Accessing support as a disabled student 


Today I had my needs assessment for Disabled Students Allowance. It’s 12 years since I first wondered if I might be autistic, a little over 2 years since an initial assessment indicated that I was autistic, and a year since this was confirmed by a full clinical assessment and diagnosis. I should have had plenty of time to think about what this means, but every now and then something happens which reminds me why I needed a formal diagnosis and why recognising myself as autistic and disabled, and being recognised as such by others, is important. Not just important to me, but also important to others with ‘hidden’ disabilities, including far too many children in schools whose needs are going unmet because they don’t ‘look disabled’. 

All through my son’s primary school years, and it’s a similar story for many parents, his need for support was a constant battle, with school minimising need and me advocating on his behalf. The SEN system for children is largely adversarial and parents frequently talk and write of ‘fighting’ and ‘battling’ for support. Despite claims of collaboration and child-centred planning and support, the very need for a parallel system of ‘independent supporters’, to help and guide parents through the system, is indicative of a system not fit for purpose. To design a system for parents and young people to use which cannot be used without external help is utterly ridiculous. 

(The same thing has happened with the introduction of Universal Credit. The system is so complicated that independent advice centres have been set up to help claimants through the system)

My first experience of asking for support was through work. After increasing struggles and meltdowns I was referred to an occupational health doctor. I had a very supportive manager who had already responded positively to my own requests but we were keen to find out if there was more that work could do. Despite requesting an assessor who had autism experience I was allocated to a doctor with a specialism in epidemiology. It was clear when I saw him that he had googled autism while I was waiting and had no clue about what might be helpful to me in the workplace. His reference to autism as a disease and his assumption that I had some sort of middle-aged onset autism didn’t fill me with confidence. He was unable to make any suggestions and his report merely recommended the few adjustments I could think of. 

I had heard positive things about Disabled Student Allowance assessments and friends had commented how easy the process was in comparison to their experiences with schools and other government departments. Based on my previous experiences of accessing support for my son in school, for myself in the workplace, and many years supporting people to access benefits, housing and other welfare provision, I was skeptical and decided not to apply to prevent myself any extra added stresses!

In the summer I met with a disability advisor at my new university who recommended that I really should apply for DSA and he started the process for me. After a palaver getting a passport and nearly giving up at that stage, I sent in my identification documents and a copy of my diagnosis summary. 

This was not enough. DSA needed more evidence:

“For an autistic spectrum disorder, please arrange for your doctor or other qualified medical professional to complete the enclosed disability evidence form. Alternatively you can provide any of the following documents:

  • Statement of SEN and Transition Plans
  • Individual Education Plans
  • Learning Difficulty Assessments
  • A letter from your doctor or medical professional which confirms the following information:
  • a diagnosis of your condition
  • your condition is long term (more than 12 months)
  • how your condition has an adverse effect on your ability to carry out daily activities”

I replied:

“Further to your letter I have sent a copy by post of the psychological report outlining my diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder. The report refers to a further report which was largely history taking, is deeply personal and private, and which, therefore, I will not be sharing. 

As I was not diagnosed until the age of 46, I do not have documents such as SSENs, IEPs, LDAs etc. Even if I did, they would be woefully out of date by now. 

You ask for evidence to support that my “condition is long term”. Autism is recognised as a lifelong neurological condition and, as such, can never be transient. I am unable to provide specific evidence of it being a long-term condition, as this is implicit in the diagnosis. 

I have not seen my GP about my diagnosis (or indeed seen my GP at all for the past 10 or so years) so he is not in a position to comment on how “[my] … condition has an adverse effect on … [my] … ability to carry out daily activities”. The diagnostic criteria is clear that to be diagnosed with autism: “Symptoms cause clinically significant impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of current functioning” (DSM5 ASD criteria). As above, it is implicit in the diagnosis that there are significant ‘impairments’.”

And I waited. 

At this stage I decided it was all too much hassle and I would be fine without DSA as I’d been fine with my previous studies.

Eventually I received a letter informing me that I was eligible for DSA and today I had my needs assessment. 

My assessment was carried out by an organisation called ‘Contact Associates’ who provided excellent pre-assessment information with clear directions, details about parking (very important!) and how long the assessment would take. My assessment was conducted by a mental health specialist who demonstrated an excellent understanding of the range of support needs for autistic students. 

