There is one question I have asked for a long time, and the more I look into it, the more it exposes just how deep the stigma around autism still runs.

Someone can say, “I’m dyslexic,” and in most everyday situations that information is accepted. You cannot see dyslexia simply by looking at somebody. A dyslexic person may read books, write professionally, achieve academically, run a business or communicate extremely well. People do not normally study everything that a person can do and then use it as evidence that they cannot possibly be dyslexic.

The response is very different when someone says, “I’m autistic.”

Suddenly, everything about that person can be examined. Eye contact, conversation, relationships, employment, parenthood, travelling, attending events or speaking confidently can all be used to question whether they are really autistic. Instead of those things being recognised as part of who that person is, they are turned into evidence against another part of their identity.

It is as though saying, “I’m autistic,” does not simply give people information about you. It gives them permission to put you on trial.

The person is not really being judged on whether they are autistic. They are being judged on whether they fit somebody else’s poorly defined expectation of what an autistic person is supposed to look like. Those are two completely different things.

THE PROBLEM IS NOT VISIBILITY

The fact that dyslexia is generally accepted without being visible shows that visibility is not the real problem.

You cannot look at somebody and know they are dyslexic. You cannot see the additional processing, the effort involved in reading or writing, the coping strategies they may have developed or the difficulties they have hidden throughout their life. Yet people are usually capable of accepting that these things may exist beneath the surface.

That same understanding disappears when the word autism is used.

The difference is not that one can be seen and the other cannot. The difference is the meaning society has attached to each word.

Dyslexia is generally understood, even if only at a basic level, as something that may affect reading, writing, spelling or processing. Autism is treated as though it tells people everything about somebody’s intelligence, personality, empathy, behaviour, independence, communication and ability to have relationships.

People hear the word autistic and immediately bring their own expectations into the conversation. When the autistic person does not match those expectations, it is normally the person who is questioned rather than the expectations themselves.

A person can have been assessed by professionals, lived with the impact throughout their entire life and spent years trying to understand themselves. Yet somebody who knows very little about autism can still look at them for a few minutes and decide that something does not add up.

Their limited understanding is somehow placed above the autistic person’s professional diagnosis and entire lived experience.

THIS IS NOT A COMPETITION BETWEEN NEURODIVERGENT PEOPLE

I am not suggesting that dyslexic people are always understood or that they never experience discrimination, embarrassment or a lack of support. Dyslexic people can be mocked, underestimated and treated as though difficulties with reading or writing reflect their intelligence. Research involving adults with dyslexia has described humiliation, anxiety, low self-esteem, fear around disclosure and a strong desire to be understood and accepted.

This is not about creating a competition between neurodivergent people or deciding who experiences the greatest level of difficulty.

My point is very specific.

When somebody says they are dyslexic, they are generally not expected to prove it through every part of their behaviour. People do not usually examine their relationships, facial expressions, personality, ability to travel or confidence in a room to decide whether their dyslexia is believable.

Autistic people are scrutinised in a much broader and more personal way. It is not only what we find difficult that is judged. Everything we are capable of doing can also be used against us.

WHAT THE RESEARCH SHOWS

A pilot study involving high-school students directly measured stigma towards autism, ADHD and dyslexia. The researchers found that stigma towards autism was significantly higher than stigma towards dyslexia before the students took part in a neurodiversity education programme.

The study was small, with 19 young people providing consent and fewer completing every stage, so it does not represent every person in society. What makes it important is that autism and dyslexia were measured directly alongside each other and there was a clear difference in how they were viewed.

After the programme, knowledge of autism improved and autism stigma reduced. The programme included neurodivergent people and focused on understanding neurodiversity, rather than only teaching people a list of medical characteristics. This shows that these attitudes are not unavoidable. When people receive better education and neurodivergent voices are properly included, understanding can change.

The study may be small, but it supports something autistic people already recognise through lived experience. Autism carries a different level of judgement.

