{"id":813,"date":"2025-04-26T09:51:13","date_gmt":"2025-04-26T09:51:13","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/autismstories.eu\/?post_type=jetpack-portfolio&#038;p=813"},"modified":"2025-04-26T09:57:53","modified_gmt":"2025-04-26T09:57:53","slug":"julie","status":"publish","type":"jetpack-portfolio","link":"https:\/\/autismstories.eu\/fr\/portfolio\/julie\/","title":{"rendered":"Julie"},"content":{"rendered":"<div class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow aligncenter\" data-effect=\"slide\"><div class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_container swiper-container\"><ul class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_swiper-wrapper swiper-wrapper\"><li class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_slide swiper-slide\"><figure><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"764\" height=\"510\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_image wp-image-814\" data-id=\"814\" src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC00552-Edit-2.jpg?resize=764%2C510&#038;ssl=1\" srcset=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC00552-Edit-2.jpg?w=2048&amp;ssl=1 2048w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC00552-Edit-2.jpg?resize=300%2C200&amp;ssl=1 300w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC00552-Edit-2.jpg?resize=1024%2C683&amp;ssl=1 1024w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC00552-Edit-2.jpg?resize=768%2C512&amp;ssl=1 768w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC00552-Edit-2.jpg?resize=1536%2C1025&amp;ssl=1 1536w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC00552-Edit-2.jpg?resize=18%2C12&amp;ssl=1 18w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 764px) 100vw, 764px\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_caption gallery-caption\">Julie with her two sons, Neo and Quentin, during a walk in a nearby park<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/li><li class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_slide swiper-slide\"><figure><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"764\" height=\"510\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_image wp-image-815\" data-id=\"815\" src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC07643-2.jpg?resize=764%2C510&#038;ssl=1\" srcset=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC07643-2.jpg?w=2048&amp;ssl=1 2048w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC07643-2.jpg?resize=300%2C200&amp;ssl=1 300w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC07643-2.jpg?resize=1024%2C683&amp;ssl=1 1024w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC07643-2.jpg?resize=768%2C512&amp;ssl=1 768w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC07643-2.jpg?resize=1536%2C1025&amp;ssl=1 1536w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC07643-2.jpg?resize=18%2C12&amp;ssl=1 18w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 764px) 100vw, 764px\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_caption gallery-caption\">Julie withe her younger son, Neo<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/li><li class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_slide swiper-slide\"><figure><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"764\" height=\"510\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_image wp-image-816\" data-id=\"816\" src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC09401.jpg?resize=764%2C510&#038;ssl=1\" srcset=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC09401.jpg?w=2048&amp;ssl=1 2048w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC09401.jpg?resize=300%2C200&amp;ssl=1 300w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC09401.jpg?resize=1024%2C683&amp;ssl=1 1024w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC09401.jpg?resize=768%2C512&amp;ssl=1 768w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC09401.jpg?resize=1536%2C1025&amp;ssl=1 1536w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/DSC09401.jpg?resize=18%2C12&amp;ssl=1 18w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 764px) 100vw, 764px\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_caption gallery-caption\">The first day in the new rented apartment<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/li><li class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_slide