Haley Moss - Autistic lawyer

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In 1997, a doctor told Rick and Sherry Moss that their 3-year-old daughter Haley had not yet spoken because she is autistic.

Their daughter would likely never graduate from high school, the doctor said, never make a friend, never get a driver’s license.

On Friday, Haley Moss became a member of the Florida Bar. She took the oath of attorney during a ceremony at the Richard E. Gerstein Justice Building in Miami.

Moss’ swearing-in came six months after she gave the commencement speech at her alma mater, the University of Miami School of Law; 3½ years after receiving both a B.A. and a B.S. from the University of Florida; four years after she published her second book; six years after she graduated from the Pine Crest School in Fort Lauderdale; seven years after her art was honored by the Dan Marino Foundation; and 21 years after her parents were first told that none of these feats would likely be realized.

Moss has repeatedly defied the low expectations that had been set for her. For that, she gives much credit to her parents, whose mantra “don’t deny the diagnosis, embrace it” instilled in her a positive association with her diagnosis.

Autism makes her different, not lesser, she always says. Throughout her life, she said she’s had an innate ability to be self-reflective, to find out what does and doesn’t work for her. And she has an invaluable ability that helped get her through law school — a great memory.

“You know what’s hard and what’s easy,” she said. “I’ve always been more aware of my surroundings.”

Some things are harder: making friends, cleaning up and doing laundry. “The things people refer to as adulting,” she said. But her hyperawareness helped her understand her limits.

Zumpano Patricios co-founder Joe Zumpano watches as Haley Moss is administered the oath of attorney. Photo: Dylan Jackson/ALM
After graduation, Moss landed a job as an associate with Zumpano Patricios. Founders Joe Zumpano and Leon Patricios attended the ceremony with about 15 of the firm’s Miami attorneys.

Moss and Zumpano were introduced by a former partner at the firm whom she met in college. She clerked for Zumpano’s firm last summer and was offered a job upon graduation. For Zumpano, who has a 16-year-old autistic son, the moment was cathartic, as she represents the hopes and aspirations of all those with autism, including his child.

Zumpano said it’s important that neurodiversity be considered in addition to diversity in gender, race and sexual orientation. Zumpano knows of only three or four attorneys with autism and most of them work in the public sector. His firm prides itself on its diversity, and it is why he requested Judge Walsh, who had previously led the National Association of Women Judges, to administer the oath.

As for her future practice, Moss will work on a variety of issues as an associate. The firm is probably best known for its high-profile anti-terrorism cases and for handling managed care litigation for hospital systems. Zumpano Patricios has offices in Miami, Chicago and Salt Lake City.

Nothing prepares you for the day your story goes viral. There is no guidebook or advice out there preparing you for your life story being summed up into three-minute videos, or synthesized into perfectly clipped vignettes.

I discovered this when my local newspaper wrote an article calling me Florida’s first openly autistic attorney. Not long after the article came out, The Associated Press picked it up. Before I knew it, my story was being shared all over the world with a stream of overwhelmingly positive comments and reactions.

I was diagnosed with autism at 3 years old because I wasn’t speaking ― my only means of communication was intense crying and screaming, to the point that my family was asked to leave restaurants and other public places. Once, after I spent an entire airplane flight crying and screaming, all of the other passengers stood up and clapped as we got off the plane. I wasn’t talking, or playing with other children. However, I was piecing together large jigsaw puzzles; prior to the diagnosis, my mom initially believed this was a clue I might have been gifted.

When I was 9 years old, my parents used my obsession with Harry Potter to explain to me that I had autism. I learned that like Harry Potter, I was different from my peers and had magical powers, including a photographic memory, good listening skills, and passion for the things I loved, including art. This foundation made it that I never saw autism negatively, but rather, as a difference to be celebrated.

Today, many are quick to say I am “high-functioning,” but I still face challenges, such as social difficulties, sensory overloads, executive functioning (prioritizing tasks, starting and stopping tasks, organization) and independent living skills (driving is my personal Mount Everest, along with cleaning my apartment and doing laundry).

