She Doesn’t Seem Autistic by Esther Ottaway
You’re clearly well, don’t waste the doctor’s time.
Autistics do not look the way you do.
A woman wearing makeup must be fine.
There’s no disabled girls with style like mine.
~ Excerpt from ‘There’s no disabled girls with style like mine’
The third poetry collection from Tasmanian poet Esther Ottaway explores her late diagnosis of autism and the lived experiences that have shaped her from childhood to adulthood. It’s a wide-ranging collection that delves deeply into the complexities of being autistic as an embodied woman in contemporary society. This was the first of Ottaway’s collections I’ve read, and I was impressed by the diversity of form, imagery and lyricism she employs to build her narratives around the central theme.
Diagnosis for autism can be a long road for many, especially girls and adult women, who are often experts at “masking” – a way of imitating “normal” emotional responses and social behaviours and suppressing others to “fit in.” This can be conscious or subconscious by the individual, but it can also be actively encouraged by others, especially caregivers. Ottaway explores her own experiences of this alongside experiences from a range of autistic women, including her own daughter.
‘There’s no disabled girls with style like mine,’ is an excellent example of how the very behaviours autistic women use to cope and manage in society are often used against them. Likewise, in ‘Can’t Keep House Woman,’ Ottaway accurately criticises the gendered differences that exist between autistic women and autistic men:
Can’t Keep House Woman says
sorry sorry sorry
her shame aflame
Can’t Keep House Man
has all his friends over
they step over half-empty plates and stubbies
dust and power cords
it’s a bachelor pad!
The collection brings into sharp focus the catalogue of other conditions – physical, cognitive and emotional – that often co-exist alongside autism, defining the medical terms for these disorders at the header of the poems that detail what they might feel like. To name a few: dyspraxia, dysphoria, dyscalculia, echolalia, empathy overarousal, ADHD, narcolepsy and situational mutism.
In ‘Limbic Airways Flight AUT101,’ Ottaway reels off a dense monologue in a “welcome aboard” air hostess style, highlighting the complexity of navigating autism with ADHD, including the (often negative) social responses to individuals living with these conditions:
Your seatbelt should now be fastened tightly around your mouth, keeping others safe from your social deficits. ... Penalties apply for asking that others accommodate your disability; please note that these excuses must not be used during the flight, particularly if you are travelling for work.
I am not especially familiar with the different poetic forms, but I do know that Ottaway demonstrates an admirable capacity to employ a unique range of these throughout the collection. In their review for Westerley, Miriam Wei Wei Lo refers to the fact that Ottaway includes five villanelles – a highly structured poetic format that I took from Lo’s emphasis to be very impressive!
Alongside personal experiences and fantastically developed imagery, Ottaway returns to a core theme of motherhood and daughters – not only through her own early experiences but also when caring for her daughter throughout her diagnosis. ‘Night vision: apology to a late-diagnosed daughter’ is a particularly emotive read:
for anything I did to you to assuage my own distress for being a new parent who had no language for what you were, for being slow to see you, I’m sorry. You are parallax, shoal, diaspora. You are percipience, cloud-measurer, reverie. You are love-scar, bioluminescence.
Despite weaving dense medical terms and often heart-wrenching subject matter, Ottaway also manages to inject some light humour, joy, and hope. In ‘Still I rise: female autism,’ she rifts off Maya Angelou’s famous poem, ‘Still I Rise’:
I will name truth when I choose to.
I have learned to meet your eyes.
I’ll light paths for other women.
Still unfolding, still I rise.
In a world where certain conditions seem to have taken over social media platforms and where a significant amount of information shared is inaccurate, Ottaway’s collection is a stark and much-needed personal exploration. Poetry is a wonderful medium to engage with Ottaway’s experiences; the diversity of imagery, structure, lyricism and rhythm make this a collection you’ll find yourself being drawn back to long after the first read.
Elaine Chennatt is a writer, educator and psychology student currently residing in nipaluna. She has a special interest in bibliotherapy (how we use literature to make sense of our lives) and is endlessly curious about the creative philosophies of others. She lives with her husband and two bossy dachshunds on the not-so-sunny side of the river (IYKYK). Find her online at wordswithelaine.com
