Book Review: JEFF: A Sexually Realized Spiritual Odyssey of Stepping Into Love by Lynette Louise

 

This book, written by my mom in the form of a letter to an ex-lover, is the story of a woman who discovers and heals herself while gathering and guiding others. In this poetic pursuing of truth, of self-discovery, of creating an environment her eight challenged children can thrive in, my mom does not shy away from raw emotion, naked passion, or vulnerable positions. Indeed, she steps into them with love.

• Click on the link for more information on my mom's books: Lynette Louise, books

April is Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention Month, it is also Autism Awareness and Acceptance Month. It is also my mom's birthday month. Of all my mom's books this one, Jeff: A Sexually Realized Spiritual Odyssey of Stepping Into Love, is the most timely. Though all her books teach and tell about abuse prevention and autism acceptance, this one holds the audience’s hand and brings us intimately into the journey itself. This is the book mom wrote that took her to the places where she was able to write the other books.

Mom met Jeff a few years after leaving an abusive husband (my step-dad), moving into and then graduating out of a home for battered women, while raising six, then seven, then eight children. Mom had given birth to my sister and me before meeting my step-dad, then adopted my brothers (four boys, all with a variety of disorders and dysfunctions, including autism and fetal alcohol syndrome) just before leaving him, and then got custody of two more girls a few years later, since they had nowhere else to go that was safe.

Mom, who had a history of being abused, including sexually so, had gathered so many children to love and save. But she herself had not yet felt loved or saved. Enter Jeff. (Pun intended.)

Jeff gave my mom love. He accepted all her strangenesses in stride. (In my memory, Jeff had rather long legs which must have helped fit all that strangeness into his naturally long stride. Giggle!) And he found ways to take care of her, to pamper her, without ever giving her the feeling of being needy, of not being strong.

In this letter mom reminisces with Jeff and catches him up on her life, particularly filling him in on the relationship she’s in at the time of the writing, and on relationships along the way.

Throughout the letter that is this book mom is not shy. She does not cover up her nudity but, instead, encourages us to explore it. To recognize ourselves, our world, our own truths, fears, judgements, kindnesses and cruelties, while traveling not only her gentle curves but also the dark spaces. To bring with us an open mind and soft lights.

She exposes the burden of her own bi-sexuality, a secret sin she felt was sinful due in part to a homophobic ex-husband, and invites us to discover with her the beauty that is not a sin.

From the book:

And though I have intensely sexy memories of her feathery soft hair whispering on my thighs, what truly made the experience so heady, so overwhelmingly amazing, was the discovery of the me… in her.

Up until that moment I had felt that men were only pretending to like to look at my slimy, ugly genitals. That they were only putting up with touching me, in order to get the part they wanted, the part where I touched them back.

A little later:

It was so erotic to feel the hot, secret flesh inside her body, as it opened and closed, held and let go, pulled and released, pulsing like the heartbeat to some pagan ritual It was so amazing to discover that nothing, not a smell, not a taste, not a touch, not even a sound was repulsive or ugly or even undesired.

And I felt,
As I felt,
That I was feeling me,
And finding me sexy.

The discovery of herself, while discovering others, while giving and receiving love, is such a consistent theme in mom’s life. And in this book she brings us along.

It is almost as if we, as an audience, leave the controlling name calling clutches of my step-dad and fall into the work of breaking patterns as well.

From the book:

I counted on my husband to control me into respectability and teach me how to behave so that I could like myself and my family could be proud of me for finding someone who agreed with them. Called me a slut. I hoped to change myself into their version of good.

I guess that’s why, when my husband molested my daughter which reminded me that my father had molested me, I felt my complicity in the fact that I had followed the family pattern for success.
And so finally I stopped listening to what others told me and began searching for my own truth,
And discovered that all the work is done in the mind.

Ah, yes. It is. Knowing that to be true, that all the work is done in the mind, is liberating but doesn’t solve it. We still must do the work. And our minds are not so easily understood. Though embarking on this odyssey with mom does help, and we begin to see how she went on to become the world-renowned brain change and behavior expert she is today.

