Everyday Ableism, Reviewed: Why I Started Rating My Interactions

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I’ve started rating moments the way people rate restaurants. Stars, from one to five. Not for food or hotels, but for the way humanity shows up in my life.

For me, I've realized everyday ableism doesn’t usually look like cruelty I can just spot across a room. Way more often, it arrives in the shape of someone’s “help.”

It’s wrapped in smiles, offered with confidence, even delivered by people who love me. And when it misses the mark, it lands on my nervous system like a hammer.

The seed of an idea

Sometime back, I noticed I was giving these "moments" a loose rating and started playing with the idea of it. This is that idea with a little life breathed into it.

For instance, I remember a night when I came home fully wrecked. I was raw, overstimulated and long past words. My person asked what I needed. I whispered “nothingness.” They blew me a kiss and disappeared for a while.

Five stars. Because love.

Another time I came home from a weekend away. My bestie had “fixed” my kitchen again and I mean every drawer and cabinet was reorganized into her version of logic.

Two stars. The thought was there. My nervous system was screaming.

It struck me that these ratings said more than a thousand exhausted explanations ever could.

Why stars?

Everyone understands a star rating.

Five stars means safe, wanted, whole. One star means it hurt.

The rating doesn’t measure intent. It measures impact.

Because that’s what my body cares about - not whether someone meant well, but whether I leave the moment steadier or more shattered.

What the stars mean

1 Star: Would not recommend. Return to sender.

2 Stars: They tried. My whole body still paid for it.

3 Stars: Not the worst. Not the care I needed.

4 Stars: Almost there. But the sting lingered.

5 Stars: This is what safe feels like.

I don’t give these stars to people. I give them to moments.

This has nothing to do with canceling people. This is about telling the truth of what my nervous system experiences is big, wide range of situations. And it's helpful to me.

Humor and hurt

The humor is deliberate. If I can laugh at it, I can survive it.

But don't misunderstand. The bite is still there.

Most of my deepest wounds haven’t come from strangers shouting slurs. They’ve come from people who swore they loved me, people who thought they were helping, people who needed me to bend so their comfort stayed intact.

That’s what everyday ableism is: not loud hatred, but the constant expectation that I adjust, explain, accommodate.

And the moments of care are rare enough that when they come, they feel like oxygen.

Why I’m sharing this

I’m sharing these reviews because I want other neurodivergent people to see their own silent ratings reflected.

To know that the sighs, the clenched jaws, the tears that follow “kindness” aren’t theirs alone.

And I want people who call themselves allies to recognize that five stars doesn’t mean grand gestures. Sometimes it just means asking, listening, and not rearranging the kitchen.

An invitation

So this is the series: Everyday Ableism: Reviewed.

Real moments. Real nervous system reactions. Rated for care. Sometimes tender, sometimes biting, always true.

If you’ve ever kept a secret scorecard in your head - five stars for the friend who lets you stim, one star for the coworker who jokes about your "quirky little brain," then you’re already part of this.

I hope you'll follow along. Save what resonates. Share with the people who need to see it. And maybe even start noticing your own reviews.

Because every star tells a story. And every story makes the invisible just a little more visible.

-Elle

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Want to keep exploring beyond everyday ableism?

This space is still new, but it’s already full of big questions, half-formed truths, and stories that might sound a little like yours.

If you’re curious where to go next, here are a few places to wander:

• Safety Nets I've Stitched for Myself: Why Autistic Safety Systems Matter

  For me, safety is about understanding how easily the world can misread me, how quickly my own brain can work against me if I push too hard, and how I’ve had to become both my own advocate and my own accommodation just to navigate the supposedly “ordinary” parts of life.

  
  

• When Narcissists Target Neurodivergent People

  Being tangled up with someone who twists your words, rewrites your memories, and makes you doubt what’s real is a hallmark of narcissistic abuse of neurodivergent people - and you are not imagining it.

  
  

• The Queer Neurodivergent Life Map Quickstart (free download)

  A gentle, self-paced journal for autistic, ADHD, AuDHD, queer or otherwise neurodivergent women who are ready to unmask, unlearn, and rewrite their story from the inside out.

Or, if you just want to be here quietly, you can join the list and I’ll send new things your way when they’re ready. No pressure. No performance.

I love that you’re here.