The New Normal
Tina Pan explores identity, neurodiversity and art as universal expression
Article written by Tina in response to prompts by Olivia Lowes — Pink Ink
Tina Pan is a Chinese-New Zealander multi-disciplinary artist currently based in Melbourne, Australia. She identifies as neurodivergent and queer.
After being diagnosed with ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) and ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) in 2020, she has unwittingly stepped out on a journey of embracing life on the other side of normal.
She believes that every human being deserves to live in a society equipped for them to achieve their full potential, and is deeply invested in helping to build that society through art, activism and education.
What is neurodiversity?
Neurodiversity is the recognition that our internal selves are as different and varied as our external selves. Formally, it’s a term used to describe variations in the human brain for a wide range of mental functions including sociability, attention and learning. Neurodiversity is the gap that separates one person’s perception of reality from another person’s. We may all live in the same physical reality, but the way our brain processes the world can be totally different. Much like some brains cannot process the same wavelengths of light as others, some behaviours, rules and perceptions that appear self-evident and ‘normal’ to one person may not be evident to me at all.
Neurodiversity fits under the disability umbrella. In our current medical system, many neurodivergent people are classified as disabled. As such, we are often subject to barriers resulting from systemic ableism.
What is systemic ableism?
In order to speak about that, let’s first define a ‘system’. In science and in life, a system is a related series of parts and processes. Living organisms are systems, and abstract concepts can also be systems. Our human society is an example of a system.
‘Ableism’ is more concrete: it is discrimination based on the ability of a group of people to achieve certain outcomes. The key here is not the absolute ability of any single person. Ableism is a relativistic concept; there is some arbitrary standard of ability we are measuring against. Ableism applies when not all people — individual parts of our societal system — can meet a certain standard without additional support. Therefore to tie those definitions together, systemic ableism is discrimination resulting from lack of accommodation for diversity: the failure to enable, versus the failure to be able. I believe this distinction is really important.
There is a tendency to think of ableism (and all forms of discrimination) as being a simple matter of individual morality— that good people are accommodating and bad people discriminate; that our individual choices and perceptions affect the way we behave towards others. That can certainly be a part of it. But I would like to invite people to begin regarding ableism as a system that dictates our choices, not the individual making those choices. It is a system that rigidly defines one set of attributes as normal and acceptable, and anything outside of that as worthless. Can we build a new system that accommodates everyone’s unique needs and strengths? Is there really such a thing as ‘normal’?
How did you navigate your diagnosis? How did systemic ableism influence this process?
My diagnostic process was interesting. I have mixed feelings about the entire process. The most telling part of it all, was that it was highly demanding. Seeing a psychiatrist is expensive. Re-evaluating your entire worldview is emotionally exhausting. Coming to terms with a way of life that was completely new and untrodden was extremely daunting. Yet I fully recognise that I had access to many forms of support, which allowed my formal diagnosis process to be relatively smooth. This I am extremely grateful for.
Understanding intersectional ableism was and is a huge part of my diagnosis journey. Every step of the way, I was acutely aware of its looming facade underneath each decision and barrier that faced me. An obvious example is the underdiagnosis of women — 13% of men will be diagnosed with ADHD in their lifetime, compared with 4.2% of women¹.
I was also required to have rigorous clinical testing done — costing about $2500 AUD — in order to be prescribed stimulant medication, the first-line treatment for ADHD. I’m not a huge fan of pharmaceuticals, but alternative treatments are not well documented. The testing was only required because my symptoms did not align neatly enough with the typical presentation which is based on male (and primarily paediatric) clinical data.
Every step of the way, I was reminded that the clinical support I desperately needed was only available to me because of the significant financial and social resources I already had access to. It was sobering to realise that I am one of the lucky few who makes it all the way with relatively few hiccups. Although I was not unduly affected by systemic barriers, it was very clear to me that they existed, and which groups of people they end up keeping out.
The systemic barriers I witnessed throughout the diagnosis process is part of the reason why I have yet to seek formal diagnosis for ASD, even after being recommended by an ASD therapist — I find the mental health support in conventional healthcare systems extremely lacking, and would like to support other methods of diagnosis and management.
In some of your past writing you place emphasis on the benefits of describing yourself using clinical labels in improving clarity of communication. Have you encountered any disadvantages of using clinical labels to describe yourself?
Thank you for taking that in! Yes, as an autistic person I highly value precision and clarity when it comes to use of language. We don’t use words lightly, and the words we choose have specific and intentional meaning. I choose to identify by the terms used in the DSM-5² because scientific terms are the most precise and will have ratified translations into other languages.