But before mom was helping families around the globe (autism is her specialty but the families she works with always also have other disfunctions, disabilities, and disorders) she was homeschooling her sons and putting food on the table, keeping a roof over our heads (me and my sons were living with her at the time), by helping men in the Houston area.

From the book:

I called it “Romance Therapy” charged by the hour and actually helped people with sexual self-acceptance issues. Which is interesting since they say you teach what you need most to learn. I re-packaged the oldest profession in a way that would make it legal and allow me to claim it on my income tax. I had found my niche, my solution, my way to still teach, everyone.

A little later in the book:

Dark and handsome Edward who cared more about talking, seeking acceptance for the lack of lust towards his wife, getting solace from suffering for days before and after each visit, flogging himself with guilt.

Tall and gorgeous Steve who needed to idolize and adore for an hour every two week. So that when he ordered and bossed and controlled the staff beneath him, he could remember he was kind.

Tom who looked for forgiveness ever since Vietnam and John who was every woman’s dream date but didn’t stay in one town long enough to build towards intimacy, with no strings attached.

And sweet precious Jerry who turned out the lights and pretended I was his “ill-with-lupus wife.” He couldn’t make love to her as she would bruise from the slightest touch. So he caressed her sick body through my healthy one, whispering in the darkness, silently, her name.

Curtis, Mario, and Brian who were physically disabled and required a great deal of care, from catheters to carrying while radiantly gifting me with their smiles of divine physical beauty. If fact most of my clients were beautiful.
Inside,
And out.

This sexually realized odyssey is not a book about sex, but it is a book that brings us into the vulnerabilities and intimate realizations we can have while being sexual.

My mom is a unique woman, but her revelations are relatable and universal. My mom, a woman who was a child that suffered abuse, and then a woman who chose abuse, and then a healer who hurt while insisting on healing, brings us insights meant to do no less than change our world.

From the book:

Ted [a man she is seeing] began to apologize and explain that he hadn’t understood.

I cut him off gently.

“I never expected you would, that’s why I’m explaining now. But I need you to know me. To know I can be trusted to be kind. That there is never a moment when I’m not doing the best I can for my kids. So next time if you’re not sure, don’t tell me what I am doing. Ask me.”

Reading Jeff: A Sexually Realized Spiritual Odyssey of Stepping into Love is truly like departing on a spiritual odyssey and stepping into love. It is a whirlwind of beautiful phrasing, cultural observations, funny moments, adorable children, discovery, discovery, discovery. Learning and un-learning and learning again. Finding ourselves hidden, and stepping into love.

It is the love letter that helped my mom step out of abuse, into a world of teaching acceptance, and

moving beyond itself.

It is a love letter for Jeff. For my mom. For us kids. And for you.

Step into it.

• Click on the link for more information on my mom's books: Lynette Louise, books

 

Autism Answer: Pinwheels and Prevention (Child Abuse Prevention Month)

 

Tattered colorful toy wheel with statue of children behind it.

When I think of a pinwheel (which, I admit, I rarely do) it's not so much a feeling of childhood innocence I get but, rather, the sweet simplicity and reliance on an outside force to move it - like a child. I think, because pinwheels are often used as a prop in storytelling to denote childhood innocence specifically when that innocence is going to be manipulated or completely mutilated, I have come to see them more as a warning about childhood innocence.

April is Child Abuse Prevention Month. It is also Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention Month as well as Autism Acceptance Month. [A list of awareness dates can be found HERE] In my life, these have played an important role and I find it simply neat that they choose to be together in April, when my mom also has a birthday. She too has played an important role in my life and is the reason child abuse prevention, sexual assault prevention, and autism acceptance are major players in my world.

