Knocking on the Wrong Door: An Autistic Family's Experience with Charity Guilt

Okay, so this isn't my usual canvas. My corner of the internet is usually filled with the satisfying tapping of my Apple Pencil on the iPad screen, the mesmerizing dance of brushes blending in Procreate, the quiet focus of bringing imagined characters to life with digital strokes. Politics and heavy social commentary? Not really my usual palette. I prefer to let the pixels speak.

But something happened today that’s got my digitally-inked fingers itching to type something out. It was a knock at the door. Standard enough, right? Except it wasn't a delivery of new sticker paper. It was someone holding a clipboard, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, representing a charity for people with disabilities.

Now, hold on a second. I believe in helping others. Truly, I do. The world needs more kindness, more support for those who need it. But this encounter left a really jagged edge on my day, and it’s been looping in my thoughts ever since, like a glitch I can't quite smooth out.

Here’s the thing: I’m autistic (with a side of ADHD). My partner is autistic (also with a side of ADHD). We’re raising an incredible, wonderfully autistic child (ALSO, with a side of ADHD), we’re both recovering from childhood trauma, and we just got a new puppy. Our lives, while filled with immense joy and love, also come with their unique set of challenges – sensory overload that can feel like a corrupted audio file, communication differences that sometimes need translating like different file formats, the constant navigation of a neurotypical world that wasn't exactly designed with our processing power in mind. We’re often running on low battery, advocating for understanding, and simply trying to create a supportive and predictable interface for our family.

None of us even ever frequent the grocery store, since the lights, the sounds, the smells and the stimulation are too much for all 3 of us, and we all end up drenched in sweat.

So, when this well-meaning charity representative of Cerebral Palsy Alliance started their spiel about donating to help people with disabilities, a knot tightened in my stomach. It wasn't the cause itself – again, I believe in helping. It was the presumption. The unwavering assumption that I, as someone living in a house with my own disabilities, with a son who has attended a special school and now is home schooled, should automatically have spare funds to contribute. And when I politely explained that our resources are currently focused on supporting our own family members with their disabilities, the shift in demeanour was palpable.

I was interrogated about my “work” and my partners work. I replied multiple times about how I have a low demand lifestyle need, and how I home school my Autistic child.

Suddenly, the bright eyes seemed to desaturate. There was a subtle but unmistakable air of disappointment, even… dare I say… guilt-tripping. "Your neighbours have been so kind, surely, you wouldn’t want 10 month old babies with disabilities, not get the support they need?" they pressed, their tone implying a certain lack of compassion on my part.

This is where my digital artist’s soul, usually content with rendering light and shadow with meticulous precision, felt a surge of righteous energy. How dare they? How dare they stand on my doorstep, completely unaware of the daily realities within these walls, and try to make me feel guilty for prioritizing the needs of my own disabled family? It feels as jarring as an unprompted software update in the middle of a complex illustration.

It’s a cruel irony, isn’t it? Being pressured to donate to a general fund for disabilities when you are already living the reality of disability, pouring your energy and resources into the specific needs of your loved ones. It feels like being asked to contribute to a shared cloud storage when your own hard drive is critically full with essential files.

I understand that charities need funding to do their vital work. I truly do. But there has to be a more ethical and considerate way to approach people. Door-to-door tactics, especially when coupled with subtle guilt-tripping, feel like an intrusive pop-up ad, and in this instance, deeply insensitive.

Perhaps instead of these broad-brush approaches, charities could focus on raising awareness and understanding of the diverse layers within the spectrum of disabilities. Maybe they could consider the very real financial and emotional bandwidth faced by families already navigating the complexities of disability within their own homes.

I’m not saying don’t donate to charity. Not at all. But I am saying, please, let’s be mindful. Let’s not make assumptions about people’s situations based on a fleeting doorstep interaction. And let’s definitely not try to guilt-trip individuals who may already be carrying a significant processing load of their own.

My digital art is my way of communicating, of making sense of the world. Today, my words are joining the conversation. Because sometimes, the most important colours are the ones that paint a picture of empathy and understanding. And that’s a masterpiece we should all strive to create.