swiper-slide\"><figure><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"764\" height=\"1020\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_image wp-image-817\" data-id=\"817\" src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/PXL_20241031_140321102.MP4-scaled.jpg?resize=764%2C1020&#038;ssl=1\" srcset=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/PXL_20241031_140321102.MP4-scaled.jpg?w=1917&amp;ssl=1 1917w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/PXL_20241031_140321102.MP4-scaled.jpg?resize=225%2C300&amp;ssl=1 225w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/PXL_20241031_140321102.MP4-scaled.jpg?resize=767%2C1024&amp;ssl=1 767w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/PXL_20241031_140321102.MP4-scaled.jpg?resize=768%2C1025&amp;ssl=1 768w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/PXL_20241031_140321102.MP4-scaled.jpg?resize=1150%2C1536&amp;ssl=1 1150w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/PXL_20241031_140321102.MP4-scaled.jpg?resize=1534%2C2048&amp;ssl=1 1534w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/PXL_20241031_140321102.MP4-scaled.jpg?resize=9%2C12&amp;ssl=1 9w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/12\/PXL_20241031_140321102.MP4-scaled.jpg?resize=800%2C1067&amp;ssl=1 800w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 764px) 100vw, 764px\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_caption gallery-caption\">Julie trying to convince Neo that it&#8217;s too late and he&#8217;s too tired for another walk outside<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/li><li class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_slide swiper-slide\"><figure><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"764\" height=\"573\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_image wp-image-932\" data-id=\"932\" src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC07654.jpg?resize=764%2C573&#038;ssl=1\" srcset=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC07654.jpg?w=2048&amp;ssl=1 2048w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC07654.jpg?resize=300%2C225&amp;ssl=1 300w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC07654.jpg?resize=1024%2C768&amp;ssl=1 1024w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC07654.jpg?resize=768%2C576&amp;ssl=1 768w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC07654.jpg?resize=1536%2C1152&amp;ssl=1 1536w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC07654.jpg?resize=16%2C12&amp;ssl=1 16w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC07654.jpg?resize=800%2C600&amp;ssl=1 800w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 764px) 100vw, 764px\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_caption gallery-caption\">Julie nursing Neo<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/li><li class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_slide swiper-slide\"><figure><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"764\" height=\"510\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_image wp-image-933\" data-id=\"933\" src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC01853.jpg?resize=764%2C510&#038;ssl=1\" srcset=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC01853.jpg?w=2048&amp;ssl=1 2048w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC01853.jpg?resize=300%2C200&amp;ssl=1 300w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC01853.jpg?resize=1024%2C683&amp;ssl=1 1024w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC01853.jpg?resize=768%2C512&amp;ssl=1 768w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC01853.jpg?resize=1536%2C1025&amp;ssl=1 1536w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC01853.jpg?resize=18%2C12&amp;ssl=1 18w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 764px) 100vw, 764px\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_caption gallery-caption\">Julie in the kitchen during one of our discussions<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/li><li class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_slide swiper-slide\"><figure><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"764\" height=\"510\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_image wp-image-1012\" data-id=\"1012\" src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC00372.jpg?resize=764%2C510&#038;ssl=1\" srcset=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC00372.jpg?w=2048&amp;ssl=1 