My mom is an unusual mom. Not surprising, she is an unusual woman and they make unusual moms. She herself struggled with a not-so-typical brain back in the days when nobody was talking openly or thoughtfully about autism or synesthesia or schizophrenia or any of the other variety of diagnosis professionals have flirted with for mom. Also, she was a “strange” child at a time when smacking kids around was almost expected, and unusually harsh abuse was kept quiet. And sexual abuse? Well, as my grandma said when mom told her I had been sexually abused by my step dad, “These things don't have to end a marriage, I can pay for her to go to boarding school.” Sort of explains why grandma and grandpa stayed together till the day he died and mom lived away from home from the age of fifteen.

What on earth does my mom growing up in an abusive environment with an autistic brain have to do with pinwheels? I myself had no idea until just this moment.

Pinwheels for Prevention was started in 2008 by Prevent Child Abuse America. The idea is to shift our thinking and actions around child abuse prevention. Rather than publish and post pictures of abused children with copy that begs us to care, which we do, overwhelming us to the point of being unable to think of good ideas that might make change, Pinwheels for Prevention asks us to focus on our community and any actions we can take to prevent abuse before it happens.

This brings me back to my mom.

My mom cared so much about becoming a mom and doing it with fairness and love. I think it's in her soul, but growing up in a home that treated her and her siblings in abusive and unfair ways had her hiding in a cubbyhole making clear and specific plans to be better than that. My mom was able to bear two live children, me and my sister, and one son who didn't make it. Then for health reasons she had to have a hysterectomy at the young age of twenty-three. And that is when she began to adopt and otherwise open our home to others. Children from homes of abuse, children with disabilities and dysfunctions, children in need of fairness and love. Fairness and love that was not offered in their homes or in their communities. These people became our family.

My mom wasn't able to prevent the abuse that had happened before my adopted siblings and temporary friends stayed with us, but she was able to help everyone understand how these things happen, what to do to heal ourselves, and – importantly – how to break the cycle. For some of us (like me and my siblings) this is not new news, that there is a cycle of abuse and that we must take action to break it. For my mom, this was horrible wonderful news. Horrible, because she had to contend with the mistakes she herself had made before seeing the cycle, and wonderful because something could be done and she would do it.

Perhaps the hardest most wonderful time in our lives so far was during those years of hard lessons, introspection, walking away without knowing where to go, seeing my mom make it all up out of thin air, necessity, and creativity.

My mom was planting pinwheels for prevention. She was focusing on her vision where all children grow up surrounded by belief in them, raising the bar, fairness, love, and support. For my brothers who were on the autism spectrum, this was easy for my mom at home but impossible in the community. Schools, neighbors, grocery store shoppers, parents at the park; everyone in the world treated mom and my siblings like problems, dangers, or people to pity. This, my mom and so many other special needs parents have said, is the hardest part of raising children who are disabled or cognitively challenged. So my mom took us out into the world, often, but always carefully and cleverly. She knew that the world would not change if we hid away, and she knew we would not become independent happy people if we hid away, and so her pinwheels were us and the attitude she practiced. “We stretch people,” she likes to say, it helps her take the time to explain and be patient with others.

Mom's diligence and consistence with me and my siblings worked wonders. We have all grown in ways professionals and statistics argue against, and we are happy.

Around the globe my mom plants pinwheels. She works and speaks and writes and performs, always with a meaningful message and specific actions to be taken that include and care about everyone; but especially children. Especially children with extra or special needs. 

Children are like pinwheels in a way. They are reliant on outside forces to spin them and unable to choose which outside forces and in which way. Unlike pinwheels, though, children are alive. They matter more. We have so much power with children; they need us to care about their reliance on us.   

The pinwheel is a symbol. And I think it is a good one. Planting pinwheels can remind us of our role in the lives of children; whether we have our own or not. 

We don't all have to be extreme like my mom to plant pinwheels, but we can all plant pinwheels. We can focus on a vision of the world where all children grow up surrounded by belief in them, raising the bar, fairness, love, and support. And we can make shifts with that in mind. We can consider our attitude in the grocery store when a parent is struggling with their child, reach out to an overwhelmed mom or dad we know and do something to help: make a meal, watch children for them while they nap, simply tell them we see them and point out something great you noticed they did. Notice great things they do. It is not hyperbole to say that these shifts can change the course of a life, can actually help an overwhelmed parent not become an abusive one. And where abuse exists and does happen, being a safe space rather than a closed off judgmental one can mean a child reaches out. These are pinwheels we can plant.

