Note about the author: The author of this article is diagnosed with high-functioning autism, as well as so-called mild combined-presentation ADHD. He received his diagnosis in May of 2023 and acknowledges and stresses that his experiences will be unique from those of other neurodivergent people. 

Even in modern society, portrayals of autism by neurotypical individuals, especially in media such as journalism, education, and entertainment, can be patronizing. Shows like “The Big Bang Theory” and books like “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time” often depict autistic characters as either emotionless or emotionally unstable, reinforcing stereotypes rather than presenting diverse experiences.

This reflects a broader misunderstanding of autism, including concepts like masking and the notion that all autistic individuals lack certain abilities. Such as the bookworm nerd sort of character (granted, that one does overlap with the experiences of many autistic people, to some extent—we’ll get to that later).

In reality, as cliché as it is to say, autism is a spectrum, and experiences on that spectrum vary a lot between individuals. I shall provide one such perspective—my own—below.  A shockingly vivid memory from my early childhood—I must have been seven or eight—was seeing an ad on TV describing a kid with autism. It was actually from the kid’s perspective, too. I remember I latched onto what I heard, at least a little.

As someone on the autism spectrum, I remember watching a TV ad about a child with autism when I was around seven or eight. At the time, it didn’t resonate with me strongly, but it planted a seed of awareness. Growing up, I felt somewhat alien but not entirely abnormal.

Contrary to the stereotype that autistic kids have no friends, I had friendships but struggled to understand jokes and differentiate between sarcasm and genuine emotion due to my autism affecting pattern-recognition skills. This is because autism often targets pattern-recognition skills that emphasize “raw data.”

In middle school, I noticed peers self-identifying as autistic based on superficial understandings of the condition. While some genuinely were, many incorrectly equated common symptoms, like hyperfixation, with autism. It was disheartening to hear “autistic” used as an insult, prompting teachers to clarify that autism is not an insult or a disability but a distinct neurotype defined by specific cognitive patterns. This can mean how much of certain core chemicals like dopamine is produced, or how much, and of what type, of information the brain can and will process. I had a sneaking suspicions of my own autism the more I heard about it.

My official diagnosis of high-functioning autism came in high school, in 2023. “High-functioning” suggests that my autism won’t impede my social interactions. However, this leads to discussions about masking—a behavior where individuals hide their true selves to conform socially.

Many autistic people engage in masking, which can create confusion about their identity and experiences. This trait is far from exclusive to autistic people, but autistic people tend to exhibit it a lot. Masking is an action where someone hides a behavior, impulse, etc., that is perceived as socially wrong in some way, often replacing it with an equivalent behavior that is picked up from observation of others.

For example, using slang instead of formal language could be considered masking, especially for autistic people who may be more inclined to speak formally—perhaps because formal language tends to be more rigid and structured, or because it is what they are taught. Masking can sometimes cause people to question if others—or even they themselves—really are autistic.  This brings us back to the issues with stereotyping people on the autism spectrum, as it confines individuals to categories that hardly represent anyone’s reality.

I am medically autistic; from my hyperfixations to my vocal and social mannerisms, it shows (or so I’m told), but my experiences are far from what one might expect in someone growing up on the spectrum. Does that in any way invalidate either my lived experience or my diagnosis? No, of course it doesn’t. But knowing what my experience truly is has helped me get the help I need, understand that I’m not alone, and contextualize my own strengths and weaknesses.

All neurotypes deserve to have their individual experiences acknowledged and respected, as stereotyping, especially within the diverse autistic community, hinders progress and understanding.