A separate UK study looked at misconceptions about autism, dyslexia, ADHD and other neurodevelopmental conditions among 366 members of the general public and 203 people working in education. The researchers found that both groups believed a similar number of myths about neurodevelopmental conditions. Working within education did not automatically mean that somebody had a more accurate understanding.

That should concern everyone.

Teachers and other education professionals can have an enormous influence on how neurodivergent children understand themselves, the support they receive and the expectations placed upon them. Yet being in a professional role does not automatically remove stereotypes or outdated beliefs.

A lack of knowledge also does not always lead people to recognise that they do not know enough. With autism, people can know very little while remaining extremely confident that they would recognise it.

Someone may have no understanding of masking, sensory processing, autistic burnout, fluctuating capacity or how differently autism can present between individuals. Despite that, they still believe they can look at another person and decide whether they appear autistic enough.

That is not knowledge. It is confidence built around a stereotype.

The autistic person may have been assessed by professionals, lived with the impact throughout their entire life and spent years understanding their own mind. Someone who has known them for five minutes can still feel entitled to tell them that they do not look autistic, seem fine, make too much eye contact or are nothing like another autistic person they know.

The autistic person’s entire life is placed below somebody else’s limited expectation.

AUTISM IS STILL JUDGED FROM THE OUTSIDE

Research into diagnostic disclosure shows that not being believed is a real and recurring experience for autistic adults.

A 2025 UK study involving 12 adults diagnosed as autistic later in life found that other people’s preconceptions could lead to disbelief, unmet support needs and greater caution around disclosing in the future. One of the main themes identified by the researchers was the negative effect of preconceptions, including disbelief and the feeling of being treated like an imposter.

Other research has explored the impact of the phrase “You don’t look autistic,” particularly among autistic women whose presentation did not match narrow and often gendered ideas of autism.

The problem with judging autism from the outside is that the observer only sees the finished presentation.

They do not see the conversation that has been rehearsed repeatedly beforehand. They do not see the effort involved in controlling facial expressions, tone of voice or eye contact. They do not see sensory overload before it reaches the point where the person can no longer hide it. They do not see the hours or days of recovery that may follow an event.

They also do not see the difference between being able to do something once and being able to do it safely, consistently and without a serious cost.

People see the event but not what it took for the person to get there. They see the conversation but not the preparation beforehand. They see somebody appearing calm without seeing what is happening internally.

Autism is judged from the outside, and that judgement is then treated as more reliable than the autistic person describing what is happening inside them.

WE ARE NOT ONLY SCRUTINISED. WE ARE ALSO INSULTED.

The response does not always stop at disbelief.

Autistic people can be mocked, insulted or accused of using autism as an excuse. We can be called dramatic, rude, difficult or attention-seeking. We can be accused of exaggerating our needs, following a trend or using a diagnosis to avoid responsibility.

Research examining autism disclosure through social media found autistic people reporting that their identity had been questioned, with others believing they were lying or pretending to be autistic for attention. The researchers concluded that autistic people experience the impact of society’s poor understanding, whether they disclose their autism or remain silent.

This means an autistic person is not only expected to prove they are autistic. They may also be made to feel ashamed or dishonest for saying it out loud.

That is much more than a simple lack of awareness – It is degrading.

When somebody does not fit the stereotype, the response is not always that society’s understanding of autism must be incomplete. The response can be that the autistic person is lying, attention-seeking or using their diagnosis for some kind of personal advantage.

The person explaining their experience becomes the target, while the ignorance behind the response remains unchallenged. The insult is then added to whatever that person was already trying to manage.

Only the other day, after I was honest about how much I was struggling and explained that I needed time alone to recover before an event, I was told, “Life’s not always about you.”

I was not asking for life to be about me. I was explaining what was happening to me and why I needed time to regulate so that I could continue with everything that was still expected of me.

Somehow, even that was turned into selfishness.

That one comment says a great deal about the barrier autistic people face when we try to speak honestly. We are constantly told that we need to communicate our needs, explain how we feel and ask for support. Yet when we do exactly that, we can be made to feel dramatic, demanding or as though we believe everything should revolve around us.

