accommodations – Kara Jorgensen

Sometimes it’s easy to forget I’m autistic. I have sort of built a life for myself where my weaknesses are minimized and my strengths are (mostly) highlighted. My job allows me plenty of decompression time, I can sort of pick my time slot, and my schedule is very predictable 90% of the time. The problem comes when I’m thrown a curve ball, and I’m repeatedly reminded that the world isn’t built for my brain.

In the first half of July, I had jury duty. To be clear, I didn’t get picked, but I had to attend jury duty selection, which means a week of my life was put on hold with a metaphorical piano hanging over my head. The funny thing is, I think actual jury duty would be far easier for me to deal with than the selection process, but let’s talk about the ways in which this was not an accessible or smooth experience for me as an autistic person.

Faces on cameras

It is overwhelming for me to stare at 60+ people on camera and know they are staring back at me. When I taught remotely early on in the pandemic, I didn’t require my students to show their faces, and I didn’t show mine. Every face is a lot of data or background noise/sensory input to deal with. Being on camera, even if I’m meant to be idle while waiting, feels performative. I’m hyper aware of every micro expression I am or am not making. As autistics, we’re often penalized for our resting bitch face or lack of expression, so I sat there for hours schooling my face into something close enough to mild interest that no one would say anything. On top of this, there were no captions (if there were, I couldn’t figure out how to turn them on). It’s hard to understand people when Zoom is cutting in and out, and I assumed I could turn it on and never asked anyone to do so preemptively. Things got garbled, especially when I was trying to listen and not look at myself or other people.

Schedules? Don’t know her

This was honestly the worst part. I never knew when anything was supposed to happen, or we’re told one thing but other instructions contradict it. One paper says you will hear from us by 5:30 PM, the woman on camera says 5:00 PM. The orientation itself wasn’t bad, but it was 3+ hours of instructions and time killing followed by being stuck in OCD purgatory (more on that later). I didn’t know if I was allowed to get up and go to the bathroom or if I could run my dogs outside really fast. The same thing happened during the selection process when we were initially told they would tell us who was on-deck to speak to the judge, so if we needed to get water or pee, we could. Then, they stopped telling us and just started calling people. The flipflopping on the setup was frustrating because as soon as I thought I got a handle on what was going on, it changed. On top of this, you never know what day you can or will be called. They say check your email after 5 PM every day this week to hear about the next day. That’s a lot of time to have zero predictability in my schedule. By Wednesday, I had no idea what day it was and felt completely unmoored. I didn’t even know if there was a possibility of being called on Friday. The paperwork made it seem like yes while the judge that talked to us made it sound like it didn’t happen. Nothing makes sense in jury duty selection.

Checking OCD trigger central

I have checking OCD (I came to understand that’s what it was during a therapy appointment during the pandemic). It used to manifest as checking my dad’s Fitbit all day while he was at work to monitor his heart rate because the fear was if I don’t check, he might have a major heart event, not realize it, and die. Since he passed, my checking OCD has been mostly under control. On the first day of jury selection, they said the worst thing they could have to me, “Check your email every 15-20 minutes.” Now, to normal people, this translates to check your email at least 2-3 times an hour. My paranoid, anxiety ridden self took this as check your email every 5-10 minutes, don’t believe it, refresh it, do it again, and check your phone. I was so afraid that I would get involved in something and miss an important email that I basically sat at my computer from 11-4:00 (when I got an email from them) doing nothing but futz around on Twitter and check my email. Once I realized I got an email AND a text if they needed me, that curbed my checking anxiety a bit, but the feeling of being yanked back into that spiral was horrible.

