#disabled kids

[worms-in-my-brain]

Parents need to not only be okay with raising a disabled child, they also need to not be disappointed in or by a disabled child due solely to their disability. Yes even if they still love them. Yes even if they still provide for them. Disabled kids, teens, and even adults deserve parents who are PROUD of them. And not proud ‘in spite of’ their disability, proud ALONGSIDE their disability.

[icarusredwings]

Not my typical thing but I think this would be a good time to mention that on top of writing, being a great dad, and a massive nerd, Im an amateur charity illustrator. Just realized I didn't tell you guys that.

Closed at the moment, but I draw stuff for charity organizations/donations.

This is a project I most recently finished. It's a childrens book about trach care. Diggity Duck charater design and all illustrations, creative stylization by me.

^^^ That's me :) I'm not gonna leak all of it because it's not fully released but im sure it can be preordered.

Link below.

To learn more about purchasing this book (proceeds go to children in need) or donate, please visit:

(and mention me by name if you wish, I don't get anything out of it except praise from the Author and friend Daisy lol)

"The ribbon for Schizencephaly is half purple, half green. We originally started More Than Meets The MRI as an organization to help families with children with disabled because we realized the challenges after having Erikson."

Said Daisy, a mother of an angel in heaven and on earth.

This is not at all a guilt post but rather a brag. Im proud of what I do, and Im proud to be part of this.

[commanderwithakitten]

What do I do with a disabled sparkling? The daycare hasn't responded yet

Well, that depends on their disablity.

A kid with a sensory disability needs to be put in situations where their sensory needs are met. No flashing lights for an avoidant kid, plenty of stim boards for a sensory seeking kid. They need to be given their safe foods- orange juice usually works for some of my sparklings when they're not able to get down energon.

A kid with chronic pain needs to have chores worked around for 'em. Instead o' needing them to wash all the dishes, have 'em put away the dry ones. Instead of needing to put all their toys back in specific spots in their room, have toy boxes in the living area that don't have lids so they can just drop them in. Give them whatever pain management they'll need. Sometimes a warm wrap will help. Sometimes they need pills- don't let them OD, but give them whatever they do need.

A blind kid needs to be taught how to read braille and to type usin' a special laptop. Sometimes you'll need a seeing eye dog, sometimes you need to equip them with a cane. A Deaf kid needs to learn sign, lip reading, and speech. They may need hearing aids. Don't make them get a cochlear implant- they'll make that choice once they're older.

See, it depends on the disability. Every kid is different. Their needs will be different. Make it work for them. Yes, it's more work, but it's worth it to have a kid who can advocate for their needs rather than just lay there and die once they're older.

[paperboy-pb]

"A Very Special Day" [Life Story]

[TW for: ableism against kids, internalized ableism, and mentions of suicidal ideation.]

9 years ago today, in the state of New York on September 5th, was my second day of 6th grade. Being a Special Ed kid, I was upset; my school, a K-8 that I had been with since the start and stayed with until the end, had always treated us so differently. And the world around me had promised that things would change once middle school began. But they hadn't. In fact, barely anything was new at all.

Same old baby talk from adults who saw me every day, but willfully ignored how big I had grown.

Same old bullying from my peers, disabled children who spent their days as pots calling kettles black, because no one had any intentions of teaching us better.

Same Adapted Phys Ed, getting ready to interrupt my morning reading every Monday, Wednesday, Friday; even though they'd promised to let me play in Gym with the rest of my class years ago by now.

Same old kids from the neighborhood filling up the rest of my grade, coming in smiling and laughing and oh so free in their new groups of 30. 30-something of them. 12 of us.

They'd even gotten some new kids from the K-5s around town. All of which seemed really nice. Man. Lucky them. Meanwhile, everything was so same-y that I'd considered running away from the school bus when it pulled up.

September 5th, 2014. Still kinda hot in Brooklyn. Sunny out there.