The comment also completely ignores what many autistic people are already doing for everyone else. It ignores the effort involved in masking, attending, coping, managing other people’s expectations and trying not to make our own difficulties somebody else’s problem.

We may already be pushing ourselves far beyond what is safe because we do not want to let other people down. Then, when we finally explain that we are struggling, the response can still be that we are thinking only about ourselves.

This is not empathy.

It is another message telling the autistic person that their needs are inconvenient and their honesty is a burden.

Comments like this do not encourage autistic people to communicate more. They teach us that being honest can be used against us. They make us more likely to stay quiet, withdraw and manage everything alone because silence can begin to feel safer than being misunderstood again.

Society then looks at the isolation experienced by autistic people and treats it as though it simply appeared as part of autism. It rarely considers how much of that isolation may develop after years of being dismissed, judged or insulted whenever the person tries to explain what is happening.

WHEN SPEAKING BECOMES ANOTHER RISK

When autistic people repeatedly receive the message that our needs are too much, that explaining them is selfish and that other people do not want to hear what we are carrying, it should not be surprising that some of us stop speaking.

This does not always mean that the difficulty has gone away. It may simply mean that the person no longer feels safe enough to share it.

They may continue attending, working, parenting, supporting others and appearing to cope, while dealing with everything alone. To the outside world, this silence can look like independence or resilience. Internally, the person may be becoming increasingly isolated.

Research has linked loneliness and reduced social support in autistic adults with poorer mental health, depression and suicidal thoughts. This does not mean that isolation has one simple cause, but it does show that meaningful connection and support matter.

We also cannot talk about the high levels of suicidality among autistic people without a co-occurring learning disability, meaning intellectual disability, as though those figures exist separately from the lives people are being forced to live.

A 2023 systematic review and meta-analysis confirmed that suicidal thoughts and behaviour are highly prevalent among autistic and possibly autistic people without a co-occurring intellectual disability.

Other research has found that camouflaging and unmet support needs significantly predicted suicidality in autistic adults.

I am not suggesting that one insensitive comment causes somebody to take their own life. Suicide is far more complex than that, and it would be irresponsible to reduce it to one experience.

I am saying that repeated experiences of being disbelieved, shamed, isolated and made to feel like a burden cannot be treated as irrelevant.

When autistic people repeatedly hear that their needs are selfish, their struggles are exaggerated and their honesty is difficult for everyone else, those messages can become part of the environment they are trying to survive within.

Society cannot continually close the door when autistic people try to communicate and then act confused when they become isolated.

We cannot keep questioning why autistic people stop speaking without also looking at what happens when they try.

JUDGED WHEN IT IS VISIBLE AND DISBELIEVED WHEN IT IS HIDDEN

Masking creates an impossible situation.

Many autistic people learn to hide or suppress autistic characteristics because showing them can lead to bullying, punishment, rejection or exclusion. We may force eye contact, rehearse conversations, copy the behaviour of others, control our movements or hide distress until we reach somewhere safer.

A study involving 277 autistic adults found that many masked because of society’s lack of autism awareness and acceptance. Participants connected camouflaging with exhaustion, isolation, poorer mental and physical health, loss of identity and unrealistic expectations from other people.

Some participants felt that masking helped them enter social spaces or protect themselves from harm, but the amount of time spent doing it was described as particularly damaging.

This leaves autistic people trapped.

When our differences are visible, we can be judged, mocked or told to control ourselves. When we successfully hide those differences, we can be told that we cannot possibly be autistic.

Society pressures autistic people to appear less autistic and then questions our autism when we succeed.

The better somebody becomes at masking, the less likely other people may be to believe that support is needed. People reward the performance and ignore the cost.

The person is expected to hide what they experience, praised for appearing to cope and then refused understanding because the hiding was successful.

There is no way to win within that system.

SOCIETY ALREADY UNDERSTANDS HIDDEN SUFFERING

If somebody explains that they are struggling because a member of their family has died, most people do not begin studying their behaviour to decide whether they look bereaved enough.

