Dear reader,
I’ve spent the last three days in a bit of a fugue state. I feel exhausted. My normally upbeat temperament has instead been frustrated with every little inconvenience. Around 6:00 PM, when my Vyvanse wears off and tiredness really grips my soul, my head is suddenly overwhelmed with catastrophizing and self-criticism.
“You’re going to fail, end up with no money, and shame everyone you know,” my mind ceaselessly parrots. No matter how much work I accomplish during the day, it’s never enough. My depression’s been flaring up all week, particularly in the evening.
I can almost hear my internal narrator (whom I imagine as the voice of famous actor Boris Karloff in How the Grinch Stole Christmas), saying “it could be that the A/C at her apartment complex is permanently set at 79 degrees. It could be that she hasn’t hung out with other autistic people in days. It could be the lack of groceries in her fridge. But,” he says, “the most likely reason of all was that Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.’s heart was 30 sizes too small.”
Ever since alleged sex pestexternal link, opens in a new tab Robert F. Kennedy Jr. was confirmed to serve as the Secretary of Health and Human Services in February 2025, dehumanization of autistic people has been central to his tenure. It’s all part-and-parcel of president Donald Trump’s larger plan to further marginalize folks who aren’t cis-het, white, able-bodied men (see also: the administration’s attitudes towards trans folks, immigrants, Palestinians, and many others).
As early as 2015, Kennedy was calling increased autism diagnoses “a holocaustexternal link, opens in a new tab.”
This makes it no surprise that, two months into his Secretary of Health and Human Services tenure, Kennedy held a horrific press conferenceexternal link, opens in a new tab where he spread misinformation about how autism appears in children and made sensational claims like “autism destroys families.” Five months later, Kennedy and Trump led a press conference where they claimed mothers taking Tylenolexternal link, opens in a new tab was the reason for increased autism (it always comes back to blaming women with these people). Outlets like Mother Jonesexternal link, opens in a new tab called the event a “eugenicist autism conference” that focused on how Trump, Kennedy, and their allies framed autism as something to eliminate.
I’m a 29-year-old autistic woman who’s been through the wringer of life. On paper, I should be able to laugh off a bunch of fools spewing nonsensical rhetoric as just absurdity that washes off my back. What’s sad, though, is that I know this ableism and dehumanization of autistic people isn’t just limited to these hateful people. When I was a kid (who was diagnosed with autism at age three), I constantly saw bumper stickers on cars reading, “think autism, think cure.” What a horrible concept. For the record, adhering to the idea that there’s only one proper way a brain functions is incredibly ableist. Everyone’s mind is different, dehumanizing one particular form is just cruel.
When I went to speech therapists or other childhood professionals, there was an underlying intent (intentionally or not) of making me look or think neurotypically. I have trouble stimming now as an adult because of all those regimens designed to erase autistic behavior from my everyday demeanor.
Decades later, in my time working at a Walgreen’s cash register, I encountered a woman who was purchasing lots of tape for her young son. He was autistic and wielded a special love of tape. Even after I happily exclaimed, “Hey, I’m autistic too!,” this woman, without blinking, nonchalantly said, “Yeah, I call him my ‘damaged child’ because he was normal before they shot him up with vaccines.”
That poor kid growing up in a household where his mom views him with contempt and ableism. Autistic people of all ages deserve better.
Especially since I know how rampant this ignorant behavior is, all these cruel comments dehumanizing autistic people have wounded me. They’ve inspired a grey cloud over my head this week, in particular. I already spent so much of my childhood ashamed of who I was. I even engaged in ableism myself, refusing to be seen or interact with students designated as those with special needs at my middle or high school just so I could pass as “normal.” The next generation of autistic folks should have it easier, not endure even more damaging rhetoric coming out of the mouths of the country’s most prolific faces.
I don’t have a cure for this. God knows there’s only so much energy in a day, and autistic folks have much better things to do than use those finite resources to correct every ableist thing emerging from people’s mouths. All I can do is tell you, autistic readers, what I wish somebody had told me when I was young: you’re not alone, you don’t need to be cured, and you and your brain are more than enough.
I hope you know that you’re especially not a burden. That’s a word – burden – I kept using to describe myself growing up. My need for assistance or printed-off versions of instructions for certain classes or inability to accomplish certain motor skill-based functions inspired me to stare into the mirror and dub the woman looking back one word: burden. That’s the vision of autistic people RFK is spreading, but it’s not true. You’re not a burden. I’m not a burden. Everybody needs help in all walks of life, not just autistic people. We’re fools to deny it or stigmatize others for that reality. In fact, helping each other should be a vital facet of all communities, autistic or otherwise. Nobody should have to navigate this nightmare world alone.