Also, we can plant pinwheels. Perhaps get together with a child in your life and make them out of materials you have at home. Get creative, plant pinwheels, create connections.

Or, adopt a bunch of kids and be amazing and teach the world to do the same like my mom does.

Whichever you prefer. 

 

Hugs, smiles, and love!!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

Book Review: Of Women and Salt by Gabriela Garcia

 

 

Of Women and Salt by Gabriela Garcia

 

Publish date - March 30th  

Number of Pages - 204

Genre - Literary Fiction

Pre-order via Amazon here: Of Women and Salt 

_______________________________________

 

"We are Force. We are more than we think we are." These words, written in the margins of a book by characters in the novel, are powerfully used and underscore the feeling I was left with after closing the final page of this debut novel.

Of Women and Salt by Gabriela Garcia invites readers into the lives of several extraordinary/ordinary women who are separated by time, place, politics, and so many barricades built within themselves. The writing style is both simple and sophisticated; clear and poetic. I love when a novel shows me to myself while also revealing motives and experiences and thoughts entirely unlike my own, stirring empathy and understanding in all cases. This novel did that for me. 

While exploring the personal and political lives of these Cuban mothers and daughters, traveling with them as they made choices or choices were made for them, and considering the cultures we create and how we are both powerful and powerless in the making of our world, I easily recognized myself and other strong women in my family.  

There are some pretty dark and uncomfortable experiences that are referred to in this story - molestation, domestic abuse, addiction, to name a few - but the author does a powerful job of revealing just enough. Inviting us into the trauma without asking us to relive it. In the case of the molestation, for example, it is quite similar to the molestation I myself experienced at a similar age. I also chose to believe and feel similar things, and act out in similar ways, and put myself down with almost the exact same language as Jeanette - one of the central women in the book. Yet I did not find it triggering and, instead, felt understood and a little bit absolved. I cannot say it will be the same for others, but I do hope so.

The use of time is brilliantly done. Because the theme, as I understood it, was how the actions we take - particularly as mothers - and ways in which we choose to hide, share, embrace, deny, explain, or forget those actions, weave themselves into the lives and environments of others - particularly our children and their children. Near and far away. In our present and long into the future. As we skip time and place in the chapters of this book, from Mexico to Miami, Cuba to Texas; from addiction in 2018 to cigar rolling in 1866; from fearing the nearby revolution will murder your family at home to swimming dangerous waters - family-less and alone - to try to make another place your home, we bring with us the memories and acts of previous chapters and are as affected by them as the characters we're reading about are. Though we are given the gift of knowing it.

This knowing, and again I love this, does not exactly give us answers. It is complex and unknowable how our actions will affect our people. But they do affect them. In my mind, this is an argument for being your most authentic, fearless, thoughtful self. For being open to evolving and growing consistently more authentic, fearless, and thoughtful. For being someone who is confident that when their actions influence people - and they will - those actions were ones you can explain with honesty. 

"We are force. We are more than we think we are."  

Particularly, in the case of this book, if we are mothers and daughters.
This is a lovely book. I recommend it to any reader. Particularly, mothers and daughters. 

Hugs, smiles, and love!

Autism Answers with Tsara Shelton (Facebook)

Autism Answer: Were We Supposed To? A Story of Rye's Rape

April is both Autism Awareness Month & Sexual Assault Awareness Month - As you know my mom,  Dr. Lynette Louise (aka "The Brain Broad") is an expert in both, and she even has a birthday on World Autism Awareness Day (April 2), but what you probably do not know is that my youngest brother, Rye, is also an expert (albeit, a different kind) in both, and he too has a birthday in April.

Today, April 27th, is Rye's birthday. Happy birthday, little brother!! He will be coming over in the afternoon to use my wifi and to pig out on pie with whipped cream. I'm looking forward to it!