2048w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC00372.jpg?resize=300%2C200&amp;ssl=1 300w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC00372.jpg?resize=1024%2C683&amp;ssl=1 1024w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC00372.jpg?resize=768%2C512&amp;ssl=1 768w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC00372.jpg?resize=1536%2C1025&amp;ssl=1 1536w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC00372.jpg?resize=18%2C12&amp;ssl=1 18w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 764px) 100vw, 764px\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_caption gallery-caption\">Soap bubbles and joy in the park<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/li><li class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_slide swiper-slide\"><figure><img data-recalc-dims=\"1\" loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"764\" height=\"510\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_image wp-image-1013\" data-id=\"1013\" src=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC01706.jpg?resize=764%2C510&#038;ssl=1\" srcset=\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC01706.jpg?w=2048&amp;ssl=1 2048w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC01706.jpg?resize=300%2C200&amp;ssl=1 300w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC01706.jpg?resize=1024%2C683&amp;ssl=1 1024w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC01706.jpg?resize=768%2C512&amp;ssl=1 768w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC01706.jpg?resize=1536%2C1025&amp;ssl=1 1536w, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/autismstories.eu\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/04\/DSC01706.jpg?resize=18%2C12&amp;ssl=1 18w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 764px) 100vw, 764px\" \/><figcaption class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_caption gallery-caption\">Julie and Neo on a late autumn weekend at home<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/li><\/ul><a class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_button-prev swiper-button-prev swiper-button-white\" role=\"button\"><\/a><a class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_button-next swiper-button-next swiper-button-white\" role=\"button\"><\/a><a aria-label=\"Suspendre le diaporama\" class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_button-pause\" role=\"button\"><\/a><div class=\"wp-block-jetpack-slideshow_pagination swiper-pagination swiper-pagination-white\"><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Je suis assis par terre dans le salon de Julie \u00e0 Bruxelles, entour\u00e9e du joyeux fouillis des jouets de son plus jeune fils, N\u00e9o. Elle est assise de l'autre c\u00f4t\u00e9 de la pi\u00e8ce, sur le canap\u00e9, et partage des morceaux de sa vie. Un vieux chat noir se faufile autour de mes jambes, plein d'espoir. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Nous nous sommes rencontr\u00e9es plusieurs fois. Il y a une atmosph\u00e8re de familiarit\u00e9 tranquille entre nous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u00c0 mesure que j\u2019\u00e9coute, les fragments de son pass\u00e9 commencent \u00e0 former une image aust\u00e8re et complexe. Elle parle de ses ann\u00e9es d'\u00e9cole, une p\u00e9riode marqu\u00e9e par un profond sentiment de d\u00e9calage. \u00ab Les enfants sont cruels les uns envers les autres, c'est impressionnant \u00bb, d\u00e9clare-t-elle d'un ton neutre. Les moqueries ont commenc\u00e9 vers l'\u00e2ge de six ou sept ans, co\u00efncidant, note-t-elle, avec ses d\u00e9buts de parole. Avant, la maternelle est floue, mais les cours de r\u00e9cr\u00e9ation de l'\u00e9cole primaire sont vivantes. \u00ab Je tournais en rond dans la cour, seule \u00bb, se souvient-elle, \u00ab avec un sentiment de d\u00e9personnalisation. Je me sentais un peu extraterrestre. \u00bb<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">C'est l\u00e0, tourbillonnant dans son propre monde, que l'isolement a commenc\u00e9. \u00ab Le pire, c'est que je ne comprenais pas, car je n'avais pas l'impression de faire quelque chose de mal. \u00bb Elle apportait des chewing-gums \u00e0 l'\u00e9cole, esp\u00e9rant cr\u00e9er des liens. \u00ab Les enfants venaient me prendre tous mes chewing-gums et ils \u00e9taient gentils un moment, mais ils recommen\u00e7aient aussit\u00f4t \u00e0 se moquer de