Here’s another little secret from an autistic soul who’s endured a lot: you don’t have to be extraordinary or change the world every day to be valid or matter. I know there are posters or banners that say, “Autism is my superpower,” or TV shows equating autism with being super-intelligent. Those things might make you feel like a loser just for being an average person. Nothing could be further from the truth. You don’t have to be “superpowered” or an operating surgeon to be a legitimate autistic soul. Autism comes in endless shapes and sizes among ordinary people.
Just existing, getting up in the morning, and being you makes our planet a little bit brighter. RFK and his cronies have a rigid, harmful view of what constitutes a worthy life. Autistic people don’t have to fulfill a quota of usefulness every day to justify their existence. You exist and that’s a good thing all by itself. I wish I’d been told that earlier, because it’s the truth for all of us, in as well as outside the autistic community.
Have another pearl of wisdom on me, dear autistic reader: you’re not wrong for thinking certain fictional representations of autism or news coverage of autism are offensive. When you try relaying these feelings to many neurotypical people, they’ll immediately leap to the defense of The Big Bang Theory or The New York Times. They’ll bellow, “Why must you be sensitive?”, but your perspective is justified.
We should all recognize how the dehumanization of disabled people is baked into nearly every corner of society, from sitcoms to journalism. Normalizing both anti-vaccine rhetoric and the demonization of autism into just another debate in mainstream media is especially egregious. Turning autism into some horrifying boogeyman that can infect a child if they take vaccines paved the road for the nightmare we’re all existing in today. You can get mad about that! Express all your emotions!
Institutional forces are often not showing up to help autistic people. In many cases, they’re outright dehumanizing us. But here’s another secret of the larger world: there’s a bunch of other autistic people out there. Securing the tolerance and bonds with neurotypical people isn’t your only hope for securing communal joys. It took me until I was 24 years old to learn that reality, which should be plastered on every pamphlet, poster, or conference about autism. Just like queer people don’t have to act like they aren’t queer, and just like immigrants shouldn’t have to dump their own culture to live in a different one, we don’t have to assimilate to neurotypical society. We can experience joy on our own terms and love bonding with and supporting each other. In these spaces, the things that make us different aren’t impetuses for fearmongering or superpowers. They’re just unique flourishes. Everybody (including neurotypical folks) is different. Why not lean into that?
No matter what, we can have each other. That’s not enough to solve all the world’s woes nor systemically ingrained ableism. But just being able to chat and openly talk about life with other autistic people can make existence so much more bearable for us. The rhetoric spewed at the White House lately is all about stigmatizing autism, trying to make it and those of us who are autistic something filthy nobody should talk about. There are spaces and bonds out there, though, where you can connect with other autistic people and finally feel instant camaraderie.
You know what else? RFK, Trump, and everyone else who demonizes autism will never know specifically autistic joys. No matter how much money or power they acquire, they always look miserable. They will never understand that specific euphoria of being a book-obsessed autistic person walking down the halls of a bookstore. Or rubbing your fingers across a texture that’s more pleasing than anything else in the world. Ditto the joyful sensations of finishing your long-scheduled to-do list, wearing your favorite outfit, or bonding with other autistic souls. While these powerful souls whittle away their days spewing hatred, autistic people are out here experiencing unspeakably wonderful forms of joy.
Being autistic is hard. In many ways, it can even be a goddamn nightmare. But those problems aren’t because autism is a defect that needs to be cured. They aren’t about being autistic, period. Much like with being trans, the problems with autistic existence primarily come from living in a society hostile to autistic people, including a ceaseless barrage of dehumanizing government-mandated rhetoric. Without all that outside noise, being autistic usually wouldn’t be a problem at all. That’s the reality of this situation. The humanity and viability of autistic people is not up for debate. It never was. Instead of salivating over the thought of erasing autism, those in power should be making our lives easier through affordable healthcare, increased accessibility, and humanizing, not demonizing autism.
In the middle of all that outside noise, I’ve often defaulted to self-hatred and catastrophizing. After all, it’s much easier to say, “I’m the problem, I’m defective” than to try to catalog and take in the expansive systemic problems that stem from ableism. The same techniques I used to cope with being overwhelmed in third grade sometimes still bubble up in my brain.
But I’m not defective. And neither are you.
We autistic souls don’t have to justify our existence by showcasing our productivity or similarity to neurotypical people. We deserve respect. If we can’t get it from neurotypical people, we’ll provide it for each other. Ditto community bonds and protest actions against the U.S. government’s contempt for autistic souls and the entire disabled community. We are enough. Those are firm truths that no hateful guy and his brainworm can ever take away.