A person is not normally told that they cannot possibly be grieving because they smiled, went to work, attended an event, laughed with somebody or managed to hold a conversation.

Most people understand that grief does not have one visible presentation. Someone may smile, work, speak confidently, care for their children or support other people while still carrying enormous pain beneath the surface.

We accept that what somebody shows publicly may not tell us everything they are experiencing privately.

This comparison is not suggesting that grief and autism are the same. They are not. It shows the difference in how willing society is to believe somebody’s account of what is happening inside them.

When somebody says they are grieving, we generally accept that they know what they are carrying. When an autistic person says they are overwhelmed, exhausted or struggling to communicate, people can decide whether they agree based on how that person appears from the outside.

The fact that somebody appeared fine yesterday, spoke to people at an event or made eye contact does not tell us what that experience cost them.

The observer’s brief view should never be considered more reliable than the autistic person’s actual experience.

We already understand that people can carry things we cannot see. The problem is that this understanding is not being applied equally to autism.

STIGMA IS NOT JUST AN OFFENSIVE COMMENT

Comments such as “You don’t look autistic” or “Life’s not always about you” can be dismissed as one person speaking without thinking, but comments like these do not exist in isolation.

They are part of a much wider pattern in which autistic people are questioned, misinterpreted and expected to prove their difficulties before they are taken seriously.

A major review of autism stigma found that public and professional knowledge, stereotypes, the interpretation of autistic characteristics and decisions around disclosure all play a part in how stigma is created and experienced.

The review connected autism stigma with poorer mental and physical health, reduced social connection and increased masking.

This means the problem is not just one insulting comment. It can affect whether somebody feels safe enough to disclose, whether they ask for adjustments, whether their difficulties are believed and how much of themselves they feel forced to hide.

It can influence education, healthcare, employment, relationships and access to support.

Autistic people are often told that we need to communicate our needs more clearly. When we explain those needs, we can be questioned because we communicated too well. When we disclose, we may be judged. When we stay silent, our behaviour may be misunderstood.

The responsibility remains on the autistic person to find the perfect words, deliver them in the perfect way and reveal enough private suffering to make other people believe them.

That is not acceptance. It is conditional belief.

The autistic person is only accepted when their presentation is close enough to what the listener already believes autism means.

SOCIETY ADDS TO THE SUFFERING

Autism may shape how a person processes sensory information, communicates or responds to the world, but many of the pressures surrounding that person are created outside them.

The sensory difference may be neurological, but refusing to make an environment accessible is a societal choice. The communication difference may be autistic, but mocking or constantly misinterpreting that communication is a societal response.

The person may have fluctuating capacity, but expecting them to perform at exactly the same level every day is a social expectation. The person may need support, but forcing them to repeatedly prove their difficulties before receiving it is a decision made by systems and other people.

Research defining autistic burnout described it as chronic exhaustion, loss of skills and reduced tolerance to sensory input. The researchers linked it to chronic life stress and a repeated mismatch between expectations and somebody’s abilities or capacity without adequate support.

Participants described serious consequences for their health, independence and quality of life. Acceptance, social support, reduced expectations and being able to live in a more authentically autistic way were identified as important parts of prevention and recovery.

That is why society’s response cannot be treated as separate from autistic suffering.

The person may experience the burnout, but the constant pressure to mask is social. The person may experience the overload, but the inaccessible environment is external. The person may reach breaking point, but years of being questioned, dismissed and forced to continue have added to what they are carrying.

Research repeatedly points towards the effects of poor acceptance, a lack of support and environments that are badly matched to neurodivergent people. The neurodiversity study comparing autism and dyslexia also recognised that poorer wellbeing may be connected not simply to neurodivergence itself, but to poor social acceptance, insufficient support and the pressure created by environments that do not fit the person.

This does not mean that every difficulty associated with autism would disappear if society became more accepting. Autism can involve significant internal, sensory, physical and communication difficulties that require real support.