I went into the assessment thinking I didn’t really have any support needs. It was only through my assessor’s careful exploration of how I study and finding all the little supports and adjustments I craft for myself, that I realised I do actually have some needs for support. It’s not that I can’t organise myself and produce academic work to a high standard. I clearly have and can, or I wouldn’t be embarking on a PhD! It’s that the effort and time it takes for me to do that is more than an ordinary, non-autistic, non-disabled, student would require. By adding in some human and technical supports I will hopefully be able to study more efficiently and more effectively without sacrificing all of my time and well-being. 

What was most remarkable about the assessment, and in stark contrast to my experiences dealing with school support for a disabled child, was the sense that the assessor was an ally and an advocate, not an adversary. All too often schools and local authorities disbelieve and disregard professional opinion, because they can’t see ‘the problem’. We have to repeatedly explain our children’s difficulties and stress that just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there. 

But, having completed (not without much angst) the earlier paperwork evidence stage which proved my eligibility, todays assessment took that as given. I have a diagnosis. I have been officially assessed by an experienced professional to have met the criteria for that diagnosis. Attending an assessment where I did not have to again prove my disability, or list my deficits, or explain how despite being a reasonably competent adult I do struggle with a lot of things most ordinary people take in their stride, was liberating and empowering. My assessor felt like an advocate, not an adversary. 

The DSA system for proving eligibility clearly needs some work, but without doubt, as a whole it is a vast improvement on the SEN system for children and young people.

How not to do an autism conference: response from the NAS


Today I received a response from the NAS conference team following my blog post raising concerns about last week’s Autism and Mental Health conference. It is copied here in full with the writer’s permission:

Dear Paula,

 

Thanks again for your email and apologies I didn’t get back to you yesterday as planned. It’s been really useful for us to have this feedback and to think about how we can make our conferences more autism friendly.

 

We will certainly be incorporating many of the suggestions you have made into the logistics for our one-day conferences, such as providing lay out plans and quiet lunch areas. So thank you for raising these points. Some of your suggestions are part of our current practice, but we realise that we need to do more to ensure this practice is properly publicised and followed at all our conferences.

 

With 400 people at the Mental Health conference, we recognise that crowding was an issue. We rely on our venues to tell us how many people their rooms can accommodate and, in this case, we believe that their estimate of what the spaces could take were overly optimistic. We will be aware of this when using this venue in future and limit the numbers able to attend accordingly. We will also give feedback to the hotel in this regard. We understand that the large numbers attending led to long waits and crowds at lunch and to use the toilets and we do apologise for that.

 

With regard to the other points you have raised:

 

1) We will now put a much more spaced out row of chairs at the back of the room and will ensure this is reserved for autistic delegates who need space around them.
We already offer to reserve specific seats for delegates who need it (and there were several who reserved seats at the conference last week). The ‘special access requirements’ section on our registration forms is where delegates can ask to reserve a particular seating arrangement or for other specific needs (such as large print documentation, etc).We will now make this clearer on the form.

 

2) Our standard practice is to ensure food is properly labelled at refreshment breaks and lunchtime, but we apologise that this didn’t happen at last week’s conference. We will check that this has been done at future conferences.

 

3) Until now, we have not had specific rules for our quiet room. This is because we didn’t want to restrict people from using the room in the way that they need to, in order to feel most comfortable. Following your comments, we will now survey autistic delegates and ask whether there is a preference for clear rules about how to use the quiet room. If delegates tell us they would prefer a set of rules, it would be great if you and other autistic people could work with us to help decide what those rules should be. Could you let me know if you’d want to help with this?

 

4) Parking/ and more lunch and toilet areas:
When holding events for such a large number of people, unfortunately it is rare to find venues with more parking available than the hotel where the conference was held. However, as mentioned in your blog, we did warn people who needed to drive to arrive early to ensure they got a parking space, and also to encourage people who didn’t need to drive to consider using public transport.

 

5) In regards to sensory issues, we will no longer use the bell to signal the start of sessions.
With regards to the points you raise about Tony Attwood and his inappropriate use of humour.

