When did we become a society that only values people based on what they can produce for a man-made system?

 

This is what it looks like when a society values productivity over humanity. A system built by the powerful, feeding on the silence of the masses. We weren’t made to serve the machine—we were made to live, to connect, to be.

When did we start believing the lie that our worth is tied to how much we can earn, grind, and give away to the top of the ladder?

At our core, we are simply human.

We weren’t created to labor ourselves into exhaustion just to make rich men richer.

That system? It was designed by man—sold to us slowly, quietly, like a drug slipped into our morning coffee. So gradual, we didn’t even notice.

And now? We defend it like it’s sacred.

We have people being told that if they can’t “contribute” to this system—this machine—they’re not viable, not valuable, not worthy of the very life they were given.

Capitalism has warped our thinking so deeply that we’ve forgotten how to measure worth outside of dollar signs.

If someone disrupts the flow—if they challenge the system, refuse to play along, or simply can’t keep up—we don’t rally around them.

We erase them.

But we were never meant to live this way.

We were meant to live in communities.

To share the land.

To help our neighbors, lift each other up, and shoulder the load together.

Instead, we’ve been cornered by greed.

Governed by systems built by power-hungry, money-hungry men—most of them drunk on control.

It’s time we start remembering who we are beneath all this noise.

Before they sold us the lie.

Before we bought it.

And I find it ironic—painfully ironic—that the same people so obsessed with who can and cannot contribute to their system, don’t actually care to help us get there.

If contribution matters so much, why aren’t they learning how we learn? Why aren’t they creating spaces where we can meet them halfway?

We could have fully autistic shifts—quiet, structured, with gentle sounds or silence, where we’re allowed to work in peace.

We could normalize noise-canceling headphones in the workplace—no stares, no judgment, just support.

We could build classrooms led by teachers who are trained—really trained—on the autism spectrum.

Instead, if you’re what they call “high functioning,” you get thrown into neurotypical spaces and told to adapt, perform, conform.

What if, instead of forcing autistics to mold to the neurotypical world, we taught the world to exist with us?

To meet us where we are, not just where it’s convenient for them.

Maybe then we’d all be able to contribute.

Not just to their machine—but to something better.

Something more human.