But society can either reduce those difficulties or make them considerably worse.

At the moment, it too often makes them worse and then places responsibility for the consequences entirely on the autistic person.

SOCIETY HAS A RESPONSIBILITY TO CHANGE

Autistic and other neurodivergent people may need support, adjustments and strategies that help us live safely and manage the world around us. Support should not mean teaching somebody to quietly tolerate environments and attitudes that continue to harm them.

It should not mean forcing the individual to carry full responsibility for overcoming barriers they did not create.

Autistic people did not create the stereotypes used against us. We did not create the belief that autism has one recognisable appearance. We did not build systems that only respond when somebody’s distress becomes impossible to ignore.

We did not decide that a person must expose their most painful and private experiences before they deserve to be believed.

Those are societal problems, and society has a responsibility to change them.

This requires much more than awareness campaigns giving people a short list of autistic characteristics. People need to understand masking, fluctuating capacity, sensory differences, burnout and the cost of constantly being forced to present in a way that makes other people comfortable.

Being able to communicate does not remove communication difficulties. Eye contact does not disprove autism. Achievement does not remove disability. Attending an event does not tell you what happened before it or what recovery will be needed afterwards.

Appearing calm does not show what is happening internally.

Saying that you are struggling is not asking for life to be entirely about you. It is communicating something important before the situation becomes even worse.

Most importantly, a person should not have to visibly fall apart before their account of their own experience is taken seriously.

THE QUESTION SOCIETY SHOULD BE ASKING

My original question is simple.

“I’m dyslexic” is generally received as information, while “I’m autistic” is too often treated as something that must be inspected, questioned and sometimes insulted.

The research supports the much bigger issue behind that observation. It shows that autism carries measurable stigma, that misconceptions remain common, including among people working in education, and that autistic adults can experience disbelief after disclosure.

It also shows that social pressure contributes to masking, that masking can seriously affect wellbeing and that the gap between society’s expectations and an autistic person’s capacity can contribute to burnout.

Research into suicidality also makes it impossible to treat unmet support needs, camouflaging, isolation and social attitudes as unimportant side issues. They are part of a much bigger picture that society has a responsibility to take seriously.

The issue is not simply that autism cannot always be seen. Dyslexia cannot necessarily be seen either.

The difference is that people appear more willing to accept dyslexia without believing they should be able to recognise it on sight. With autism, many people still believe their own limited expectations are more reliable than the diagnosed person’s life.

That response tells us far more about society’s understanding of autism than it does about the autistic person.

We need to stop judging whether autistic people fit our expectations and begin questioning where those expectations came from. They remain far too narrow despite everything research and lived experience continue to tell us.

Autistic people should not have to explain and defend themselves again and again while society continues to avoid educating itself properly.

We should not be encouraged to speak, only to be insulted when we do.

We should not be told to communicate our needs and then accused of making everything about ourselves when we try.

The person experiencing the suffering may need support, but they cannot remain responsible for changing every attitude, environment and system that adds to it.

Autistic people are not failing to fit society’s understanding.

Society’s understanding is still failing autistic people.

RESEARCH REFERENCED

Au-Yeung, S. K., Freeth, M., and Thompson, A. R. (2025). ‘Am I gonna regret this?’: The experiences of diagnostic disclosure in autistic adults. Autism, 29(8), 2181–2192.

Bradley, L., Shaw, R., Baron-Cohen, S., and Cassidy, S. (2021). Autistic adults’ experiences of camouflaging and its perceived impact on mental health. Autism in Adulthood, 3(4), 320–329.

Cassidy, S., Bradley, L., Shaw, R., and Baron-Cohen, S. (2018). Risk markers for suicidality in autistic adults. Molecular Autism, 9, 42.

Edwards, C., Love, A. M. A., Jones, S. C., Cai, R. Y., Nguyen, B. T. H., and Gibbs, V. (2024). ‘Most people have no idea what autism is’: Unpacking autism disclosure using social media analysis. Autism, 28(5), 1107–1119.

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