An Autistic Religious Trauma Survivor’s Thoughts on the Country That Wants to ‘Fix’ Me.

I survived a patriarchal organization that tried to strip me of my autonomy.

I escaped.

Now, my country is trying to do the same.

I was taught I was born broken — a sinner. No inherent worth. No hope of saving myself.
Good works? Never enough. Grace? Conditional. My existence? A problem to be fixed.

I escaped that.

And now I’m being told again: I have no value. I’m a tragedy. I will never love. I will never work.

But I do love.
I do work.

And even if I didn’t — even if I never loved, never worked — my worth would be unchanged.
My value is not in my productivity.

My personhood is not dependent on how much revenue I generate.

In church, I was told my body was shameful. My mind was a battleground. My nature needed healing.
I fasted. I prayed. I “won souls.” I gave my time, my money, my identity.

Still, I was never enough. The threat of hell was always there.

I escaped that.

Now, I’m told I’m diseased. Disordered. An epidemic.
There’s talk of “wellness camps.” “Reparenting.” “Support” that looks like silencing.

It took me years to get diagnosed.
Years to find language, validation, and community.

Now they want to take that away, too.

They warned me I’d be persecuted for my beliefs. That I might suffer.
I was prepared to die for his namesake, but it was never a risk.

What will my neurotype cost me?

It was always us versus them.
Now it’s them versus me.

Abusive systems repeat themselves — different look, same script.
Control the vulnerable. Punish the different.
Use fear to justify violence. Call it love. Call it salvation. Call it truth (or science).

I escaped before.
And I may have to escape again — whatever that looks like.

But I am still here.

And I still don’t need to be fixed.