The day had gone bad. My classmates were talking FNAF, and being mean about things I don't remember. They flicked food at me during lunch while I tried to read and mind my own business. We weren't allowed to change seats, even though the rest of our grade got that privilege. It was supposed to be for all of us middle schoolers, but when I'd asked the day before, our lunch aide had no idea what I was on about. She suddenly insisted it was never a thing! While the rest of our grade was splitting into cliques behind her back, paying us no mind, knowing they'd somehow earned it and we didn't.

10-year-old me couldn't wait to go home.

By the end of the day, I was drained like no other. Head down on the desk and all. I was thinking, 2:20-something. Just a few more minutes.

God, why are things like this? Is it gonna get better later this year? I hope so, it's only the second day. Maybe it just starts bad!

Man, I miss summer already. I wish I spent today home all day eating onion ring chips again and playing Animal Crossi--

"Alright guys, listen up!" Said Mrs. Z, who would pretty much be our only teacher this year. (Meanwhile, everyone else got to have different people for different subjects.)

I don't remember her exact words. But she held up a white booklet with a bunch of kids holding hands and awkwardly smiling at us from the mostly-white cover. She said something about it being very important. And she ended her little stanza with, and I quote, "DON'T read these, alright? It's for your parents."

I think that one line changed the trajectory of my life.

As our para handed them out, my bookworm ass couldn't help but furrow my little brows. I'd had teachers assume certain books were "too hard" for me when they weren't, and get upset at me whenever I summarized the plot of them correctly. I'd had teachers tell me not to read other books during class, which was fair enough, I guess. But a teacher telling me not to read something at ALL?

Now THAT'S a new one...

It felt plasticy, not like paper. It's a packet, not a book. Six kids in a row, but none look like me, as usual. The cover said, "Family Guide To Special Education Services for School-Age Children. A Shared Path to Success." ...I don't think a title should be that long. Why not parentheses that end bit?

After that, we were dismissed. Me & some peers headed into the hallway down to the first floor to wait for our bus, and we chatted about it a little bit?

One was like, "Is this a report card or something?"

Another was like, "I guess?"

The first boy skimmed it, though, and saw nothing about him. Which eased his nerves.

A third asked me what I thought it was since I was the only kid who'd hit a Z-reading level. They figured I could make sense of it. And my first thought was boring adult stuff, or some sort of... after-school? Program? Thing? But I didn't really answer. I was too preoccupied with what Mrs. Z said.

What kind of teacher tells me not to read something? Give it to my parents is one thing, but specifically, "don't" read this? Dude! What doesn't she want me to see?

Everyone else had tossed the damn thing into their bookbags and zipped 'em up by now. We headed downstairs, and I couldn't help but notice that our 6th grade class was on the third floor; with a lot of grades 2-4 around us.

Meanwhile, the rest of the big middle school classes came down from higher up. It turns out that they all had their classes high up on the top floor. A bunch of bright minds floated down from above like they were that summer's fireflies, and we were the tips of night grass. Or maybe even worms, burrowing into the dirt and calling it a day.

...

By the time the bus was moving, I still had the packet in my hands. I was wondering why they all got to be up there and we didn't. We lived pretty close to Coney Island, after all: it must be cool seeing the parachute jump from the hallway window on your way down every day.

I barely had time to stuff the packet in my hands once we pulled up to my apartment.

If you've ever wondered what Kid Jonah was like, imagine some sort of hybrid between a miserable little nerd & the most optimistic goody-goody you've ever met. Like, yeah, I'd been in a few fights by this point, broken some rules behind their backs, but I was also... 10. And known for being "THE good kid" in front of teachers. I didn't like to defy them, you know? Even if they did always make me feel weird, or on-edge, or like I was a part of something bad.

So when I made a beeline for my room, I was like, Oh my God, I'm actually gonna do this...? And I didn't tell my parents a thing. I've kept the packet all this time and they STILL haven't read it!