moi. Le lendemain, je r\u00e9p\u00e9tais les m\u00eames gestes\u2026 Je voulais juste que les enfants arr\u00eatent de se moquer de moi. \u00bb L'appr\u00e9hension de la r\u00e9cr\u00e9ation est devenue une ombre constante. \u00ab L'\u00e9cole a \u00e9t\u00e9 une exp\u00e9rience atroce pour moi. \u00bb<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Ce sentiment d'\u00eatre une \u00e9trang\u00e8re n'est pas n\u00e9 dans la cour de r\u00e9cr\u00e9ation. L'enfance de Julie a \u00e9t\u00e9 marqu\u00e9e par l'instabilit\u00e9. Ses parents, toxicomanes, \u00e9taient souvent absents, la laissant, elle et sa s\u0153ur a\u00een\u00e9e, \u00e0 la d\u00e9rive. Entre cinq et sept ans, pendant que sa m\u00e8re \u00e9tait hospitalis\u00e9e pour un traitement \u00e0 la m\u00e9thadone, Julie a v\u00e9cu dans une&nbsp;<em>cit\u00e9 de l\u2019enfance<\/em>&nbsp;Sa s\u0153ur avait \u00e9t\u00e9 plac\u00e9e en institution encore plus t\u00f4t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Les souvenirs de son p\u00e8re, d\u00e9c\u00e9d\u00e9 alors qu'elle \u00e9tait jeune, sont rares mais vifs. Elle se souvient avoir \u00e9t\u00e9 extr\u00eamement s\u00e9lective en mati\u00e8re de nourriture, un trait courant chez les enfants autistes. Un refus a conduit \u00e0 des violences. \u00ab Il s'est mis en col\u00e8re et l'a frapp\u00e9e si fort qu'elle est tomb\u00e9e de la chaise haute. \u00bb Elle marque une pause, puis ajoute avec un sourire ironique : \u00ab Il ne me manque absolument pas\u2026 J'ai une photo de lui, il \u00e9tait roux comme moi. Ma m\u00e8re me dit tout le temps que je ressemble \u00e0 mon p\u00e8re. Enfin bref. \u00bb<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Julie n'a commenc\u00e9 \u00e0 parler qu'\u00e0 l'\u00e2ge de six ou sept ans, communiquant dans un langage invent\u00e9 qu'elle seule comprenait. Mais lorsque les mots sont enfin apparus, ils sont apparus pleinement form\u00e9s, \u00e9labor\u00e9s, presque comme ceux d'un adulte. Cette soudaine fluidit\u00e9 a d\u00e9concert\u00e9 les autres. Les enfants se moquaient d'elle\u00a0; les adultes l'accusaient de faire semblant. \u00ab\u00a0Je suis pass\u00e9e du non-verbal \u00e0 un langage tr\u00e8s \u00e9labor\u00e9\u00a0\u00bb, me dit-elle. Ce d\u00e9calage entre son monde int\u00e9rieur et son expression ext\u00e9rieure est devenu un th\u00e8me r\u00e9current.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Les \u00e9ducateurs, ne connaissant m\u00eame pas les bases de l'autisme, ont tent\u00e9 de \u00ab\u00a0gu\u00e9rir\u00a0\u00bb sa tendance \u00e0 marcher sur la pointe des pieds en la faisant marcher en ligne droite. Ils ont vu ses mouvements tournoyants, ses difficult\u00e9s avec les signaux sociaux, et ont qualifi\u00e9 cela de \u00ab\u00a0d\u00e9ficience intellectuelle\u00a0\u00bb. C'est sa m\u00e8re qui a combattu cette \u00e9tiquette, insistant pour une scolarisation ordinaire, malgr\u00e9 le harc\u00e8lement persistant dans plusieurs \u00e9coles. Le sentiment d'\u00eatre \u00ab\u00a0un peu \u00e9trange, un peu comme une extraterrestre\u00a0\u00bb s'est solidifi\u00e9 bien avant qu'elle n'ait les concepts, comme l'autisme, pour y donner un sens.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Ayant grandi dans la pauvret\u00e9 \u00e0 Charleroi, une ville du sud de la Belgique, et le chaos de sa vie familiale ont pouss\u00e9 Julie vers la rue et dans des situations pr\u00e9caires. Les premi\u00e8res relations dysfonctionnelles laissent in\u00e9vitablement des traces, fa\u00e7onnant la confiance et l'intimit\u00e9. Un homme plus \u00e2g\u00e9 lui a offert un abri, puis l'a exploit\u00e9e \u2013 des photos allant de poses r\u00e9v\u00e9latrices \u00e0 la nudit\u00e9, puis \u00e0 des sc\u00e8nes de sexe. Elle \u00e9tait encore adolescente, d\u00e9couvrant des ann\u00e9es plus tard que ces images existaient en ligne.