Learning From My Autistic Daughter

As I shared a couple of weeks ago, when my adult daughter was diagnosed with Level 1 autism, I had to face an uncomfortable realization: I had held implicit biases around what an autistic person looks like. I’ve been talking with my daughter about it ever since. 

“Many assume that autistic people present in a certain way,” she said. “People who know me are surprised—like, ‘You're autistic? Really?’ The spectrum is wide and people often think in stereotypes. Autistic people and their needs vary as much as anyone else.” 

She told me a saying: “If you meet one autistic person, you've met one autistic person.” 

“You may or may not already have interacted with different autistic people throughout your life,” she reminded me. “You could be meeting autistic people all the time who you just think are quirky or slightly different than you. You could be autistic and not know that about yourself.”

I told her I was sorry I had failed to recognize this diagnosis in her needs as a child.

“Even some professional psychologists diagnose autism based on a narrow set of characteristics,” she  continued. “Although the diagnostic criteria is based on deficits from an allistic perspective”—allistic is a term for people who are not autistic—”we have a lot of strengths as well.”

She said that, even though it would have been nice to have gotten diagnosed earlier, she was grateful for her upbringing.

“You didn't realize your daughter was autistic, but you recognized, validated, and accommodated my unique needs. You didn't have further knowledge about autism, but you respected me as a whole person, even as a child. Many autistic people realize that they are autistic from being made to feel different and less than, by their peers, their parents, or both. Even though I was diagnosed later on, I'm glad I had a family that loved me just the way I am."

She also told me about the “social model of disability,” a term coined by academic and disability rights activist Mike Oliver. She explained that we call autism and ADHD “disabilities” mostly to acknowledge that the world makes those neurological differences “disabling.” 

“In a different context,” she said, “people who have those conditions wouldn't face the same challenges or be considered ‘lesser.’ In a different culture, they might thrive, and a neurotypical person might struggle.” 

Maya summed up: “The only reason why I am being diagnosed at the ripe old age of 28, practically 29, is because the world is not as validating and accommodating as my family.” 

Whatever stereotypes I may have picked up over the years, my maternal instinct was right: Maya is unique and perfect. I learn what she needs as an individual, it feels natural to accommodate what makes her special. 

Then it doesn’t even feel like accommodation. It just feels like love. 

In professional spaces, that means less judging—based on how we think the majority behaves—and more accepting and valuing the strengths of each person.