But I did. I think I hesitated, but I remember opening it on my bed.

"Welcome.

Dear families, we've come a long way since our special education reform initiative, A Shared Path to Success, was launched citywide in 2012... we've also been changing hearts and minds as our core belief- that special education is a service, and not a place- has taken hold in our schools...

Section 1... Children learn at different speeds and in different ways. Some children have physical and/or intellectual disabili..."

WHAT?!

...

It was a really dense packet for a kid. Long, boring, seemed endless. But I understood the words. Especially that D one. And at the time, 10-year-old me knew it was a bad one.

I'd crossed the point of no return by then. I kept reading. And I didn't dare skip a word. "Intervention," "Special," "Disability," "Meeting," "Evaluation," "Eligibility," "IEP,"-- Hey, I know that word! IEPs are the dense things stapled to my report cards!

I remember the anger flaring in my heart, out my nose, widening my eyes once I got to the Eligibility bit. I thought, and I quote, "THEY THINK WE'RE DISABLED?!" I don't think words can articulate how insulted little 10-year-old me was!

...I don't think I can articulate how sad that is now, either. How do you instill such heavy ableism into a little boy like that? How do you live with yourself?

But I couldn't throw the book at the wall or take one of my mom's lighters to it like I initially wanted. Because I realized pretty quickly... Oh my God. This is it. These are THE ANSWERS! THIS IS WHY IT'S ALL HAPPENING!

I couldn't believe my eyes as I took it all in. The 13 disabilities that landed me and my friends in this mess, some of which matched up with certain kids I knew right away. But what really caught my attention were the services. Terms that I KNEW about. Things I engaged with. Things I... hated.

"Occupational Therapy." That nice older lady who takes me out of class every few days so I can play memory games, or play with this hand-gripper, or yank pegs outta this bright green putty.

"Paraprofessional Services"; those weird second-teachers that annoy us and only us, but never anyone else in the other classes. They're so stuck-up sometimes! And they never really seem to know how to leave us alone. Especially certain kids.

The stories I could tell about them all now... good fucking lord.

Physical Therapy; That's the one where the lady is always making me feel bad about things and do sit-ups or run drills in the hallway and stairwell... and do embarrassing stretches like people aren't walking by.

And she got upset with me because I brought a lunchbox every day for years; she told me, "You'll never be a big kid if you keep bringing food from home, Jonah!"

And I told her, "But my mom doesn't even make the sandwiches anymore! I make them for myself!"

And she was like, "But still!"

She also measures her footstep, saying it was a foot of distance. Like, 12 inches. But nuh-uh, it was never a foot! Her sneakers aren't that big. Rulers are longer. Why didn't she just get a measuring tape? What's this lady's problem?

The one that sunk my heart, though, was Adapted Phys Ed. The packet said it was "A specially designed program of developmental activities, games, sports, and rhythms suited to the interests, capabilities, and limitations of individual children who may now safely or successfully participate in the activities of a regular physical education program."

And I thought: ...That's the watered-down gym class I do three times a week.

The one where we do "challenges" like stepping into each hole of an agility ladder mat and doing a squat before moving to the next.

The one where we never play sports like everybody else gets to do.

The one that makes the gym teacher sit me out on the bleachers by myself, and watch literally everybody else I know have fun. And when I ask why, nobody tells me anything.

The one where I ask how I can improve in order to go play with everybody else, but nobody tells me anything.

The one where Mrs. D keeps promising me that I'll get to play with the rest of my class soon... but it never comes true.

This is why everybody acts so weird around us.

This is why we can't even talk to the rest of our grade.

This is why nothing ever changes...!

It all made sense. 10-year-old me couldn't feel the floor or the bed anymore. The back of my mind buzzed like shaken soda, fizzling against the back of my skull. I didn't cry. I didn't have tears. But I did sink down, down into the depths of I-don't-even-know-where.