 

We are very sorry that Professor Attwood’s presentations were upsetting to you and that this contributed to the distress you experienced at the conference. We send all our speakers an ‘’acceptable language’’ document prior to conferences. This was developed for us by a group of autistic adults and we ask that speakers respect the guidelines outlined in the document. However, the document does not currently address humour, and we will look at incorporating a section regarding humour into the guidelines, using the very excellent open letter Kate Fox drafted for guidance https://katefoxwriter.wordpress.com/2017/05/

 

Once again, we are sorry about your difficult experiences at the conference. We really do appreciate you taking the time to write to us: it’s been very helpful for us to have this feedback.

 

Going forward, if you would be interested and are available it would be great to have your input on the quiet room rules, and the new ‘humour’ section in the acceptable language guidance document. Would that be of interest to you?

 

Best wishes,

I have replied accepting their offer to be involved in any way to help make future conferences a better experience for autistic delegates.

How not to do an autism conference


Reflections on the NAS Autism and Mental Health conference 2017

It’s now two days since I attended the National Autistic Society’s ‘Autism and Mental Health’ conference at the Hilton in Reading. The event was attended by around 400 people and starred Tony Attwood and Wenn Lawson alongside other speakers. I was really looking forward to learning more about autistic mental health, but came away disappointed on many levels. Here’s why:

The venue was easy to get to and I arrived early as the pre-conference documentation indicated that parking was limited and that the alternative was parking further away and getting a bus. I struggle to use buses, they make me very anxious and to get through the day I needed to do as much as possible to reduce the avoidable anxieties.

  • Please consider using venues with sufficient parking.

The conference was held on the ground floor of the hotel, but it was poorly laid out and with insufficient signage. The bulk of the space was shared with other hotel users and it was not clear how to use the space. Hot drink preparation areas were at one end of a vast reception area and the only available seating was in the hotel bar at the other end.

  • Please consider providing layout plans.
  • Please consider delegates who have mobility and coordination difficulties.

Toilets, drinks and food all resulted in huge queues. Some queuing is inevitable at large events but this was unacceptable. The lunch queues were ridiculous and completely took over the space, making it easy to become overwhelmed and trapped. I suspected this might happen and got to lunch early, but was disappointed again at lack of signposting/labelling. It wasn’t clear what was available as food was spread across two spaces. Sandwiches were not labelled and many contained unidentified beige lumps in unidentified beige gloop. I was glad I’d brought snacks with me.

  • Please consider an alternative quiet area for lunch for your autistic/disabled delegates.
  • Please provide clear instructions about food arrangements. Providing a menu in advance would be helpful so we know what to expect.
  • Please provide food near the seating area, ideally with proper height dining tables, to support delegates with mobility and coordination difficulties.
  • Please choose a venue with more toilets and lunch logistics.

In the main conference room seats were tightly packed and with little space. Like many autistic people, I struggle with proximity to other people, have a need to move/fidget and often need to leave mid-way for the toilet, for some space, a break and to unwind for a bit before returning. I did ask to sit at the back near the door when I arrived, but having to explain a need for a particular seat (or any other adjustment) in front of others is never very dignified. I also had no way of reserving a suitable seat and struggled in later sessions to find suitable space.

  • Please consider creating priority seating for autistic/disabled delegates to meet our needs.

I was astonished that the NAS staff used a bell to encourage everyone to move onto the next session. It’s Autism 101 that many of us have sensory sensitivities so this was horrific, it was only years of conditioning that stopped me covering my ears and swearing at the bell-ringer. The organisers knew that there were autistic delegates (and at least one autistic speaker), but did this anyway. It was shockingly insensitive and very poor modelling of good practice… As always at these events, I was surprised how many delegates were heavily perfumed and I do hope they refrain from this in their day jobs.

  • Please consider your delegates’ sensory issues and please ask your non-autistic delegates to respect this too.

There was a quiet room provided which I eventually found, and while it was useful while I had it to myself, there were no guidelines on how to use it when sharing the space. I didn’t know if quiet meant silent, whether it was ok to to eat or drink in there, if ignoring other people in there was expected or rude. I abandoned it when the ambiguity made it more stressful being there than not.

  • Please provide some guidance on the use of the quiet room.

Providing a quiet room is not enough to ameliorate the challenges of the conference for autistic/disabled delegates. More thought needs to go into making the whole event inclusive and making adjustments and supports intrinsic. The NAS should be leading the field in this, modelling good autism practice in everything it does.

  • Please seek guidance from autistic conference speakers and delegates on how to make the whole experience better for us. The conference details listed autistic people among those who should attend, please make it easier for us to do this.