Yes or no questions

I hate yes or no questions, especially when people demand it be a yes or no under penalty of law for lying. Logically, I know I’m not being hauled off to jail for not 100% correctly answering a question (note: I don’t mean untruthfully, I mean not correct), but the fear is there. It trips me up in answering things because I don’t want to answer in haste and lie, but then, I think too hard about a question and get confused. Have you ever taken a standardized test or read a government form and had to parse it out for 10 minutes because you think you know what it’s asking, but you don’t want to be penalized if you’re wrong? That’s the autistic experience of dealing with the legal system, and people wrongly assume you’re lying if you spend too long thinking before you answer. I, unfortunately, was called to speak to the judge to see if I qualified for a case. The questions that were asked confused me, and I said as much. “Would you be prejudiced against a defendant just because they’re a defendant?” I sat there for a second not understanding why anyone would feel that way, asked the judge to explain it because it made zero sense to me, only to realize that was exactly what they were asking. My favorite was the judge asking if I had any conditions or anything that might make it impossible to fulfill my duty as a juror. I have never been a part of jury duty, so I honestly have no frame of reference as to whether or not I would be a functional human being in this situation or if I would just power down and dissociate. It’s hard to answer when I honestly don’t know. If you say that though, people look at you like you’re crazy, so I kept that to myself but said something else that got me disqualified from the case.

Bonus: misgendering!

Always fun when you have to use your full legal name for something when it’s a name you never use. I tried putting (Kara) next to it and still got full named. In a pre-service survey they ask if you’re male, female, or nonbinary. I put nonbinary. I’m 90% sure I did. On Zoom, I filled in my pronouns as they/them. I wore something gender neutral, I moved my computer to only show me from the shoulders up, I had my hair pulled back. I did everything I could and get miss-ed and ma’am-ed by the judge repeatedly. Once he said, “men and women” and “he or she” repeatedly during his warm-up speech, I figured it was a lost cause, but it still was like the moldy icing on the already stressful cake. Before someone says, “Why didn’t you say something?”, we all know rule one of jury duty and the legal system in general is don’t bring attention to yourself.

Kara, what was the point of this?

This was not meant to be a rambling complaint-fest. I wanted to point out that something most people find to be a minor inconvenience is actually stressful for some of us. Obviously, there’s always the financial stress of missing work when you get called for jury duty, but in this case, it’s more so the mental stress and anxiety this whole process causes in people who need clearly delineated information, consistency, and predictability. A week of constant anxiety feels like overkill for such a mundane process, but that’s what it was. The worst part is, I don’t even know what accommodations someone could ask for if the process is supposed to be random. Randomness inherently runs counter to what I need, but I wish the expectations and schedule could at least be more clear cut and not taken for granted by those who deal with jurors every day. For jury duty to be the fair and equitable process it hopes to be (though we all know its not), accommodating neurodivergent jurors would be a great place to start.

A post online the other day brought up something that hits on two major intersections in my life: teaching and being neurodivergent. The post talked about how professors/teachers need to stop treating students’ accommodations as charity they allow them to have and something that allows a marginalized person to participate more fully in the class/discussion/college community.

If you don’t know what accommodations are, they’re often things like giving a student with ADHD more time in class for tests or allowing a diabetic student to eat in class if their blood sugar is low. In order for students to receive accommodations in class, there are often a lot of hoops they have to jump through, such as having a diagnosis, getting a doctor to write up the accommodation, having the school approve it, having it passed out to the professors and signed off on, AND the professor still can sort of shrug it off. The student can always complain to academic affairs or whatever office deals with IEPs/accommodations, but that requires energy and cooperation from the office with no promise that the professor will ultimately cooperate or not hold it against the student for pushing back.

Something I instituted in my class this semester is a self-diagnosis policy. Often students who are autistic or have ADHD struggle to get a diagnosis as an adult or find getting a diagnosis could actually work against them (I have avoided an official autism diagnosis because you can be denied organ transplants among other things. Look it up; it’s an awful, ableist policy centered around “quality of life”). Since my classes are writing-focused, there aren’t tests, which makes allowing for extra time or other accommodations easier (no dealing with the Academic Support Center, etc.), but I have had students with anxiety, migraines, stomach issues, etc. who end up missing class more than the average student. My policy is now that as long as you keep up with your work and give me a heads-up, we’re good.

There’s some professor out there who is going, “But if I let one do that, they’ll all do that!” Shockingly, they don’t. They really, really don’t. I have had students reach out to me due to extenuating circumstances or medical issues, and so far, they always keep up with their work. The rest of the class continues on as is. Those who need it, use it. Those who don’t, don’t. If you’re not sure why this matters for quality of life, let me tell you the story of why I stopped going to a professional to get my hair cut.