I went time-traveling back to May of last school year, where a Special Ed kid the grade above me was saying to his classmate, "We're all just the kids nobody wants." But I didn't have context. Was this the context? He sounded like he was about to cry.

I went back to 4th grade when I headed into the bathroom and saw two kids from my grade walk by with papers promoting the talent show to everybody. I saw the text written on them clear as day! And I got excited; Our school's having a talent show? COOL! We must be getting those later today, too!

The papers never came.

I went back to 3rd grade, where paras would hover over our class during lunch, but nobody else's. They always stood tall above and between us, like they were a scarecrow keeping the birds of our grade away.

And there was so much. More. Than that.

...

I still wonder why Z didn't want me seeing that. Maybe she knew I would spiral or label myself. But at the same time... that's a learned behavior. Ableism is a hatred, and hatred is learned. From ADULTS. One that she and the rest of the school could at least try to curb if she noticed.

Z wasn't a bad lady. I think she was trying to protect me? But... we already knew we were being treated unfairly. Why would keeping this secret protect me?

The anger only lasted a little while. Because something else dawned on me.

I can't stay here.

This place had been upsetting me for YEARS. And now I knew that it was happening for a reason. A shitty one, but still... a reason. It's not just bad luck. And that it wasn't going to change unless I removed that reason from their minds.

I had to leave. Sound familiar?

The next day we had school? I was completely shaken up. Kinda surprised no one noticed. I was finally seeing just how deep this all went. The teachers smiling in my face, baby-talking, getting reallll close while having this sense of disgust in their eyes.

The staggering difference in numbers between "normal" classes and ours.

Our class locations.

I even found this board on the first floor that had a picture of every teacher and what they taught. Sure enough, "Special Education" was specified in the label for every teacher I'd ever had. I was even able to find the next teachers I'd have for Grades 7 & 8. And my blood went cold because I knew those two particular ladies were pretty mean.

My school was DEFINITELY failing that, "Special Ed is a service, not a place!" shit the state allegedly wanted to accomplish. It was a place. And I... was trapped.

And I couldn't stay trapped. Because as far as I knew, education was everything. I was a very academic little boy back then. And I didn't know what staying in a place like this could mean for my education later down the line.

I didn't want to find out.

I also didn't want my social life restricted like this. Especially since there weren't many kids who treated me well. I wanted freedom. I wanted independence. I wanted a chance to actually find real friends!

And this is sad, but... I was already very depressed by that age. Due to the nature of Special Ed at school. Had been since 8. And so... I made a plan in my bedroom the same night I found the packet:

I can't carry this environment with me into high school. I have to do anything-- EVERYTHING I can to get outta here by the time 8th grade starts! And if I fail... I can't finish 8th grade like that.

The Verrazzano Bridge and the walkway by the water, the one with the short fence that I can get right over, are only a fifteen minute walk from home. If I don't get out of Special Ed by 8th grade, then... I have to go out there and throw myself off. I have to kill myself. I have to...! Because I know for a fact I just can't. Stay. Here.

And I was serious. Dead-serious. Because I thought about it every day for the next 2 years straight.

...

That packet started it all for PB. And as sad as it is that I technically had to go behind adults' backs just to learn something about myself and where I was, I'm extremely glad it happened. Because it's also what kickstarted my interest in disability topics. My journey in learning who we were, what we were, and what we do & don't deserve.

It led to the first drafts of PB just under a year later, which set my life on a completely new path. Paperboy would not EXIST if it weren't for that day. Hell; I don't even know if my OTHER projects (like Weirder Than Usual) would, either!

That wasn't right. None of that was right. But it did give me a story to tell. One that you guys are finally starting to see!

And one that I'm very, very proud of.

Disability conversations are extremely important to me now. I don't think I'm the beacon of anti-ableism or anything like that. I know I've fucked up as I grew up, especially in my younger years. But this entire situation showed me how hush-hush the world likes to be about it. And while it's better now than it was in 2014, it ain't great yet.