A woman next to me was struggling to hear a speaker (as was I but as usual I thought it was just me!) and asked for the sound to be adjusted/raised. The tech guy’s response was along the lines of “there’s nothing I can do, I can hear it fine”. This is very poor practice, and exactly the sort of thing many disabled people experience in day to day life. There may well not have been anything he could do, but his blasé response to our difficulties was not in the spirit of inclusion.

  • Please ask conference staff not to dismiss delegate requests.

I was disappointed that there weren’t more autistic speakers, I believe that Wenn Lawson was the only autistic speaker. It would have been helpful to have some more personal experiences, especially as many in the audience were, or were working with, parents of autistic children. As a parent of a child struggling with their mental health it is always helpful to hear from older autistics who have been through some of the very serious mental health problems being talked about. As parents we need to know it can get better. The day also seemed to largely focus on autistic people without intellectual/language disabilities, this wasn’t made clear in the programme and was disappointing.

  • Please include more autistic speakers in your conferences.
  • Please don’t forget that autistic people with intellectual, cognitive and language difficulties also experience mental health problems.

The worst part of the day was Tony Attwood. I was so looking forward to hearing him speak. His books were instrumental in giving me the knowledge I needed to get my son assessed and diagnosed when it felt like nobody else believed me. Clearly he is very knowledgeable and has a good understanding of the Asperger-type presentation of autism. But his talks were chock-full of jokes at our expense. It was very much an outsider looking in at the autistics and their funny little ways, oh how amusing we are, oh how the audience laughed at his quips about suicide, special interests, IQ, virginity and robots.

Attwood’s presentations came across as exploitative and offensive. He succeeded in othering autistic people and using us as the butt of his jokes. I now know that he has form for this and considers joking about autistic people a form of neurotypical social bonding, performing a sort of disparagement humour to bolster his material. It was like a trip in time back to the 70s where Alf Garnett discovers autism.

It really is not acceptable for a person in a position of power and influence to exploit a vulnerable and marginal group to raise laughs. It is surely unprofessional to talk about your clients and service users in such a disparaging way. I would guess that the majority of the audience were professionals. I would hate for any professional to talk about me or my son in this way.

I wonder if the time has come where people like Attwood, who were key figures in increasing understanding of the autism spectrum, but who are not autistic, need to step aside, accept their success, but let us speak for ourselves. There are autistic psychologists, researchers and writers (and many other things besides) who should be promoted and platformed. If we can say it for ourselves we do not need a neurotypical to say it for us.

  • Please produce some guidance for your speakers about respecting the subjects of their material.
  • Please don’t book speakers who mock and ridicule autistic people.
  • Please let us speak for ourselves when we can. If you are booking a big name speaker to attract participants let us share the platform.

To end, I think the NAS do some fantastic work, but it feels like there’s a disconnect between the different parts. The conference team need to take on board the work of the campaigning team. The NAS is the biggest autism charity in the UK and it needs to show everyone else how to get things right. Whether it’s training, supporting, housing or holding events for and about autistic people, it needs to demonstrate best practice.

I would like to thank Lucy Sanctuary for her fantastic talk about the benefits of speech and language therapy for mental health difficulties. Thanks also to her daughter who spoke to us via a film clip.

Please read my next post to see the reply from the NAS 🙂

A little bit autistic?

The UK’s Channel 4 is currently promoting its upcoming series ‘How autistic are you?’ [edit: link no longer works]. The blurb asks if you “think you might be autistic?” as a precursor to a whistle-stop tour of reasons you might indeed be autistic: 

“Struggle with social interaction, maintaining eye contact, or understanding the expressions and gestures of those around you? Do you have difficulty understanding other people’s feelings and managing your own? Or perhaps bright, loud or crowded places make you anxious?”


This isn’t helpful.

  • When free to create our own spaces for social interaction we form strong bonds and lasting relationships.
  • I have heard of too many children and adults refused assessment or diagnosis because they can do eye contact.
  • We are empathetic of others, we just might need them to communicate in a way we understand.
  • We often know exactly what to do to manage our own feelings, it’s just that external expectations often lead to us ignoring our own feelings, because ‘other people don’t feel like that’ so we must be wrong.
  • We can also be hyposensitive and crave loud, bright and busy (or have a perfectly well-calibrated sensory system).

