Hi United Rocks. I’m Noah Simmons, a non-speaking autistic climber from Bethesda, MD. I want you all to know climbing saved my life.

I truly mean that. I spent almost 15 years silent. My mouth cannot vocalize words. I can think them, I understand everything, but my mouth is offline.

The world thought I was dumb.
There isn’t a nicer way to say that.

Few people could see the real me.

Even fewer just accepted me as I was.

The wall did both without hesitation, without proof.

I have been asked to share my story.

I would also like to help tell yours.

I’ll start by sharing a piece of my climbing journey. Finally Free is my life now.

Want to thank Mariana for this opportunity. More stories to come.

A new one each month. If you have a story to share, please reach out to me at Noah.Simmons@unitedrocks.org

See you on the wall. United we ROCK!

Finally Free

How to start is easy. The start is a corner. Don’t need to even be careful. Not because I could fall, because I won’t, and it wouldn’t matter if I did. I’m direct here. Every hold is easy to reach and the moves are in my body.

Have to stay calm. I told my dad to video this. I have this. I’m going to send. You can do this. Have to stay focused.

Until now confidence has been challenging for me. Wasn’t easy when you were constantly told you didn’t measure up. Have to let that go. I don’t live in that world anymore. Clip 1, secure. Click.

You have to understand, I’m not supposed to be able to do this. I’m an autistic non-speaker. I fail at everything. People don’t believe I’m in here. It’s a part of my life. Since I was a toddler, my lack of verbal communication got all the attention. Trust me, I’m here.

I climb from clip one to clip two with ease. Hearing my body going into full focus. I hear it. My insides beginning to click like the tick of a clock. Steady, rhythmic, showing me through sound, fluidly guiding me to my next move. The crimp is small but my body is balanced. Clip 2 is in my hand. I hear the crisp closure of the carabiner. Click.

I don’t fear failing like I used to. Climbing has always let me try again. Here, failing is a teacher. It feels like finally being able to learn. I don’t have to know how I can develop skill, store memories while being a human. I feel seen, not judged. Climbing has good, not foolish, expectations that are achievable even by me. An autistic with no verbal communication skills but with words, thoughts, emotions, and ideas locked inside my brain. I’m very verbal indeed, I just need to spell with my fingers, not speak with my mouth.

My mom helped find my voice a way out. I so deserved communication and she didn’t stop until she found it. She is the mountain climber really, I was the mountain.

I’m getting distracted. Back to the wall. My body is just in sync with my brain now . Clip 3 is dead ahead. Click.

My forearms are starting to scream. I got to really go hard to stop. Resting takes maximum effort. It’s foolish to find relief in trusting my body, which often lies to me. Makes me appear defiant and, worse, stupid. The docs use the term “intellectually disabled”. Fancy speak for “you have nothing to offer”.

My body is simply disorganized, disconnected. My body does what it wants to often ignoring my wishes. I will my body to stop, pause and release the crimp. I shake out. Lactic acid drips out my fingers. My right forearm thanks me and the left says, “my turn.” I try, but my body says no. I reposition, tell my body to go fuck itself, and my left arm releases.

I’m in control. I make the rules. I draw the rope up and I’m finally feeling whole. Click.

I will the world around me to stop and enjoy what I am. I am a person finding my way. I even wish to be average. To not stick out like a raised middle finger. The response I get from strangers is often like that finger. I’m amusing, annoying, offensive and weird.

While you decide what to think of me, I’m moving on. I’ve come to realize I can’t control your assumptions. See me climb, it’s controlled, effortless, fluid, strong as hell. See me here first and you don’t see disabled. You see competence. Trust me; I am.

Life on the ground is so hard. Good to be hovering above my old funny persona, the kid who couldn’t. Go grab it. Secure in so many ways, click.

Plus I am here amongst friends. Before I found climbing, I didn’t have friends. Tough to make friends when your words can’t be shared. I really never thought this day would come. Jason, a climber, believed in me from the first glance. So did Travis and then Cole. Proof of competence not required. I was a kid in a harness like any other. I was different but that didn’t matter. Climbing was speaking for me.