And I think I owe it to 10-year-old Jonah to change that shit. Because when he googled "Special Ed makes me feel bad," he barely found anything.

It was definitely an experience I will never forget. And as you saw above, I still keep that packet with me to this day, and I always will, because of just how heavily it changed my life.

I have no idea where or who I'd be if it wasn't for that.

Happy 9th birthday, SpEd packet. Can't wait for the 10th!

[mushroomwillow]

Looking out the window with a non verbal kid of mine at work, talking to her about seeing all the buds popping up on trees, how nice the weather is when it’s not too hot or cold, lamenting my allergies, talking about bees etc.

Her on her AAC (iPad with an app that lets her talk)

“My name friend”

“Yep, you’re my bestie”

Later on, a coworker who’s new “idk why she’s so violent.”

“What? Like when she hits or kicks?”

“Yeah I just don’t get it”

“Well wouldn’t you get angry when you’re trying to say something and people can’t understand? Or when the only way you can talk dies because the battery is shit?”

“Oh. Yeah that would make me angry.”

“Same. Also the whole being talked down too by everyone. I mean she’s 9 and a pre teen and everyone talks to her like she’s a baby.”

They nod, frowning.

Like, the new people learn pretty quick that the kids we work with have huge personalities and actually understand everything we’re talking about. Theres a reason everyone we work with talks to them like we would anyone else (age appropriately) and get extremely protective of these kids. All of us have a massive hatred of health insurance because they can’t get the care they need and their families struggle. The 5yo who’s been on a billion different meds that affect his mood and already limited impulse control because for his age, he destroys rooms when he’s angry, punches kicks etc. but like? I would too?

And the 9yo above? She has seizures multiple times a day. A device that barely stops them. She can’t use the bathroom on her own. She can’t talk. Her motor control is very limited. And she’s hitting puberty. She knows damn well what we’re talking about.

But she has interest that are so fun. A crush on blippi. And if she really likes you she’ll ask you to do her hair. She laughs hysterically when she runs off and she’s faster than you. Her favorite colors are orange and pink. When she isn’t feeling good she’ll take a nap and hold your hand or cuddle with you. She has preferences of which clinicians work with her.

These kids aren’t babies who can’t understand anything. They’re people and it drives me insane when people don’t see that. I get frustrated sometimes and fuck yes it hurts to get punched in the face or have chairs thrown at you. But it doesn’t last.

Idk just thoughts at 2:17am and had a dream about a kid that got taken out of our care who I had grown really close too.

[empowered-together]

It’s so heartbreaking to see videos/photos of children and babies who are obviously disabled, and the comments are absolutely FLOODED with hateful people. Do you not realize how awful it is to tell a parent their child's life is not worth saving simply because they’re different from your kid? It’s disgusting how many people say to put the kid down, the parent should have had an abortion, etc, etc. Just because a baby is born different does not mean they deserve to die. Their life is every bit as worthy as that of your own precious kid.

[thedisablednaturalist]

Kinda fucked up that we all coo and sympathize with "former gifted kids" but never talk about the students who had to stay late after school or over the summer for remedial classes/clubs, who struggled to get above a C, who were given up on or punished. Who tried so hard to understand or just couldn't. Who were grouped with the "stupid kids" (a classmate called us that in remedial math btw)

Autistic kids and adhders who can't relate to their gifted peers and are constantly alienated by them. Kids who struggled in school due to dealing with a chronic or mental illness or physical/learning/developmental disability. Those of us who have had to drop out of highschool or college. Kids who worked so hard and wanted to be seen as smart, but never were. Who watched as their peers seem to fly by them in school, while they were left behind. Who were bullied and put down by those in the gifted and honors classes. Whose confidence was absolutely destroyed by education.