Although I’ve experienced disadvantages from disclosing my neurodivergence, it has not been due to the language I use to describe myself. Even if I exchange the labels that I use, my neurology and consequently my behaviour is still the same. There is no softening the practical effects of my conditions. Ableism and xenophobia will still be applied to me regardless.
For my entire life prior to being diagnosed, I have been described as ‘weird’, ‘quirky’, ‘flaky’, ‘sensitive’, ‘ambiguous’, ‘erratic’ and various other adjectives that paint me as different, other and unreliable in one way or another. Our society is very poorly adjusted to things that don’t fit neatly into a box, or ideas that can’t be easily consumed. This has not changed since being diagnosed, but it has helped me to understand why people react to me this way, and to stop taking the blame for it.
What role does gender and sexuality play in your sense of identity?
Gender and sexuality are not real concepts to me. Autistics can seem like they live in a dream world, but to me it is the neurotypical³ world that is the dream. There are so many labels and definitions for concepts I see as fluid and arbitrary. Aside from outdated notions of physical form dictating personal expression, I can see no reason why we should identify as a man or a woman or heterosexual or bisexual. To me they seem like rules made up to keep us in our place and continuously distracted, so we don’t have opportunity to find fault with the system.
I see gender and sexuality as identities that I can wear like a hat. Today I’m a man, tomorrow I’m a woman. Out of all the depth and breadth of the human experience, who’s to say that we must remain the same forever?
A capitalism-based system needs to place value on consistency and contracts — those who can guarantee ‘sameness’ are deemed the most trustworthy.
But this model is in fact inherently unnatural and unrepresentative of real life: our resources are finite, growth is non-linear and nature is cyclical and forever changing. I believe it is more realistic and trustworthy to be upfront about our inconsistencies, than to expect everyone to remain forever well-defined.
What role does art and creativity play in your sense of identity?
Art and creativity is my purpose. To add to that, empathy is my purpose, and art and creativity are to me its highest expressions. The notion of empathy as a universal constant came to me through contemplation of our spiritual existence on this earth. Despite our thousands of years of evolution as a species, we seem to be severely lagging in spiritual progress. What are we actually here for, if not to connect with each other and ourselves?
As a neurodivergent person, I often feel like I inhabit a different slice of reality to everyone else. But the more I observe the world, the more I see this disconnect between all people. We are so desperate for connection, for a sense of being accepted and belonging. So often I have thought — if I could just get a few people to understand a bit more of each other, that would be enough. How do we do that, when we are each made so differently and the world seems more divided than ever?
To me, the answer is art and creation. Art not only helps us to understand each other, it helps us to understand ourselves. Art is comfortable with ambiguity and collaboration. It requires us to think differently, to see other perspectives, to learn and grow. Art teaches us meaning and intention, shows us how to seek the common ground that is universal truth. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that autistics are often talented artists. We were made for expressing, for feeling, for telling the truth. I believe that our mission here on earth is to teach others empathy, and that creativity — genuine, unbridled self expression — is our greatest tool for achieving it.
What are some ways that people can explore identity and purpose, neurodivergent or otherwise?
I have spent a whole lifetime failing to conform to ‘normal’, only to discover that it never existed. You’re probably not as normal as you think. I believe humans were all made uniquely different for a reason. I would say to everyone, begin to seek the new normal for yourself. Not what we were told by our parents, or the internet, or what we learned at school or work. What is “normal’ for one person may not be normal for another, and what works for one people may not work for everyone.
Go spend time in nature. Let yourself really feel your feelings — not just while away time avoiding them. Take care of your body. Really listen to it. When was the last time you really paid attention to the sensations going in the miracle that is your physical vessel? When did you last look at yourself naked and not shy away?
Experiment. Make art. With people, with inanimate objects, with experiences. Do things just for fun, not because you think you should. Do things badly. Give yourself permission to be wrong and look stupid. Really let yourself experience the joy of creation, just for its own sake.
Examine where you’re exerting your energy. What are you really getting out of your friendships? Your intimate relationships? Which activities bring you true joy and nourishment, and which habits leave you drained?
Keep a journal, and be really truthful. Admit things that you’ve never admitted to yourself. In order to seek our whole self, we have to be prepared for the ugly sides of ourselves as well.
In theory, we’d like to believe that life is consistent, measurable and that truth can be externally derived. In practice, I have found life to be unpredictable, irrational, and that the only worthwhile truth is the one that resides within. I hope that everyone will be given a chance to find their own.
References & Definitions
- NIMH | Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder Statistics
- DSM-5: latest edition of The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders
- Neurotypical: a person of typical developmental, intellectual and cognitive abilities