The State Of Grace and why representation matters.

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Last week I saw one of those videos that gets shared to make people feel good. It was of a girl who was given a doll with a prothetic leg. She was crying and crying, she finally had a doll that was just like her. After a life of only seeing dolls with two legs, finally having one that represented her was clearly overwhelming and a moment she will probably remember forever.

Why am I talking about a girl with a prosthetic leg in a post about a book? I’m getting there! I started reading State of Grace by Rachael Lucas on Friday evening. I read about a third of the book and by the time I put it down I had tears streaming down my face. I was desperately trying to cry quietly as my husband was asleep next to me. Now I don’t want you to think the book is a sad book, it’s not. It’s wonderful. I was crying because this book was written about me. I saw so much of myself in Grace in a way that I had never done before and it was overwhelming. I was the girl with her doll that had a prothetic leg. The way that Rachael has written Grace and how she encounters the world is phenomenal. It’s *just* like how life was for me at that age and still is now (minus the horrors of school). I was crying for the teenage me who would have benefitted from this book more than most people could imagine (I was not diagnosed as autistic until I was twenty eight, this book could have changed my life). I cried for the teenage autistic girls that now have this book, who can read about themselves. This book will be so valuable for them.

I’m not going to get into the plot of the book or do a proper review because there are plenty of other people much better equipped to write such a thing. I finished the book last night (Sunday) and just lay in bed thinking about it and how I really needed to write this post.

I just really want everyone to read this book, autistic or not.

I long to be understood in a world that was not designed for people like me. This book shows that other people do understand me and that means more to me than anything.

Thank you Rachael, thank you so much.

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Me with my Mabel – He was called Crispin.

One Comment

  1. Hi, Beth! I’m Ariel, a 22 y-o autistic girl from Brazil. Just found your blog and I’ve already fell for it! I felt exactly like you described meanwhile I read your posts… Represented, like I was not alone anymore, there’s someone who understands somewhere in this world. My husband is autistic too, and so thankful for it, cuz he hits the mark of Person Who Misunderstands Me The Less.
    I don’t have an official diagnosis yet cause I couldn’t afford a psychiatrist til now, but I KNOW what and who I’m. My husband does too. Once I heard of a doctor that I couldn’t be autistic because I make “eye contact” but he never knew that I was starring at his eyebrows and blackheads in his nose. Next week I have an appointment with a new doctor, hopefully I’ll finally get my “something-wrong” diagnosis.

    I relate so much with your posts I can’t tell! Also, I love cats (have 3, but last year it was 14), colorful things and ridiculous clothes (all that used to wear in my childhood colorful and ridiculous and hello kitty related, but I ~cant use what I like anymore once my mommy destroyed me psychologically because this and it made me really sick, now I’m a good looking depressed girl. Also, my hair is some kind of fifty shades of purple).

    Best wishes, Ariel.

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