I love you all and I'm so sorry the school system failed you. I'm sorry you weren't properly accommodated and given the education you deserved. I'm sorry people put you down for something that they never had to fight for.

[audley-and-cherry]

Remember what I was saying about the bills in Iowa and Arkansas and wherever else that loosened child labor restrictions? How they weren't about forcing (white American) kids to work, but about protecting employers who ALREADY illegally employ (undocumented/migrant) kids? This is the same exact fucking thing.

The problem is here, it has been here since forever, and these Republican lawmakers are simply protecting their interests, while Dems are (once again!) too slow &/or unwilling to stop them.

Oklahoma wants to legalize corporal punishment for disabled children and I wasn’t surprised but i could not accurately word why I wasn’t but this video sums up why I wasn’t perfectly

[swagging-back-to]

lol so one of my coworkers

(the shitty one who declawed her cat and refused to euthanize even when her head was literally splitting apart into a wound of cancer, and blew up at me last year when i was doing my job and bc they didnt plan an event better and is extremely misogynistic) who has been obnoxious about the one guy ever since i came back this year.

dated this guy in highschool and she thinks it was this fairytale romance bc shes highkey delusional actually. kissed him on the first "date" (it was a friemdly get together lets catch up over coffee thing) and he did not kiss back, then she starts blowing him up hardcore harassing him. calls, texts, stalking his facebook. she got mad when i said to chill. then she suggested going to his house basically unannounced and demanding to talk. i said "thats literally stalker behavior that gets people put in prison." and again she got mad at me. btw im 19. she's like 57yo.

so anyway the next week she comes in and is like "i dont wanna talk about it i gotclosure thats all I'll say". today i learned that he was rightfully furious with her when she showed up at his house (which is 2hrs away from here and she thought she cpuld use the excuse "was just passing by" after TELLING HIM SHE WPULD BE DOWN TO TALK FACE TO FACE BC HES "GHISTING" HER) and threatens to call the cops on her and tells her shes fucking insane.

and i had to actually walk away from overnearing that detail to laugh because holy shit dude

[ratbastarddotfuck]

if you're a white person taking pleasure in the idea that Trump voters of colour are experiencing racist violence from white trumpers because "they got what's coming to them" I don't think you're anti-racist at all, I think you were just waiting for an acceptable target, and you're also fucking weird.

Bad Person Deserves Punishment For Their Sins give me a fucking break and get yourself out of the fucking catholic church. you're all prison abolitionists until you see someone you don't like.

[zebulontheplanet]

Hearing constantly about gifted autistic kids and people seeing it as THEE autistic trait has completely disregarded those who aren’t gifted and made a HUGE divide in the community. Seeing constantly “yeah autistic people are usually gifted” is so annoying because a VERY large chunk of autistic people, aren’t actually gifted and media has just put the gifted people at the front because they’re more palatable. The “autistic gifted kid burnout” has become more so a trend than anything and I’ve seen a lot of people assume they’re autistic because they are the “gifted kid burnout person” when that isn’t even a requirement for an autism diagnosis. You don’t have to be gifted to be autistic. You don’t have to be!!

Start putting the people who struggle more in the spotlight. Those with intellectual disabilities, those with learning disabilities, those with cognitive disabilities, those who are just generally stereotypically “dumb” and embrace it!

We need to have a very big discussion about this as a community and it needs to start today.

[mavigator]

i talked about it a little bit already but i have things to say about it. for context, i was born with amniotic band syndrome. the amniotic band wrapped around my left wrist in utero and stunted the growth of my hand. i was born with about half a palm, four nubs for fingers, and a twisted half of a thumb. i can open and close my thumb and pinkie joint like a claw.

yesterday at work i had a shift in the room with 5-10 year old kids. i had my left hand hidden in my sleeve (a bad habit of mine). a kid asked if he could see my hand, and even though internally i was debating running into traffic, i said “sure you can” and showed him my hands. he stared for a moment, looking disturbed, and then said “i don’t want to look at that anymore”. that hurt to hear, but i understand that kids are new to the world and he probably didn’t mean it out of malice. i put my hand away again, told him that it was okay, and that i was just born that way.

