The Shield at Spencer’s: When the R-Word Hit Me in the Mall
The Shield at Spencer’s: When the R-Word Hit Me in the Mall
Date: July 29, 2025
Tags: Ableism, Trauma, Autistic Life, Real Stories, Survival, Gratitude
Trigger Warning: This post contains references to ableist slurs, bullying, and emotional trauma. Please take care while reading.
I was just trying to do what my therapist encouraged me to do—broaden my world. Go out, exist, maybe even feel a little bit normal in public. So I went to the mall, just me and my headphones, and my Nee Doh squish in hand. Nothing dramatic. Just existing in a place that has always been a sensory minefield for me.
And then it happened.
A group of guys walked up behind me, and one of them used that word.
The R-word.
The same word I was called as a kid.
The word that haunted me all through school.
The one that shattered my self-esteem, made me feel like a monster, made me question if I was even human.
Logically, I know it’s “just a word.” But emotionally? It rips me to pieces every single time—even when it’s not directed at me. This time, it was. And in that moment, I felt all my insecurities come flooding back like a tidal wave. Every ounce of confidence I had built up to leave the house… gone.
I froze.
I was standing outside Spencer’s, just trying to breathe, just trying to be. And that’s when the girl working there overheard them. I don’t know what she saw or what made her intervene—but something about her presence made them stop. Maybe it was a look. Maybe it was her body language. I’ll never know. But she stood as an unspoken shield between me and whatever else they were going to say.
She saved me.
If she hadn’t been there, I don’t know what would’ve happened. I don’t know if I would’ve melted down in public or just disappeared back into myself for days. But instead, I left. I went to O’Reilly’s, sat with Miranda, and talked to Kenneth when he stop by. I reached for my people.
But I’m still hurting. I’m still pissed. And yeah—I’m discouraged as hell. Because I tried. I was brave, and someone used a slur as a weapon to try and put me back in my place.
But I’m not staying there.
This is me saying you didn’t win. You didn’t break me. You tried—but you failed. I’m still here. I’m still autistic. And I’m still building my world, even when it’s terrifying.
To the girl at Spencer’s: thank you. You probably don’t even know what you did, but it mattered.
What I Learned
Even when I’m scared, I can still survive. I can still reach out. And sometimes, strangers become silent heroes.
What I Need to Do Differently
Keep going, even when it hurts. But also… carry tools with me. Maybe a comfort phrase. Maybe a physical token of safety. Maybe even write down this moment and hold it as proof that I got through it.
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