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Elle s'est mari\u00e9e jeune et a eu son premier fils, Quentin. Cette relation a dur\u00e9 13 ans. Une autre a rapidement suivi, avec son fils cadet, N\u00e9o, mais elle s'est d\u00e9t\u00e9rior\u00e9e lorsque son partenaire a eu du mal \u00e0 accepter Quentin et est devenu autoritaire. Les s\u00e9parations douloureuses sont devenues partie int\u00e9grante de son histoire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Quand je l'interroge sur son r\u00e9seau de soutien actuel, elle h\u00e9site. Elle se sent d\u00e9connect\u00e9e de sa famille. Quitter la pr\u00e9carit\u00e9 sociale de sa jeunesse \u00e9tait un choix conscient. Elle mentionne deux femmes actives dans le r\u00e9seau de soutien aux personnes autistes \u00e0 Bruxelles. D'autres personnes qu'elle rencontre r\u00e9guli\u00e8rement et avec qui elle sort ? Pas vraiment, dit-elle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Le d\u00e9sint\u00e9r\u00eat de Julie pour les relations sociales conventionnelles ne vient pas de l'anxi\u00e9t\u00e9, mais d'un manque d'attrait. \u00ab Socialement, pour se faire des amis, il faut fr\u00e9quenter des lieux fr\u00e9quent\u00e9s et interagir\u2026 \u00e7a ne m'int\u00e9resse pas \u00bb, dit-elle. Les rencontres de groupe, m\u00eame celles r\u00e9serv\u00e9es aux adultes autistes, ne l'attirent pas. Ses interactions pr\u00e9f\u00e9r\u00e9es tournent autour de ses centres d'int\u00e9r\u00eat profonds\u00a0: l'autisme et la psychologie, ou une plong\u00e9e occasionnelle dans l'univers de Star Trek. Elle pr\u00e9f\u00e8re \u00e9tablir des liens par le biais de discussions cibl\u00e9es et significatives plut\u00f4t que par de rencontres sociales plus larges.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Sa vie est d\u00e9sormais centr\u00e9e sur ses deux fils, Quentin (15 ans) et Neo (3 ans), tous deux autistes. Je lui demande si elle pense que le fait d'\u00eatre autiste aide ses parents. Elle me corrige gentiment\u00a0: elle ne peut pas savoir quelle est l'alternative. Mais elle reconna\u00eet ce que les professionnels ont observ\u00e9\u00a0: sa concentration intense et ses connaissances approfondies lui permettent d'\u00eatre tr\u00e8s \u00e0 l'\u00e9coute des besoins de ses enfants et de reconna\u00eetre les premiers signes que d'autres pourraient manquer. \u00ab\u00a0Je pense que c'est parce que j'ai des centres d'int\u00e9r\u00eat limit\u00e9s et que je suis tr\u00e8s concentr\u00e9e\u00a0\u00bb, sugg\u00e8re-t-elle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">En l'observant avec eux, je vois cette harmonisation \u00e0 l'\u0153uvre. Avec Neo, qui ne parlait pas encore lorsque j'ai commenc\u00e9 \u00e0 travailler avec Julie en 2023, il existe une connexion profonde, presque intuitive. \u00ab M\u00eame s'il ne me regarde pas, m\u00eame s'il ne m'appelle pas maman, la relation avec mon fils est tr\u00e8s gratifiante \u00bb, dit-elle. Son style parental privil\u00e9gie la collaboration et les petits coups de pouce plut\u00f4t que le contr\u00f4le. Je l'observe n\u00e9gocier avec Neo, qui h\u00e9site \u00e0 quitter le parc et \u00e0 rentrer chez lui. Elle lui parle tout le temps, mais n'essaie pas de le d\u00e9tourner ou de le contraindre. Elle ne donne pas d'ordres.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Avec Quentin, d\u00e9sormais adolescent et d\u00e9fiant les limites, la dynamique change. Il est tactile, en qu\u00eate d'interactions physiques qu'elle trouve difficiles, mais elle r\u00e9pond \u00e0 ses railleries enjou\u00e9es par les siennes, acceptant son \u00e9nergie, parfois amus\u00e9e, parfois momentan\u00e9ment agac\u00e9e. C'est la danse universelle de l'\u00e9ducation d'un adolescent. Il se sent suffisamment en s\u00e9curit\u00e9 pour \u00eatre maladroit, aga\u00e7ant, totalement lui-m\u00eame en sa pr\u00e9sence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Bien s\u00fbr, comme tout parent, elle ressent de l'\u00e9puisement et de la frustration. G\u00e9rer son propre stress tout en r\u00e9pondant aux besoins de deux enfants autistes est exigeant. Pourtant, au milieu de ces complexit\u00e9s, il existe des moments de connexion pure et simple.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Observer Julie \u00e9voluer dans son monde est moins un r\u00e9cit de d\u00e9passement de soi qu'une \u00e9tude sereine de sa ma\u00eetrise de soi. On per\u00e7oit une absence frappante de pr\u00e9tention dans sa fa\u00e7on d'aborder la vie, une r\u00e9ticence \u00e0 d\u00e9penser son \u00e9nergie \u00e0 interpr\u00e9ter une version de la \u00ab normalit\u00e9 \u00bb qui ne correspond pas \u00e0 sa propre logique ou \u00e0 ses propres int\u00e9r\u00eats. Au contraire, son attention se porte, presque avec acharnement, sur ce qui a du sens pour elle\u00a0: les complexit\u00e9s de l'autisme, le lien avec ses fils, Star Trek et autres mondes particuliers qui captivent son imagination.