I will bring great things to fruition here. Physically showing my brain is fully functioning. I stumble here. My beta is right but my foot is not cooperating. Apraxia is a bitch. I know I need to move my right foot to the sloper but it wont move. Brain is willing my foot to move but it’s not responding.

I rest.

I wait.

My arms are burning. Please, I need your support. Welcome relief, the message is received and I reach. Click and peace is restored.

Quiet today. Sunday is always a good day. I’m here with United Rocks, a small organization committed to bringing climbing to the autism community. My group is filled with spellers like me. What a group we are. Please be understanding of us, I pray. We need way too much support for most places to allow us in.

True inclusion welcomes everyone, and it’s depressingly rare. Our bad days can be really bad. Our unruly bodies can appear out of control and our voices repeat annoying sounds. We all know what we look like. I’m wholly embarrassed when I hug strangers, belch loudly, and sometimes scream while I climb. I can’t help it. Working to control my impulses is a daily battle. I am grateful for the welcome mat Sportrock has rolled out. I’m fully aware I seem like I’m wanting to push the boundaries. I don’t. Here, I feel at home.

Please don’t take it away.

Click.

Trust is building as I approach the crux. The overhang is hard. I’m not fully sure of this beta. I drive my hips as close to the wall as I can. It’s got to be perfect and ease here is a must. Whatever happens, I have nothing to prove.
While fate is deciding my fate, I choose to commit. I ease my right hand to the crimp and relax my drive to get it right. Quiet consumes me and I hear nothing. What a feeling, to be dangling in mid air so close to falling. Trust in myself and my belay partner is my knowing he has me.

Building that trust took time. Travis taught me to lead. It was agonizingly slow. Training for months to control my fingers and my emotions. Right hand, key turn, dump it. Left hand stinky diaper, back clip. It was taxing but so exhilarating. I didn’t leave the ground for months. Anger got the best of me many times. Fear I would lash out stressed my already stressed nervous system. Autism combined with apraxia, and an inability to vocally ask questions ignited my temper so many times. I have communication but it has limits: being able to ask questions in the moment and get feedback is a luxury I don’t have.

It is important that my frustration isn’t misread. It is extremely important for my support team to stay calm or I could lose it. Plus I’m enjoying the challenge. Life was so boring and I never knew what it was like to work hard at anything. Please Travis, I can do this. He never gave up on me. I’m not giving up on me. Rest please. Stay here. The work now is in being still. What might happen if you stop trying so hard? I trust my feet. I wave my finger to action and secure my thumb. Locked in. I flow and the beta is revealed. Click.

Pressure immediately decreases. It is in the bag. I’m running on fumes but my legs remain strong. I have this and the remaining sequence is in my memory now. Funny how I never expected this a year ago. I was hanging on mentally by a thread. People had quit trying to help me. Lots of time spent filling time. You are just making minutes into hours with no goal in mind other than to fill it.

What a difference now. Click.

West does sound like a place I should go. Rocks surrounding me, water close enough to see. I’m doing what it takes to change my scenery. People I like doing this hard thing. Rest assured I’m coming. Please go find places that inspire you to make people go, “man that kid has it”. Places filled with red rock. The scenery so beautiful your heart beats poetry. West is where I belong. Click.

Before climbing I was desperate to prove I existed. Petrified deep down inside life would never see me. I no longer feel unseen.

Walls of holds surround me. Each giving me an opportunity to prove the experts were wrong. I am intelligent, worthy and deserving of experiences that challenge my body and brain. Pass me a better cup to fill. I’m still scared but in a new way. Afraid now of all that’s possible.

I’m fully my own worst enemy. Please become your own best friend. How to love myself is something I’m learning one hold at a time. Click.

Don’t believe this is me. I’m on top of the world. How change is flooding me now is so beautiful. I’m the kid who can’t. I just did it . Click.

Was I wanting this good reality? Yes. Do I deserve it? Yes. Look at me now friends. The journey to the next summit calls to me.

Rest assured you will hear more from me. The wall screams what I cannot: I am here.