Apparently the series intends to demystify autism. I’m really not so sure it’s going to do a very good job of it. The above paragraph ends with this gem:

“Theory and research suggest that autism is a spectrum, with autistic traits distributed along a spectrum in the general population. This means, to a certain extent, that everyone has some degree of autistic traits.”


This theory, that the population ranges from thoroughly-not-autistic-in-any-way-at-all along a straight line through to extremely-very-autistic-in-every-way-possible at the other end, is a fundamental part of Simon Baron-Cohen’s contribution to autism theory, which also includes how we lack empathy (err, nope) and how autism comes from an extreme male brain (err, nope, again).

The series will apparently “feature leading experts and people from the autistic community”. Experts and autistic people. Not autistic experts. Experts and autistic people. Nuff said.

Having preambled for longer than planned, I’m going to return to my title. Is everyone really a little bit autistic? I don’t think so. Does having an autistic trait or two mean you’re a little bit autistic? No, it just means you’re human. Autistic traits are human traits, for us they’re just in a different constellation.

  • If I tell you I wear reading glasses, would you say I was a little bit blind?
  • If I tell you I have a headache, would you say I was having a little bit of a migraine?
  • If I tell you I was a bit sad, would you say I was being a little bit clinically depressed?
  • If I tell you I sprained my ankle, would you say I was a little bit paralysed?
  • If I tell you I am unable to read a foreign text (whilst being perfectly capable of reading in my usual language), would you say I was a little bit illiterate?
  • If I said I didn’t like peas, would you say I had a little bit of an eating disorder?

I could go on. The point isn’t that being autistic is so awful that it’s worse than everything else, the point is that suggesting everyone is a little bit autistic trivialises and vanishes the experiences (good and bad) and the support needs of autistic people.

shit I learned at #speakersday

I don’t usually swear in posts, but I do swear a lot when I speak, and I am writing this while I recover from a long drive, a couple of nights away from home and lots and lots of peopling, meaning my ability to put words together is a bit challenged, so I need to make full use of whatever vocabulary I can find. Yesterday I attended the National Autistic Society’s ‘Public speaking for autistic people’ course in Wrexham, 210 miles from home. It was brilliant and illuminating and I learned shitloads of stuff.

I learned that I really really like driving on motorways, especially if I imagine that I am appearing in a Top Gear challenge. My friend @PdaSoapbox was travelling by train from the opposite direction, and we supported and encouraged each other by text throughout the journey (I only texted when I stopped for breaks, not when driving). She was largely unaware that she was part of my imaginary challenge, and I don’t think she’s a Top Gear fan… but it made me laugh to myself as I drove, because, contrary to the stereotypes, us autistic people can imagine and we do do humour.

I learned that being drawn towards the written word is a pain in the arse when signs are bilingual. If there is written information within my field of vision I have to read it. It doesn’t matter what it is, I have to know what it says. This is fine with English language words, which I can scan and process quickly, but less so with Welsh. I have nothing against Wales or the Welsh language, but bilingual signs mean my brain tries to make sense of all the words, including the Welsh words, which I don’t have a hope in hell of decoding, but my brain has to give it a go just in case. I did not miss a turn until I crossed the border 😉

I learned that being among autistic women is perhaps the most empowering and comfortable place in the world to be. I have never felt so normal, so like other people, it was magical. Meeting people I’ve only ever interacted with on the internet in real life was like meeting up with the long lost friends I never knew I had.

I learned that friendships made online can be as strong, meaningful and real, and engender the same loyalties as those made in the ‘real world’.

I learned that I’m not the shy introvert I had always assumed myself to be. I haven’t been avoiding social interaction for most of a lifetime because I didn’t want to or didn’t need it. I’ve avoided it because it’s so hard when you don’t know and can’t follow the social rules of the majority neurotype. I actually love just chatting with people, singly and in groups, and yesterday I could do that without the complicated interchanges usually required. There were no raised eyebrows and affected manners, as people just did what they needed to do. Stripped bare of the tacit and often arbitrary rules of the typical social world, interaction became easy and natural. People and topics ebbed and flowed.

