I Found the Quaker Sasquatch

Toward a Faith That Welcomes Neurodivergence

I was diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder and obsessive compulsive disorder three months after my thirty-sixth birthday. Both disabilities fall under the broad umbrella of neurodivergence. I grew up as the second of four girls in a blue-collar, working-class fundamentalist nondenominational family in small-town Texas in the 1990s, where mental illness and disability were things that could be “prayed away.” Plus, autism was something only boys had, right? The things that I now know are called “stims” were passed off as “nervous tics.” Things that overloaded my sensory needs and compulsions were called by my family my “being picky,” “weird,” or desiring to be “a perfectionist.” When I struggled to understand the sarcasm and passiveness that is a very large part of the culture of the U.S. South, I was told that I was “too literal” and “couldn’t take a joke.” The things that I needed to help me regulate my emotions and understand social cues were dismissed because I was “being stubborn” and oftentimes attributed to my having “a lack of faith.” I learned how to hide the things that set me apart: to stay quiet even if I didn’t understand something. The things that helped me navigate the complexities of the world were hidden away because I knew that I was a person of faith and these “oddities” were things that people interpreted as me having a lack of faith. I began to mask my autistic and obsessive traits at a very early age, before I even knew the word for this behavior.

I have always considered myself a seeker, whether seeking out every detail about a specific author, historical event, or musician that I was hyper-fixated on at the moment or whether learning about different faiths and religions. I have always loved learning and not just learning but understanding. After my father, I was the first one to attend college on either side of my family. Having spent my entire childhood attending the same church, I was curious to learn more about how others worshiped. For several months while I was an undergrad, I visited different religious spaces every week. Though I visited nearly two dozen faith communities, I did not visit a Quaker meeting. It didn’t even cross my mind. This was Texas, and Quakers were like Sasquatch: they most likely didn’t exist, but if they did, they certainly wouldn’t be here in Texas. Quakers were in history books and on the side of the oat containers, not in the South. So how did this late-diagnosed, ex-evangelical, neurodivergent millennial find the Quaker Sasquatch and become a member at an unprogrammed Quaker meeting? I give that honor to the COVID-19 pandemic.

When the COVID-19 pandemic hit, I was an elementary school teacher with Dallas Independent School District and in an unhealthy marriage. To say I was exhausted in every capacity would be an understatement. I had been seeking a faith community that I could be a part of for nearly ten years, but being an openly queer person as well as someone who enjoys asking questions (and getting answers), there never seemed to be a place where I felt safe and welcomed. When the pandemic hit, I did what most people did and got comfortable binge watching films and TV series. In the lockdown of 2020, I stumbled upon a historical fiction TV series set in New York during the American Revolution and—wouldn’t you know it—one of the main characters was a Quaker.

This was Texas, and Quakers were like Sasquatch: they most likely didn’t exist, but if they did, they certainly wouldn’t be here in Texas. Quakers were in history books and on the side of the oat containers, not in the South. 

It was nearly a year later, after I had gone through my divorce and moved out of public education, that I remembered that Quaker character. A recurring feature of my neurodivergent mind is that I get hyper-focused on a song, book, musical, or even just facts. Sometimes I’ll be consumed with something for a few months, and sometimes it will obsess me for many years.

Such was the year after watching the TV series about the American Revolution. Do you have questions about Alexander Hamilton’s life in the Caribbean? I got you. Want to know about the Jewish world of 1700s New York? Sit back and prepare to learn. Ever wonder how the German Hessian soldiers got involved in the war? I can answer that for you. I began to deep dive into every book I could find on the Founding Fathers and life of those in America in the 1700s. Then I thought about that TV show I had watched with the Quaker character. Using the great guide of Google, I began a search on Quakers during the American Revolution, which then led me to researching Quakers historically and eventually to researching Quakers today. I read about the SPICES, the testimonies of Quakerism—simplicity, peace, integrity, community, equality, and stewardship—and realized that I already lived my life and believed in them. I read about the early English Quakers and how they wouldn’t take their hats off to the aristocracy. In a world that revolved around social class, this was by far one of the coolest ways of saying we are all equal. I learned about how Quaker women—yes women—could be traveling ministers and were thrown in prison alongside the men for what they believed. How they would stand up for the oppressed, being at the forefront of the abolitionist, civil rights, women’s rights, and LGBTQ rights movements. They loved unconditionally. It was the Quakers throughout history who saw “that of God in everyone” and truly lived as if they did.