As a little background, I have eczema crop up all over my body. In the past, before I started taking a biologic, it was severe, and it’s aggravated by chemicals, fragrances, etc. to the point that I only use one kind of shampoo. I also have sensory problems where things most people take for granted REALLY bother me. People touching my head or face is not a fun experience. The hair dryer is hell as it is hot, loud, but the stop and start of it just frays my nerves after while. Even a hairbrush running across my scalp bothers me if I’m stressed enough.

My aunt was going to one hairdresser who was younger and very nice. I asked my aunt to ask her if I could come to the salon with a wet head, so she didn’t have to wash my hair (aka avoid the shampoo and copious head touching). She agreed, and I went. Everything went great. My hair looked nice, and she even asked if I wanted my hair dried or left damp the second time I visited her, and from then on, we just left it damp to dry naturally. I have straight hair that dries quickly, so it looks fine after. Avoiding having my hair washed and dried made getting a haircut far less stressful. I actually didn’t hate it, though the talking throughout was less than ideal but doable.

The problem came up with my preferred hairdresser switched days and salons, and I couldn’t see her. I was desperate for a haircut before the semester started that year, so I booked an appointment with someone my other aunt used in the same salon. Big mistake. She ran roughshod over my needs. I came with a wet head, and she made me get my hair washed. I protested, and she just ushered me over the shampoo girl anyway. It caught me by such surprise that I just sort of blanked instead of fighting it further. Everything went downhill from there. My head already was itching. I told her what I wanted and showed her pictures, and she went rogue because a different length would “look better with my face.” I asked if she could not blow dry my hair, and she ignored me again. By the time I left, I was ready to cry. I was angry and frustrated that she ignored things she could have easily accommodated and completely overstimulated me. It’s been several years, and I haven’t gone back to get my hair professionally cut for fear that any accommodation I ask for will be treated like I’m being dramatic.

I keep this trip to the salon in mind when students tell me they’re struggling with something or need something to help them succeed. It isn’t “special” treatment, it’s creating equity in the classroom by leveling the playing field and removing barriers that would hinder a students’ ability to function. By ignoring an accommodation, at best, you’re making things harder than they have to be. At worst, you are actively harming your student. The hairdryer made me more overstimulated, making it harder to get through the haircut experience. The shampoo full of fragrances I didn’t want them to use actively harmed my skin, and I got an eczema flare on my scalp and neck the next day.

Something other teachers might want to consider when a students asks for an official or unofficial accommodation is that not every disability or illness is visible or consistent. I have IBS. Luckily it’s IBS-C, which doesn’t interfere too much with my life. Imagine having IBS-D and telling your professor you can’t come to a workshop class because you’re in the middle of a flare (aka frequent bathroom trips) but you will send in your feedback to your groupmates in hopes of getting credit. And your professor fires back, you look fine most of the time and to get credit, you have to be present bodily. Should your student have to disclose that they are worried about shitting themselves in class in order for you to let them do their work remotely? On the neurodivergent side of things, I don’t tell everyone I’m neurodivergent because people have some weird assumptions they will apply to you. If you say you’re autistic, people will treat you differently if they don’t know you and what you’re capable of. Students shouldn’t have to make themselves vulnerable and open to potential ridicule or ableism by disclosing specifics.

As we head into the middle of the semester, I want you to think about what your reaction to reading this was. My fear is always that someone says, “If they can’t handle it, they shouldn’t be here.” Why shouldn’t they? Why shouldn’t an autistic student or a chronically ill student be at school? What about their condition precludes them from accessing a good education? What makes their education less worthy than that of their neurotypical or non-chronically ill peer? The bootstrap attitude is ableist bullshit, and if you’re reaction was to question the student’s value or fitness, I hope you will seek out chronically ill or neurodivergent authors to work on yourself because you really don’t belong in a classroom if you’re going to actively hinder your students. To those who want to better support their students, I hope you will allow for unofficial accommodations in your future classrooms.

Tag: accommodations

Neurodivergence and Jury Duty