It's a Spectrum
by Jacqueline Fletcher
Art as Survival | Performatively Aware
Smile. Nod. Bleed internally.
This painting was born out of a different kind of exhaustion- the kind that comes from smiling politely at ignorance dressed up as empathy. It’s what it feels like to be on the receiving end of well-meaning, misinformed commentary from people who want to seem aware… without ever actually learning a thing.
“Aren’t we all a little autistic?” “It’s a spectrum, right?” “They seem fine to me!”
This isn’t just annoying, it’s damaging. These casual remarks dilute the reality of disability, strip neurodivergent people of power, and reduce real trauma to quirky personality traits. Every one of these comments lands like a tiny blade. And every time, I nod. I smile. I say “yeah, sure” so they can feel good... while I quietly bleed from all the tiny daggers they've unknowingly thrown.
So I picked up my brush instead. I painted dopamine brights over a foundation of frustration and isolation. I threw gold on top because apparently, everything is “beautifully misunderstood” now. This piece is a mirror for every time someone weaponised kindness through ignorance and called it "awareness".
It’s pretty. But it’s seething.
Learn More: The Fight Behind the Brushstrokes
Not all harm is loud. Some of it sounds like kindness.
This painting reflects a different kind of pain. Not the trauma of systems, but the daily sting of performative awareness. The empty phrases. The casual dismissals. The well-meaning friends who say the wrong thing, then feel proud of themselves for having said anything at all.
It sounds like support. But it’s not. It’s a way to distance themselves from our reality while pretending to understand it. These words don’t uplift. They isolate. They erase. They leave us holding the weight of our experiences in silence so others can keep feeling comfortable.
Performative awareness is everywhere. It waters down real issues, hijacks conversations, and centres the comfort of the speaker over the truth of the lived experience. It makes genuine advocacy harder. It makes our work heavier.
This painting is my response to all of it. To every "Karen" (or Steve, or Tabitha...) who needed to say something and didn’t care whether it actually helped. It’s bright, because I’m still trying. It’s gold, because I know how to fake beauty. But underneath it all, it’s just tired. So tired.
The UK’s Crisis in Special Needs Education
The SEND system is in crisis. Thousands of children are left without the right school, denied EHCPs, or stuck on endless waiting lists. Councils are overwhelmed, delays are unlawful, and families are forced into exhausting legal battles just to access basic support. This isn’t rare. It’s happening everywhere, and it’s getting worse.
The Emotional and Financial Toll of Carer Burnout
Caring for a disabled or neurodivergent child is a full-time job) — with no pay, no breaks, and little support. Carers, especially mothers, often lose careers, health, and community just to keep their children safe. The toll is relentless: exhaustion, grief, and financial hardship. Burnout isn’t just a buzzword — it’s real, and we feel it. And far too many of us are barely holding on.
Why So Many Families Are Pushed to the Edge Just to Be Heard
Families of disabled children are forced to fight for every basic right. To get support, we must chase paperwork, relive trauma, and prove our child’s needs again and again. All whilst continuously being ignored or dismissed. Many are pushed to breaking point just trying to be believed. The system isn't broken by accident. It's built this way.