1.0Autism Storieshttps://autismstories.eu/frFlorin Popahttps://autismstories.eu/fr/author/florinpopa10/rich600338<blockquote class="wp-embedded-content" data-secret="xskspQc0AK"><a href="https://autismstories.eu/fr/portfolio/julie/">Julie</a></blockquote><iframe sandbox="allow-scripts" security="restricted" src="https://autismstories.eu/fr/portfolio/julie/embed/#?secret=xskspQc0AK" width="600" height="338" title="« Julie » — Autism Stories" data-secret="xskspQc0AK" frameborder="0" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" class="wp-embedded-content"></iframe><script> /*! This file is auto-generated */ !function(d,l){"use strict";l.querySelector&&d.addEventListener&&"undefined"!=typeof URL&&(d.wp=d.wp||{},d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage||(d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage=function(e){var t=e.data;if((t||t.secret||t.message||t.value)&&!/[^a-zA-Z0-9]/.test(t.secret)){for(var s,r,n,a=l.querySelectorAll('iframe[data-secret="'+t.secret+'"]'),o=l.querySelectorAll('blockquote[data-secret="'+t.secret+'"]'),c=new RegExp("^https?:$","i"),i=0;i<o.length;i++)o[i].style.display="none";for(i=0;i<a.length;i++)s=a[i],e.source===s.contentWindow&&(s.removeAttribute("style"),"height"===t.message?(1e3<(r=parseInt(t.value,10))?r=1e3:~~r<200&&(r=200),s.height=r):"link"===t.message&&(r=new URL(s.getAttribute("src")),n=new URL(t.value),c.test(n.protocol))&&n.host===r.host&&l.activeElement===s&&(d.top.location.href=t.value))}},d.addEventListener("message",d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage,!1),l.addEventListener("DOMContentLoaded",function(){for(var e,t,s=l.querySelectorAll("iframe.wp-embedded-content"),r=0;r<s.length;r++)(t=(e=s[r]).getAttribute("data-secret"))||(t=Math.random().toString(36).substring(2,12),e.src+="#?secret="+t,e.setAttribute("data-secret",t)),e.contentWindow.postMessage({message:"ready",secret:t},"*")},!1)))}(window,document); //# sourceURL=https://autismstories.eu/wp-includes/js/wp-embed.min.js </script>https://autismstories.eu/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/PXL_20241031_140321102.MP4-scaled.jpg19172560"Even though it largely defined my eldest son and me, I had only a very vague and erroneous idea of ​​autism. For me, it was something taboo and rare. I found the notion of disability sad, and I felt sorry for the people involved. The idea that I could be disabled? Never ever! In fact, I remember, around the age of 16 or 17, after a photoshoot with another model, I would systematically move aside and rock back and forth. It was an irrepressible urge. The other model came closer and said to me, "Stop rocking, it makes you look disabled!" At that moment, I felt insulted and ashamed to be perceived as such. I was, without realizing it, disability-phobic. And all my life, I've had to overcome these kinds of remarks that made me feel so inadequate. I didn't perceive the oddity of my behavior, but others did, and this was a motivation for harassment, insults, exclusion, mockery, and violence."