In the meantime, here is an important true story that incorporates both sexual assault awareness and autism awareness. It is not an easy story to read and was far more challenging to live through. But, we did. Because I believe, we are supposed to.

Were We Supposed To?

A Story of Rye's Rape

The camera was on me, the officer was waiting for my reply, I was holding back tears wanting oh so bad to be strong for my brother. This was his hurt, his horrible horrible hurt, the crime committed to him, his body and safety, but in that moment I just couldn’t hold back the pain of my own guilt.

“He wanted to stay at our house, he asked if he could sleep on the couch,” the tears are escaping now, but only such a small percentage, I am able to hold back the neverending flood that pulses behind my eyes and throbs in my head. “I told him to go home, he has his own apartment, I made up something about not wanting to start a habit of him sleeping here at our mom’s house, but the truth is I just didn’t feel like hanging out with him anymore. And then,” I look at the officer, he too wearing a touch of hurt and guilt, and say it: “And then he went home and got raped.”

# # #

It was late but I was still awake. The phone rang and I saw on the caller ID that it was coming from the gas station in town. Rye. 

I considered ignoring it, but that might give him reason to have a temper tantrum in the store which might lead to him not being allowed back there for a while, which would lead to me having to help him more often.

So, I answered.

“Uh, hi,” he stammered, “I was raped. I escaped out the window, he might still be at my apartment.”

Blood left me so fast I nearly passed out. Had I heard him right? “Wait, what Rye? What?”

“Some guy came in my apartment and raped me. He made me go in the shower after so I snuck out the back window and came here to call you, I’m only wearing shorts. I can’t stay.”

“Oh, my god! Rye, really? Oh my god. Okay, are you okay? Did you call the police?” I was trembling now. 

“No. Should I? Am I supposed to?” Rye asked, unsure. He sounded out of breath and scared. 

Am I supposed to? 

“Actually, Rye, let me call my husband and have him pick you up. I’ll call the police. We’ll go from there. Just wait at the gas station. Hold on, the guy that raped you might still be at your house?”

“I don’t know,” Rye admitted, “I just snuck out the back but I think I heard him go out the front door.”

“Okay, you wait there if they’ll let you. Milton will be there soon and I’m going to call the police now. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

We hung up and I called my hubby. We were happily married but living in separate homes. 

“Ya.” He answered.

“Rye was raped in his apartment and is waiting for you at the gas station. Can you go get him? I’ll call the police.” 

I heard my hubby jolt. “Uh, okay. I’ll call you when I’m with him.”

I called the police. A woman answered.

“What’s your emergency?”

“Yes, hi. My brother lives in Teague and someone just broke into his apartment and raped him.”

“What?” she asked.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Someone just raped him and he escaped out his back window. My husband is picking him up from the gas station and will be with him. Can someone go there and, I don’t know, take a report?”

“Yes, we’ll send an officer. What is his address?”

Do I give Rye’s apartment address? Do I send Rye and my hubby back to his place to meet the officer, back where the trauma literally just occurred? But where they may have a better shot of catching the rapist? 

Am I supposed to? 

I give her my brother’s address and call my hubby. 

“How is Rye?”

“He’s here with me. The front door is open, I think the person ran off and left the door open.”

“Can you please stay there with him until the officer arrives? Thank you, and can I talk to Rye?”

So I talked with my brother while he waited to tell the story to the police. I apologized for sending him home, he said it was okay, I apologized that I didn’t have enough gas or gas money to come see him, he said it was okay. He told me what happened and I cried.

A man had knocked on his door, late but not impossibly late. It was only a little after ten PM. Rye opened the door a crack, sort of recognized the guy from here and there, and told him he didn’t have time right now. The guy said something about wanting to see or buy CDs or movies or something, Rye talked for a bit, opened the door wider, and the man pushed his way in, said he had a gun, made Rye lie on his stomach on the bed. Rye couldn’t see a gun but there was something in the man’s pocket,  he couldn’t see the man now, but heard him get a condom. The man raped Rye, my baby brother, who was oh so scared and it hurt, and then told him to shut up and get in the shower. Rye got in the shower and soon, too scared to stay in his apartment, left the shower running and snuck out the back window. 