My Quaker faith and autistic self mesh more than I ever could have fathomed. I find that the very testimonies of Quakerism welcome the very nature of my neurodivergence. Many of the churches and faith communities I had attended over the years focused heavily on what I consider to be a presentation of showiness: whether that was how loud the band was, how fancy the congregation were dressed, how moving the words were in the sermon, how high you raised your hands during worship, or how great the latte was in the in-house coffee shop. To me, everything felt like a performance and one that I often got lost in. Like many autistic individuals, I like rules that are black and white, and I dislike the “fluff” that surrounds and fills life and many of the religious spaces I had experienced. I also like understanding things to the point of obsession.

Hypocrisy was something I saw so frequently in the churches I grew up in and experienced in my college years. You say you welcome everyone, yet I find as a queer person that your welcome and love is conditional. You show that you want to be a part of the world in the way that you hold your Sunday services, yet you do not practice what you preach in the community. I felt myself to be so much an “other” in the world of religion.

When researching Quakers, I saw a group of people that didn’t just live their faith out only on Sundays but lived their faith every day: whether it be by serving the needs of people in countries at war, lobbying for human rights in the States, or caring for someone in their community. The “fluff” on Sunday was not “fluff” at all; it was reality, a refreshing and welcoming experience for someone who likes the black and white. And lo and behold, Quaker meetings could be found in most major cities throughout the state of Texas! Oatmeal box man be damned! Sasquatch is real and alive in the South!

Being a part of the neurodivergent Friends spiritual deepening community of Friends General Conference and embracing my identity as being a neurodivergent queer Quaker is to have finally found a faith community that sees me, hears me, welcomes me, and values me for everything that I am.

Many autistic folks, including myself, have a strong sense of justice. Mass media has made a caricature of what autism is supposed to look like, but autism spectrum disorder is just that: a spectrum. It is often coupled with other neurodiversity disorders or disabilities, and as the saying goes, “If you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person.” Even though my deep connection and interpretation of the emotions of others is often overwhelming and causes a series of social confusions and burnout, it is also a sort of superpower. Being on the spectrum of hyper-empathy, I feel like I am able to relate to people on a deeper level. For a faith community that shows so much empathy and passion for the world around them, I feel like I am able to be a better Quaker because of the different ways that I experience the world. I often become obsessed with conversations and interactions that I have had and will replay them over and over for hours and sometimes days. Even though this is exhausting in its own way, it also feels like I am able to read beyond a simple conversation and put myself in another’s shoes.

There are things that I struggle with in my meeting, just as I struggle in other parts of my life. But here, I want to focus on the light and the joy. The struggles will always be there, and the work on my mental, emotional, and spiritual health will be a never-ending journey of highs and lows. I know that it was because of my neurodivergencies that I found the Quaker Sasquatch. My diagnoses have helped me better understand myself and the different ways that I see and interpret the world and I can better understand the ways that I interact as a person of faith. Being a part of the neurodivergent Friends spiritual deepening community of Friends General Conference and embracing my identity as being a neurodivergent queer Quaker is to have finally found a faith community that sees me, hears me, welcomes me, and values me for everything that I am.

Understanding and embracing my autism and obsessive compulsive disorder has made me a better person of faith and a better Quaker. So much of that, however, goes to the community of Friends in my monthly and yearly meeting and the larger community and legacy of Friends around the world. At the very core of Friends is love and equality that offers safety and welcome to all those present. A Friends meeting is a place for all. Quaker Sasquatch is real and among us, and she sure is beautiful.