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Et nous voil\u00e0. La cam\u00e9ra d\u00e9zoome. C'est un apr\u00e8s-midi d'automne tranquille, nous sommes assis dans l'herbe du parc pr\u00e8s de son appartement. N\u00e9o, un tourbillon de boucles blondes, court apr\u00e8s les bulles de savon que Julie souffle, son rire \u00e9clatant. Il semble fragile apr\u00e8s ses soucis de sant\u00e9 pass\u00e9s, mais d\u00e9borde d'\u00e9nergie. Quand la fatigue s'installe, Julie d\u00e9crypte les signes et le serre contre elle pour le nourrir. Nous sommes assis dans la douce lueur du soleil de fin d\u2019apr\u00e8s-midi, un moment de paix r\u00e9serv\u00e9 \u00e0 nous tous.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Mais ce ne sont que mes mots. Ma perception. Et Julie\u00a0? Comment a-t-elle v\u00e9cu nos rencontres, nos longues discussions, l'objectif braqu\u00e9 sur elle, et m\u00eame ces paragraphes\u00a0? Il serait \u00e9trange de parler d'inclusion sans inclure sa voix. Je lui ai donc envoy\u00e9 le texte ci-dessus et lui ai demand\u00e9 si elle pouvait \u00e9crire son propre r\u00e9cit. Et voici ce qu'elle a \u00e9crit.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\"Florin me propose de r\u00e9agir sur son v\u00e9cu de nos rencontres, mis en r\u00e9cit. C\u2019est une t\u00e2che particuli\u00e8rement difficile pour moi, car c\u2019est tr\u00e8s libre, et j\u2019aime les indications qui me permettent de limiter les choix et prise de d\u00e9cision. \u00c7a me rend anxieuse comme chaque projet ou t\u00e2che qui me laisse trop de marge, trop de d\u00e9cisions \u00e0 prendre. M\u00eame effectuer un choix peut g\u00e9n\u00e9rer chez moi une anxi\u00e9t\u00e9 et incapacit\u00e9 \u00e0 me mettre en action. J\u2019aime les indications, les balises qui me donne un sentiment de contr\u00f4le. Cela fait parti de mon fonctionnement et se manifeste tout aussi bien pour les activit\u00e9s quotidiennes les plus banales que pour les projets plus complexes et motivants comme celui-ci.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Bien que j\u2019aie \u00e9t\u00e9 mod\u00e8le photo des ann\u00e9es, ces moments avec Florin, ne ressemblent en rien aux shootings que j\u2019ai pu connaitre. Il ne s\u2019agit pas de jouer un r\u00f4le fig\u00e9, mais au contraire, d\u2019\u00eatre moi-m\u00eame, dans mes environnements familiers, avec les particularit\u00e9s, tant\u00f4t des failles, tant\u00f4t des atouts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Lors des deux premi\u00e8res rencontres, oublier l\u2019appareil photo pour \u00eatre soi-m\u00eame, cela m\u2019intimidait plus que poser pour \u00eatre une autre. Mais Florin a su se montrer patient et rassurant, sans compter que son projet m\u2019a tout de suite s\u00e9duit. J\u2019ai trouv\u00e9 cela int\u00e9ressant, c\u2019est r\u00e9union entre le photo modeling et l'autisme. Le modeling a \u00e9t\u00e9 une partie importante de ma jeunesse, une activit\u00e9 qui m\u2019a aid\u00e9 \u00e0 ne plus avoir si honte de moi, qui suis porteuse d\u2019abus. L'autisme m\u2019a toujours d\u00e9fini mais je n\u2019ai pu l'identifier qu\u2019il y a 9 ans. L\u2019autisme a contr\u00f4l\u00e9 mon existence, ma perception, mes interactions, mes jugements mais moi, je n\u2019avais aucun contr\u00f4le de mon autisme avant que ce mot, ce diagnostic, s\u2019est impos\u00e9 \u00e0 nous, \u00e0 ma famille.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">M\u00eame s\u2019il nous d\u00e9finissait en grande partie, mon fils a\u00een\u00e9 et moi-m\u00eame, je n\u2019avais qu\u2019une id\u00e9e tr\u00e8s vague et erron\u00e9e de l\u2019autisme. Pour moi, c\u2019\u00e9tait quelque chose de tabou et rare presque. La notion de handicap, je la trouvais triste et j\u2019avais piti\u00e9 des gens concern\u00e9s. L\u2019id\u00e9e que j\u2019\u00e9tais moi-m\u00eame, en situation de handicap ? Jamais ! D\u2019ailleurs, je me souviens, vers l\u2019\u00e2ge de 16-17 ans, apr\u00e8s une session de photo, avec un autre mod\u00e8le, je me mettais syst\u00e9matique \u00e0 l\u2019\u00e9cart et je me balan\u00e7ais activement d\u2019avant en arri\u00e8re. C'etait un besoin irr\u00e9pressible.  