Then, he phoned his sister. A sister who had told him to go home because she didn’t feel like hanging out with him.

Was I supposed to let him stay that night?

Rye is not diagnosable as autistic anymore, my mom and he have done so much work on his social skills, behaviors, and brain change that he is not considered on the autism spectrum anymore. But he still is a strange, quirky guy. He still struggles with a lower than average IQ, and issues from before my mom adopted him (Fetal Alcohol Syndrom, for example.) He is a guy easily (and often) taken advantage of, largely because he does not want to be cruel and judgmental in the ways so many have been to him. So he is welcoming to strangers at ten o’clock at night.

The police officer took Rye’s statement, and then called me.

“We will take him to Waco for an examination, do you want to come?”

“I want to,” I admitted, “but I don’t have enough gas money.” 

I hoped the officer would offer to pick me up, at which point I would ask my hubby to stay with our sleeping children, but he did not.

“Okay, I’ll have Rye call you when it is all done and I have him back here in Teague.”

I thanked him, I told Rye I love him, I hung up and called mom.

# # #

The police officer nodded in understanding. I looked at him, sitting slightly behind and to the right, my right, of the camera.

“I saw that guy, just some guy, knock on Rye’s door. I was patrolling the block. But I didn’t recognize him. I don’t know who he is.” The officer looked young and a little shaken, but he was mostly professional. I don’t know if he was trying to justify himself to me or give me a story of understanding, so I would not be entirely alone in my guilt. Or maybe he was just talking, thinking out loud, remembering that night.

So many little things that could have changed the story. Why hadn’t I let Rye stay? Why hadn’t we been better at teaching him it’s okay to say no, it isn’t judgmental to say no? Why hadn’t the police officer taken more notice of a man at Rye’s door late at night if he was on patrol?

Was he supposed to?

# # #

I spent the night after Rye’s rape sleeping on Rye’s couch. Rye and I agreed that he wanted to get comfortable in his apartment and so we worked on a plan. I stayed there, visited more often, and remained particularly available to him. He agreed to keep his door locked and just pretend he isn’t home if someone knocks, he listened when I explained why that’s not mean or judgmental, and he has since then done his best to always have a phone so he can call me or our mom in an emergency. He can call the police. 

He still lives in that apartment and he likes his life.

Today is his birthday. 

He is 35. 

Rye comes to visit me most days and we enjoy each other’s company. I help him often with things online, and he helps me sometimes by lending me his car. We are a good team.

And when I visit him he is generally ready for me to leave after about twenty minutes. When he visits me, it’s about the same. 

He goes to his home and I go to mine.

We are a team, but the trauma of his rape did not leave him – or me – dependent or desperate. We have learned ways to stay safer and grown smarter, but we have not given in or given up.

Were we supposed to?

# # #

Me and Rye at my house

Autism Answer: The Brain Broad Talks about Lust - Helping Teenagers with Autism through Puberty and Beyond

The following article originally appeared on Disabled-World.com and SexualDiversity.org - both are excellent resources as well as fantastic places to submit your writing and releases. I added the "sister memory" part here for you, my personal blog readers. I know you kinda get me. :D

“I share this with you because I want you to understand the rest of the world doesn’t want to deal with this. So it’s up to caregivers, direct service providers, and parents. Come on, guys. Get comfortable.”

That is the line Dr. Lynette Louise, aka The Brain Broad, leaves us with in a recent video from her Autism ABCs series. It is in the video for the letter “L” which, she decides, stands for “Lust.” 

Dr. Lynette Louise is a renowned international brain change and behavior expert specializing in autism. And, importantly, she is also the single mother (in fact, she is my mother!) of eight now grown children. Six were adopted, and four landed on the autism spectrum. (Only one still retains the label.)

April is both Autism Awareness Month and Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention Month. Because Dr. Lynette Louise is an expert in both, she always chooses to offer help and answers free during this time of the year. 