I learned that I am not able to easily switch between roles. As part of the day we had the opportunity to perform a brief presentation and receive feedback. I had not prepared one of my own as I knew it would make me more anxious on top of all the other anxieties. It’s not uncommon for me to make a decision about something without knowing why and then having my ‘Oh fuck, that’s why’ lightbulb moment later on. Partway through the morning yesterday I realised that my trepidation about doing a presentation was because of this struggle with switching between roles. To engage with the training and learn well, I needed to be in ‘listening and learning’ mode. To do a presentation I would need to be in ‘controlled and performing’ mode. There wasn’t time to switch roles and I knew as soon as the afternoon session began that I had made the right call, I was in no place to perform ‘speaker role’.

I learned more than I could have hoped to about public speaking. Sarah Hendrickx and the NAS training team should be commended for providing such a thoughtful and perfectly executed event.

Throughout my professional life I attended a lot of training, this may have been the first time I haven’t wanted a training day to end.

Thank you to everyone involved and everyone who attended.

What a day 🙂

Visuals for grown ups

[image shows a view ahead of an empty road bordered by tall conifers with a pale green text box with the words ‘Visuals for grown ups’ in black text]
A mainstay of advice for supporting autistic children is the use of ‘visuals’. When I attended the NAS’s Early Bird Plus course after my son was diagnosed there was a strong emphasis on visual supports. Autism advisory services to schools almost always recommend visual timetables, schedules and prompts. There is a massive market in ready made visual supports for autistic children, ranging from elaborate daily planners to portable and wearable symbols.

Like many parents I got sucked into buying a laminator and sticky-backed velcro so I too could produce marvellous visual supports to make life easier. As mentioned in a previous post, I soon realised that for my son, the process of creating the visuals was the most useful element. Talking about what we wanted to achieve proved to be motivating and organising for us both. Although we might refer to the content of that discussion for many months or years to follow, the actual finished (beautifully laminated) product was usually swiftly abandoned.

Despite this, for many autistic children the use of visual supports is helpful, and not just for children who have limited verbal or reading skills. Visuals can also be helpful for keeping teaching and support staff on track, providing a reminder not to make changes without forewarning children who might struggle with the unexpected.

But visual supports aren’t just for children.

Grown ups, of all abilities and with all sorts of support needs, can benefit too.

Chatting with a friend by email at the weekend (my favourite sort of chatting), I suddenly realised how much I rely on visual supports, especially for new experiences. We were discussing our plans for attending an NAS course next week (‘Public speaking for autistic people’) in Wrexham, Wales, many miles from both of us. We are both attending and staying over 2 nights, she travelling by train and bus, me by car. Without having discussed the specifics, it turned out we had both come to be using virtually identical strategies to help relieve some of our anxiety.

We had produced our own visual supports.

Our visuals aren’t laminated or velcroed, and they aren’t stuck on a wall or attached to a carabiner, they’re in our smartphones and tablets. Our visual supports are a series of photos and screenshots of where we are going, the information we’ve been provided about the course, the venue, route plans and timetables, information about hotel bookings and food options.

As the event draws closer I’m spending more and more time on Trip Advisor poring over the photos of the hotel, the car park, reception desk and possible room layouts. Within the next few days I will start doing the same with google maps, satellite images and street view, and will probably take more screenshots to add to my visual security blanket.

All of this takes time, but nobody sees me hard at work, quietly preparing my supports, carefully erecting my scaffold, getting myself ready to do a new thing. One of the best things about chatting with other autistic people is finding out they do these things too 🙂

Being me


A year ago I gave a presentation about mothers on the autism spectrum at the National Autistic Society’s Professional Conference. I had never spoken in public before and it seemed to be well received. I wanted to write up my presentation for others to read which resulted in this blog. I chose to blog anonymously because I believed that being open and public could complicate my life in ways that I wasn’t ready for.

I was particularly worried about my colleagues and clients and how they would perceive me as an autistic person. Because, let’s face it, most people don’t understand autism. I also know that the more open I am about being autistic, the harder I find it to mask, and the more my autism shows. Massive structural and cultural changes at work meant I was already struggling, and I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to expose myself while already suffering with high levels of anxiety.

Six weeks ago I resigned from my position, and today is the start of a new chapter in my life. For the last 18 years I have worked in the criminal justice system, in what was the probation service, a profession which always prided itself on strong values and a commitment to justice, but which is now largely privatised and profit-driven. I am in the fortunate position of being able to take a break from working and spend some time finding a way to bring together my skills and interests in a way which is meaningful to me.

My name is Paula Sanchez and I am autistic.