Casual Discrimination: Don’t Worry, You Don’t Look Autistic!

It doesn’t seem like a big deal until you have to deal with it daily

Learning disabilities, and learning ABOUT disabilities. Awareness helps! | Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

I’ve always stood out from the crowd.

I don’t mean that in a bragging or self-aggrandizing way; I mean that I’ve been left on the outskirts for most of my life. I’ve always been awkward, socially out of step in ways I didn’t fully understand, and often considered a nuisance to the people around me.

I didn’t understand why — not until I learned that I’m autistic. And asexual, which certainly didn’t help.

When people hear that you’re autistic, more often than not, they instantly make all kinds of assumptions about you. The stereotypes that come to mind don’t necessarily fit you, but that’s what folks have to work with, so that’s often where they go.

There’s a lot of ignorance and a lot of stigma attached to being neurodivergent, even today. Being part of any marginalized community comes with its trials and tribulations and often leads to you being tokenized and held up as a convenient target.

It often leads others to define your existence as a political issue for other people to debate about.

If you’ve never been made to feel like you have to defend your right to exist in public, that might sound like a bizarre complaint. You may never have had someone treat you like you’re a walking “Debate Me!” sign, but I have.

If you have visible traits or characteristics that differentiate you from the ‘norm,’ you are ‘Woke.’

That means you’re a target, not because of anything you have done, but because of who you are.

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There’s a lot of stigma attached to being disabled. | Photo by Jakub Pabis on Unsplash

Now and then, I get a reminder that not everybody goes through life feeling like the modern world is built to hurt them. I don’t mean people being mean on the internet — I mean physical pain and fatigue.

It’s an alien idea for me to realize that not everybody goes through that.

I occasionally talk about autism spectrum disorder and what it’s like living with a semi-invisible disability, and you’d be surprised how many people don’t know about the neurological and sensory symptoms or the physical issues that come with it.

It’s incredible how much of my time and energy is spent dealing with symptoms most people don’t even know I have.

I’ve been dealing with that my entire life, though. You get used to the headaches caused by fluorescent lights, your brain’s inability to filter out stimulation, and the fact that your nerves read fabric rubbing against your skin as if it’s a lit match scorching your flesh.

My symptoms aren’t even that bad; I can function on my own without needing care. They can still be pretty awful when compared with no symptoms at all.

That’s my normal, and I live with it. What weirds me out is the response I often get when people first find out about my diagnosis:

“You’re autistic? Wow, you don’t look autistic at all!”

Sometimes I get, “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t have guessed if you didn’t tell me.” Often with a big smile and a nod, as if I’ve achieved something by passing as a neurotypical person in public.

Often, this is said in what I suppose is meant to be a reassuring or encouraging manner.

I had to pick my jaw up off the floor the first time it was said to me. I couldn’t believe that somebody could be that tone-deaf!

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What does an autistic person look like? And why is ‘not looking autistic’ treated like a compliment?

Statements like this are a slap in the face. This is a form of very casual discrimination that many people aren’t even aware they’re engaging in, and it goes beyond disabilities like mine.

Every marginalized community has a version of this.

When you tell people they don’t look autistic, praise the fact that they don’t ‘act’ gay, or claim that you ‘Don’t see colour,’ you are acknowledging that those attributes and traits are stigmatized.

Whether you realize it or not, you are saying that being born with certain traits is bad.

You are saying to them that not being, looking, or acting like whatever the identity is would be preferable. Virtuous, even. It would be beneficial if they pretended to be one of the ‘default’ humans as much as possible.

You acknowledge the stigma and then elevate us above it. Basically, you’re pointing at the negative stereotypes you have in your head and saying, “Don’t worry, I don’t see YOU like that!”

Because I’m one of the good ones, right?

I make eye contact because I was trained to mask. I have volume control because I practiced. I don’t have obvious meltdowns, and my overload is quiet. I don’t tend to flap my hands in the stereotypical way.

So what?

Seriously, so what? That doesn’t make me more human than other autistic people. It doesn’t make them less human than me.

It only makes me less off-putting to you, making me look like a ‘normal’ person.

Except, I am normal. I behave like a normal autistic person.

It’s still very misunderstood these days. Shows like Big Bang Theory don’t help. | Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Every autistic person I’ve ever met behaves like a normal autistic person. We just behave a little differently than neurotypicals because we aren’t neurotypical.

If you put a cat in a room full of dogs, do you think there’s something wrong with it if it doesn’t adopt canine behaviour? Certainly not; that would be ridiculous.

So why would you expect us to change our way of thinking, feeling, and interacting with the world just to fit in with you? Can we switch our brains on and off like a lightbulb?

No two autistic people look the same.

You can’t tell if a person is autistic by looking at us, and it isn’t a compliment to assure us you couldn’t tell. There is nothing shameful about being autistic; it’s just a part of how our brains and bodies work.

We were born autistic. We’ve been autistic our whole lives.

I’m autistic in the same way that I’m asexual, in the same way that I have brown hair and heterochromia. I was born this way; I had no choice, and I had to adapt to the world as it existed when I came into it.

Please stop trying to comfort us over something we wouldn’t even know was a problem—except that you guys won’t ever let us forget we’re not ‘normal’ in your eyes. You couldn’t be more condescending if you tried.

If someone tells you they’re autistic, the correct response is a simple and respectful “Okay.” Don’t try to encourage them, patronize them, or treat them like a child. You can offer accommodations and assistance if they ask, but please don’t make assumptions.

I see that so, so often — people assume we aren’t on the same level of intelligence or maturity as they are because of our disorder. They do the same thing with people in wheelchairs or who use braces and crutches to walk.

If you have a disability, chances are good that you’ve come across someone who treats you like a helpless little kid who needs constant encouragement and celebration of every little thing you do.

It hurts, doesn’t it?

This is why neurodivergent people mask. We put on a false face and mimic the behaviour and mannerisms of the people around us like a chameleon, trying desperately not to be noticed and singled out for what we are.

Because some people treat you differently when they find out. It’s as if the person they knew before has disappeared, and they’re talking to a stranger.

And that creates a whole host of new problems because masking isn’t good for our mental health. Neurotypical people hear ‘just be yourself’ their entire lives, but we get ‘don’t be yourself; yourself is weird; be somebody else instead.’

Imagine your entire social experience as one never-ending acting role that you have to keep up with at all times—all day at school and all day at work.

You get home and get to take off the mask for the first time and give yourself a break, but your friends want to go out and have fun. You don’t have the energy, and your friends think you’re blowing them off.

Sometimes, it’s easier not to have friends so you don’t feel like you’re disappointing somebody.

Now, I’ve had time to accept who I am. At this point in my life, I’m not shy about telling people early on that I’m autistic and making it clear that I have boundaries.

Being blunt and unapologetic about it has helped a lot. And I no longer waste my time pandering to people who don’t treat me with dignity and respect.

I won’t waste my energy pretending. I’m not going to sacrifice my mental health trying to make everybody else feel more comfortable around me.

If you don’t like me for me, buzz off. I don’t want you around me anyway.

I’m not bending over backward to accommodate you when you don’t even give me the bare minimum of tolerance. Been there, done that, got the two years of burnout, depression, and anxiety.

I’d strongly encourage all of my neurodivergent friends out there to do the same. Kicking toxic people to the curb is the most liberating feeling there is.

Cultivate a friend group that understands your needs and won’t take it personally if you need space. Find people who get you, accept you, and are willing to make an effort not to make you uncomfortable.

I found my people. I hope you can, too.

Solidarity wins.