Considering global efforts to stay home or shelter in place, Lynette has been releasing one short video daily, in an Autism ABCs series to YouTube. Each day represented by a new letter in the English alphabet. 

“L” for lust is particularly timely. And incredibly valuable. 

“I like using the word lust in this category because most people don’t think of someone with autism, especially someone in a lower functioning situation, they don’t think of it so much as a sexual drive as a puberty problem,” she tells us. “But testosterone in boys, and in girls – when a girl is reaching her time for ovulation she doesn’t just have estrogen and progesterone, she also gets testosterone to increase her sexual drive – so sexual drive is a big subject here.”

It is challenging for most parents to teach their children about sex, about consent, about appropriate behavior. But when the person you are teaching has autism, or is otherwise uniquely challenged to learn social skills, understand their body, and/or has sensory issues, it is far more difficult. 

“You’re going to have to help them,” Lynette tells us, upfront and strong but with understanding.

After all, she not only helped all of her own children learn to understand and appropriately explore their sexual drive, but she also travels helping families globally. (Season two of her international docu-series FIX IT IN FIVE is largely about helping a young man and his single mom during this phase of life.)

“If you think of it as a sexual drive, a lust – lust for life but also, lust for sex - then maybe you can separate it out for them. Here’s an example. I say, ‘Yes, that’s a pillow. That feels great when you push your body against it. We all do it, though we do it differently. And we do it privately.’ And before I worry about the rest, I teach private time."

Lynette’s candor is refreshing, but also necessary. An example for those of us who will need to be candid as we teach this. 

Not only are disabled and cognitively challenged people at greater risk of being inappropriate sexually, which leads to misunderstanding and uncomfortable cruelties, but they are also at greater risk of being sexually abused. Particularly as they misunderstand and act out and seek sensory gratification during puberty.

Sister Memory: When a few of my brothers were going through puberty, and we were living on the road homeschooling in an RV as well as various resorts (yes, my life is awesome, thank you for noticing!) we were often squished into compact sleeping quarters. This is not conducive to an easy exploration of sex during puberty, even for the more neuro-typical among us. And for my brothers, well, it was equally challenging if not a bit stranger. Luckily, my mom had exampled and taught a comfortable, kind, strong style regarding this topic. She showed us how to have these important conversations. I won't pretend I was always actually comfortable (c'mon, I was saying things like, "You can't hump my back when we sleep but I will show you a place you can go for privacy because the desire you're having is natural," and, "it is not okay to take a picture of your erect penis and show it to people, although I see you are proud of it. Let me give you ideas for how you can be proud of your penis without hurting others or getting yourself in trouble." so, ya, I was a little awkward) but I was always certain that freaking out or being angry in my discomfort would not only hurt them but make all of our lives more challenging in the long run.  

Taking on the role of teaching your child or charge about what is happening to their body, how to be private as they explore their lust, and who they can safely communicate questions or curiosities with, is not only going to help them grow a healthy understanding of themselves and sex, but also helps them stay safe. They are more likely to avoid abuse or tell you when something is happening to them. 

“Think back,” Lynette encourages us toward the end of the video. “Puberty’s rough. Puberty with no assistance, no understanding of what to do with this feeling, and where it’s okay and where it isn’t okay, and who you can ask and who you can’t ask; puberty without that guidance is a train wreck. It’s a problem that’s going to grow so big you’ll end up maybe putting your child in a group home. When all you had to do is get comfortable with saying, ‘Hey, maybe he’s acting the way he’s acting because he’s horny.’ Or ‘Possibly, she’s acting the way she’s acting because she wants to connect with somebody. And connect her genitals.’ This is real. This is your job as parents and caregivers.”

Please watch this valuable video. And, more than that, please share it with others. 

The truth is, this wouldn’t be nearly as hard for us to do and be comfortable with if our communities, our neighborhoods, and our societies were sufficiently educated and properly involved. 

Autism ABCs with Dr. Lynette Louise: “L” is for Lust

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A few of us at the resort