he then went on to talk about how he knows a kid with a similar hand to mine and called it “ugly”. i told him that wasn’t a very kind thing to say and that he wouldn’t feel good if someone said that to him, and he replied that no one would say that to him—because he has “normal hands”, and he’s glad he does because otherwise he’d be “ugly”. i tried to talk with him for a bit about how everybody is born differently, but he just started talking about a girl he knows with a “messed up face” and pulled on his face to make it look droopy. i went on some more about how it wasn’t very kind to talk about people that way, but the conversation moved on to something else.

i’ve told my supervisors about it and they’re going to have a talk with his mom. what i wanted to say is this: i’m genuinely not upset with the kid. kids are young and naturally curious, and he clearly simply hasn’t been taught about disabled people and kind ways to speak to/about others. which is why i am upset with his parent(s). i know he’s encountered visibly deformed/disabled people before (he said so himself!), yet his parent(s) clearly haven’t had any kind of discussion with him about proper language and behavior. i knew from birth that some people were just different than others, but my parents still made a point to assert to be kind to and accepting of others. i wonder if adults in his life are the type of people to hush him and usher him away when he points out someone in a wheelchair. that kind of thing doesn’t teach politeness. it tells children that disabled people are an Other than can’t be acknowledged or spoken about; which, to a child, means disability must be something bad.

i’m lucky enough that this was a relatively mild incident, and that i’m a grownup with thicker skin. i’m worried about the other kids he mentioned to me. has he been talking to them this way? when i was a kid, i had other kids scream, cry, and run away at the sight of my hand. or follow me around pointing at me and laughing at me. or tell me i couldn’t do something because i was ugly or incapable or whatever. one time a girl at an arcade climbed to the top of the skeeball machine, pointed at me, and screamed at me to put my hand away and wouldn’t stop crying until she couldn’t see me anymore. another time, a kid saw my hand, screamed at the top of her lungs, and ran into my friend’s arms, crying hysterically about how i was scaring her. that second incident made me cry so hard i threw up when i got home. i can kind of laugh it off now, but having people react to me that way as a child is something i’m still getting over. why do you think i have a habit of keeping my hand in my sleeve? it just irritates me to see children that have clearly not been taught basic manners and kindness—their parents Clearly missed something pretty important .

[m0thmancore]

yknow it really bothers me that 95% of conversations i've seen about gifted kid burnout are neurotypicals talking about "oh these kids are upset they don't get to feel special anymore"

as opposed to "yeah these kids have severe self-esteem issues because the only thing they were ever praised for as children was how smart they are and how quickly they learn and now they can't do things if they don't know how to do it immediately because they're terrified of failure because their love always felt so conditional on their performance even if it wasn't"

[suzieloveships]

Boy with a disability related to talking: *exist*

Oswald Cobblepot, unprompted:

[zoe-oneesama]

“Therapy is for broken people, and our Adrien is PERFECT!” Aside from the inherent nastiness and problems of BOTH of the independent clauses in that sentence, considering how much Emilie is concerned with her public image as well as her image among the people in her Inner Circle, I wonder how it’ll affect her as she continues to drop little nuggets like that when she starts being seen as (and ESPECIALLY treated as) if not a Boy Mom or an Ableist Mom, at the very least an Innocently Insensitive Mom minus the coddling attitude someone like her would hope “naturally” comes with that title.

I mean, if OG, Canon Emilie went so far as to give herself Magic Wasting Disease by using a broken Miraculous to invent the Perfect™️ Obedient Prodigy Child that Literally Cannot Disobey and Has No "Flaws" instead of, you know...adoption...

I definitely see her as the kind of person who can't handle a "broken" child that might, idk, need some help?