Magical Women
We create empowered & relaxed spaces removing the risk found in Neurotypical situations.
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Rage

Rage is a collection of art and words made during times of overwhelm, sensory overload, rage or stress.

These words hardly get published or printed elsewhere - or at least, they’re never commissioned. We want to change that but we also want to change the way we address it. We want to curate words in the same way art is curated. We curate the words as if they are stand alone pieces and do not edit the texts.

We invite visitors to experience and regard each piece as not only a text to be read, but a text to be considered, observed, seen and heard. An identity that requires attention even if you do not necessarily agree, be open to the possibility of listening to and sharing space with their truth.

Artists don’t want to be an inspiration, a hero or champion. They want to have access to the arts without “their access” being a major part of the journey.

Magical Women’s focus is on curating art and words so they might be shared with wider and more diverse audiences.

Our words aren’t allowed // Debi Gregory

I’ve experienced countless situations in my life where I’ve responded to something in a way that I felt was justified and reasonable and yet others have responded in dramatic, aggressive and often harmful ways and I’ve still been labelled as the villain.

When I was younger and I didn’t understand, this often led to outbursts that were then used as examples of my behaviour for years to come. As if my meltdowns, caused by confusion at unjustified and illogical behaviour, were indicative of me as a whole person, rather than an example of a neurotype that they hadn’t even considered belonged to me… Because I was doing all this on purpose, obviously… 

Even now, it doesn’t seem to matter how much I try to be calm, cool, collected, demure, classy, self-effacing and all the other things good little girls are supposed to be, even into adulthood; I’m still the one in the wrong. Even people who claim to understand me, to appreciate me, to support me, they all found my words wrong.

I spent so many years trying to be what everyone else seemed to want me to be, using my autistic super-power of masking to emulate and echo the things in others that seemed to be socially coveted… And the more I tried to be like others, the more wrong I was… Yet being myself was wrong too… And so making my own words became harder.

How am I supposed to know what my voice is, how it should be, if everything about me is wrong?How am I supposed to teach myself to be authentic, if the authentic me is the vile, loud, stupid, slow, offensive demon that people have painted me to be my whole life?

I’ve taken their adjectives, their words of advice; gentler, calmer, slower, quieter, nicer, sweeter and they’ve been forged into chains of oppression that make my voice what they say it should be… And it’s still not enough.

I have given them everything and still it’s not enough because my words are not allowed.

Rachael Lamus

Rachael Lamus

I have given them nothing and been called selfish and withdrawn and a bitch because my silence isn’t allowed either.

This seems like I’m whining and many of you may be thinking that maybe the problem is me.

Believe me, I’ve believed that my whole life.

Of course the problem is me. I’m the common denominator, right?

I’m the one who is too loud, too opinionated, too forceful, too brash, too crass, too honest, too too too much…

And yet, when I look back on the times when I was too much not right, there was also another similarity, another denominator.

I’d

Said

No.

Maybe not in so many words… But denial had been in play in every situation.

I’d denied someone their right to abuse me.

I’d denied someone their right to silence me.

I’d denied someone their right to dictate to me.

I’d denied someone the right to control me.

Because, in my innocence, I hadn’t understood that in this society, I am the puppet of the world in which I live. Not an autonomous being with thoughts, feelings and needs of my own. I am theirs to control.

My words are only supposed to be what they say they should be… Even though their words out of my mouth are never right for them either…

And when I deny them their control, I’m a monster.

I’m a monster to them until I only see a monster in myself…

And then I’m an attention seeker for cleaving to the monster they created and trying to thrive as the monster they wanted.

I have given them everything and still it’s not enough because my words are not allowed.

I have given them nothing and been called selfish and withdrawn and a bitch because my silence isn’t allowed either.

My words aren’t allowed.

My silence isn’t allowed either.

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