dyspraxia. Because deep processors have a mind for depth and detail, this can easily translate to a monotropic focus on subject areas of interest. Divergent thinking and creativity can again be linked to many different neurotypes and are recognized as a strength among individuals with dyspraxia. As a dyspraxic person, who has even been clinically described as an out-of-the-box thinker, my interests have always, in fact, leaned toward the esoteric, to the point of having significant difficulty yoking my brain to the more immediate and mundane matters of daily life. All these factors, combined with the social exclusion that many neurodivergent people face, make adopting a special interest topic seem almost inevitable, possibly even to help ease the pain of isolation.

As a dyspraxic person, I found that my innate divergent thinking and need for creativity and intellectual stimulation, which I didn't receive from the school system or my home environment, combined with social isolation, led me to develop a special interest in ancient stone tool making, also known as ‘flintknapping.’ This, in turn, sparked my interest in other primitive technologies, such as friction fire-making, during late adolescence as I approached high school graduation.

Waves of Displacement:

For years, after graduating from high school, I lived and breathed primitive technologies, studying the different cultures — both ancient and contemporary — that sustained themselves with such technologies. Taking up my pursuit of primitive skills also happened to coincide chronologically with finding out that I am likely neurodivergent in some way. Both discoveries opened up entirely different worlds for me–it was the point in my life when I truly felt alive.

While my motor impairments undoubtedly made flintknapping a little more challenging to learn, I embraced it with enthusiasm because of the many rewards I derived from it.

By exploring primitive technologies, I reignited a hidden curiosity and sense of wonder that had been long suppressed by both an educational system and family of origin, which were ill-equipped to meet my emotional, intellectual, and social needs, given my unique neurotype. As I delved deeper into this passion and began sharing information and ideas with others who shared similar interests, my ability to speak and write improved. Over time, my struggles with mentally accessing and expressing what I wanted to say through speech became less severe. By my early twenties, my slow, labored speech had become much more fluid and connected, although with a still slower overall cadence, which remains noticeable today.

My special interest proved to be a gift that kept on giving. As I honed my skills in making stone tools, weaving stronger cordage more efficiently, and fashioning straighter, more aerodynamic spears, I also grew as a person. One might say the improvement was bidirectional – in both the maker and their work.

Over time, however, life's currents slowly pulled me further away from my dedication to primitive technologies. Some of you reading might be able to relate, particularly if you’re neurodivergent and have dealt with the burnout, mental fatigue, and time famine too often incurred from navigating systems not built for you. These can definitely impact our capacity to engage with our special interests.

Yet no matter how far I drifted away from my special interests that were once my life’s mooring, a big part of me always deeply grieved for what felt like an insufferable loss. I yearned to reconnect and recapture the sense of wonder elicited by knapping stone tools and practicing other ancient skills. To this day, whenever I am able to sit down to do some flintknapping, I learn something new each time. Moreover, I often entertain new questions pertaining not only to prehistoric material culture but also to questions related to disability or variations in human abilities within a prehistoric context.

With the longer days of summer now in full swing, I plan to use the time afforded by them to reconnect with the very pursuit that has brought so much to my life and will likely continue to yield rewards the more I engage with it. This is the challenge I seek to embrace, reclaiming what the system had stolen from me.

Just out of curiosity, does this resonate with anyone? If so, please drop your comments in the comments section.

In solidarity!

Allan White-Dyspraxic Lens