One of the most common questions I’ve been asked since my story went viral is what the term “openly autistic” means. “Openly autistic” gained traction after Joe Zumpano, one of the founding shareholders at the law firm where I work, Zumpano Patricios, coined it to describe me in the local newspaper article that covered my admission to the Florida Bar. The term sparked the #OpenlyAutistic hashtag on Twitter, as the online autistic community embraced the term as part of our continuing debate around disclosing autism in various situations.

To me, being “openly autistic” means not having to hide or mask my autism; it is the freedom to be exactly who I am. Not everyone on the autism spectrum will be “openly autistic” in all aspects of their lives. Being open about our autism diagnoses subjects us to unfortunate negative stigmas and prejudices. Autistic people already face enough adversity, fearmongering, and potential discrimination in their daily lives. Because of this, some of us feel safe only being openly autistic online, or follow a “don’t ask, don’t tell” philosophy of disclosing autism diagnoses.

I have seen people’s attitudes change after the discovery I am autistic. All of a sudden, our intellectual conversations drop down to simpler levels, although I am still the same person I was moments before. Some people impulsively make comments such as, “You don’t look autistic” (autism has no physical profile) or have trouble wrapping their head around my autism because I am able to speak (autism is a developmental disability that falls on a spectrum ― some of us communicate with spoken language, and some of us do not).

I have been excluded from events, had my challenges minimized, and been treated differently, among other things. Sometimes I wondered if it might be easier if I were neurotypical, or if I ran the risk of constant autistic burnout by masking and pretending to be neurotypical.

But I have no choice other than to be openly autistic. I have been involved in the autism community for nearly 11 years now as an author, artist, and advocate. One Google search of my name shows I am clearly autistic. Hiding it is lying ― and lying is not exactly a good look for anyone (it is also not something most autistic people are particularly skilled at).

I also currently feel as if I have nothing to hide or be ashamed of with my diagnosis ― I am proudly and positively autistic.

I decided I wanted to go to law school while I was in college. Law is a perfect marriage of two of my biggest passions ― writing and speaking. I also knew no matter what profession I entered, I wanted to help people.

As an autistic person, I am able to succeed in anything I am excited and passionate about. My family always encouraged me to pursue anything I was interested in and did not set limits on what I could or could not do.

am most certainly not the only autistic person to ever practice law or hold a position as an associate attorney. I am also not the first openly autistic attorney in existence. I’m just one of the few who is willing to talk about being autistic as a woman in a field that boasts a 2018 representation of 0.46 percent for associate attorneys with disabilities ― a decrease from the previous year. I am just one of the few who is able to use my voice to advance discussions surrounding neurodiversity in the workplace.

I also recognize I’m in a position of privilege. I am gainfully employed as an attorney in accordance with my educational and professional background. My autism is accepted at work, I am friends with my colleagues, and in the office, we talk about greater accessibility and walk the walk on having neurodiversity in our law practice, rather than me being merely employed as a form of tokenism or a “feel-good story.” I have fewer support needs than others who may never have the option to mask or hide their autism.

But because I am openly autistic, members of the public and other lawyers will automatically make assumptions about me and my competence because of their own implicit biases and stigmas surrounding autism.

I originally began sharing my story in my early teens because I was hoping something I experienced could change one person’s life or give hope. Over the past 11 years, my mission as an openly autistic woman has evolved to changing conversations and opening dialogue. Opening dialogue in the workplace is monumental in the latest chapter of my life story.

Being visible as an openly autistic professional opens the door for others to learn. It enlightens employers across all fields to consider the benefits of hiring neurodiverse folks of all abilities. It reduces the fears other autistics or people with disabilities may have about disclosing their autism or disabilities in the workplace or during a job search. I am looking forward to the day when neurodiversity is so widely accepted that it is the norm rather than the exception when an autistic person is gainfully employed in any field.

One day I hope to see and welcome fellow openly autistic attorneys with varying intersections of identities in all 50 states, because autism is as diverse as the rest of the human spectrum.

The autistic adults and other neurodiverse people are here, and we are here to stay and be productive and valued members of society.