L\u2019autre mod\u00e8le se rapproche et me dit, \u00ab arr\u00eate un peu de te balancer, cela fait handicap\u00e9e ! \u00bb. A ce moment-l\u00e0, je me suis sentie insult\u00e9e et honteuse d\u2019\u00eatre per\u00e7ue comme telle. J\u2019\u00e9tais, sans la savoir, handiphobe. Et toute ma vie, j\u2019ai d\u00fb surmonter ce genre de remarques qui me faisait sentir si inadapt\u00e9e. Moi, je ne percevais pas la bizarrerie des mes comportements, mais les autres, eux, oui et cela \u00e9tait une motivation de harc\u00e8lement, d\u2019insultes, d\u2019exclusion, moqueries et violences. <\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Ainsi, \u00e0 partir de ce jour-l\u00e0, j\u2019ai appris que se balancer, ce n\u2019\u00e9tait pas   bien et que je devais attendre d\u2019\u00eatre seule pour assouvir mon besoin. Comme j\u2019ai d\u00fb arr\u00eater de sucer mon pouce devant les autres, \u00e9viter d\u2019exprimer mes r\u00e9flexions, \u00e9viter de regarder constamment le sol et de dire bonjour \u00e0 chaque passant dans la rue, tourner en rond et marcher de long en large, poser sans cesse les m\u00eames questions. Toutes ma jeunesse, j\u2019ai essay\u00e9 de r\u00e9primer des comportements, sans  vraiment y arriver. J\u2019esp\u00e9rais ainsi me prot\u00e9ger de la m\u00e9chancet\u00e9 des autres enfants.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Mais revenant au pr\u00e9sent, et au projet Autism Storie. Florin est l\u2019artiste de ce projet, le photographe. Mais pour moi, il est, avant tout, un parent d\u2019un \"adotiste\" - un adolescent autiste.  Ainsi, on sent chez lui une r\u00e9elle volont\u00e9 de respecter les personnes derri\u00e8re son objectif, bien avant celle de la pr\u00e9cision technique des photographies. Il comprend et s\u2019adapte. J\u2019ai pu surmonter tr\u00e8s vite mon appr\u00e9hension.  J\u2019ai m\u00eame, lors de nos rencontres, oubli\u00e9 le projet lui-m\u00eame.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">J\u2019ai pu confier des exp\u00e9riences intimes de mon pass\u00e9 et pr\u00e9sent. Parfois je crains de le choquer ou qu\u2019il puisse ne pas croire \u00e0 tout cela, tellement ma vie est digne d\u2019un roman m\u00e9langeant pr\u00e9carit\u00e9, abus, maltraitance et r\u00e9signation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>&#8220;Even though it largely defined my eldest son and me, I had only a very vague and erroneous idea of \u200b\u200bautism. 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, &#8220;Stop rocking, it makes you look disabled!&#8221; 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&#8217;ve had to overcome these kinds of remarks that made me feel so inadequate. I didn&#8217;t perceive the oddity of my behavior, but others did, and this was a motivation for harassment, insults, exclusion, mockery, and violence.&#8221;<\/p>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":817,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":false,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"tags":[8,9,19,23,10,12],"jetpack-portfolio-type":[],"jetpack-portfolio-tag":[],"class_list":["post-813","jetpack-portfolio","type-jetpack-portfolio","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","tag-autism","tag-autism-stories","tag-documentary","tag-julie","tag-photo-project","tag-storytelling"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v28.0 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Julie - Autism Stories<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"&quot;Even though it largely defined my eldest son and me, I had only a very vague and erroneous idea of \u200b\u200bautism. 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, &quot;Stop rocking, it makes you look disabled!&quot; 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&#039;ve had to overcome these kinds of remarks that made me feel so inadequate. I didn&#039;t perceive the oddity of my behavior, but others did, and this was a motivation for harassment, insults, exclusion, mockery, and violence.&quot;\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/autismstories.eu\/fr\/portfolio\/julie\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"fr_FR\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Julie - Autism Stories\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"&quot;Even though it largely defined my eldest son and me, I had only a very vague and erroneous idea of \u200b\u200bautism. 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, &quot;Stop rocking, it makes you look disabled!&quot; 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&#039;ve had to overcome these kinds of remarks that made me feel so inadequate. 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