I’m Autistic but I Don’t Need to be “Cured”

When my parents told me I had autism spectrum disorder, it was just a formality. All of my brothers had already been diagnosed, and given that I spent more time at school in my own head than I did interacting with the people around me, it was pretty damn obvious.

I remember shrugging, even laughing, at the news, then tucking back into whichever Jacqueline Wilson book I was hyperfixated on at the time.

Words like ‘autism’ and ‘Asperger’s’ were thrown around as frequently in my house as phrases like ‘good morning’ or ‘Where is the remote control?’.

As picking my younger brother up from his specialist school became a normal diversion of my daily routine, I was used to being around autism. I knew a hell of a lot more than most about what it meant, how it affected people and what ‘triggers’ to avoid. On the surface, I was pretty accustomed to autism being at the centre of my family’s life.

But every so often, after particularly lonely playtimes or classmates who commented on how ‘weird’ I was, I’d Google “Is there any cure for autism?”

Google replied with a resounding ‘no’, but it was a question that popped up in my mind often. More than I’d like to admit. How much easier would life be if I could purge the parts of myself that make it hard to talk to people, to concentrate, to catch a ball or even write in a straight line?

Even now, I’m proud of being neurodivergent but I can’t help wondering how much easier my life would be if I could claw the autistic parts of myself away.

The parts that might make me prone to silly mistakes, slow to process things or too burnt out to function after a week or two of artificially engineering every micro-movement involved in a face-to-face interaction. I exhausted myself by avoiding standing out. 

It’s probably not great for my career – as a person who writes about autism – to admit that I still feel ashamed sometimes, but it’s true.

Sometimes it can take just an infantilising comment, or seeing that all-too-familiar placid pity in someone’s eyes to remind me that when I see a neurodivergency, they see a neurodeficiency.

Autistic people are typically seen either as being built differently or being broken. What makes this viewpoint increasingly troubling and dangerous is the fact that there are people within the autism community: parents, teachers, doctors and even charities – that view autistic people this way.

Charities like Autism Speaks receive millions in funding, yet they continually ‘research’ into how to de-autism your child, while doctors sell a twisted fairytale about purging the autism from your child with Pavlov-veiled abuse. 

Parents of autistic children often appear on TV and podcasts (usually for a nice fee, too) ‘grieving’ the ‘normal’ child they could have had before they were lumbered with their autistic disappointment.

And that’s on the lighter end of the spectrum – other parents try to feed their children bleach or snake oils or avoid getting them vaccinated because God knows that they would rather their child die of measles than even entertain the possibility that they might end up autistic. 

Ultimately, autistic people have been framed to appear incapable of normal, independent lives. Autistic people are expected to live in their bubbles forever, isolated from society while also being considered a hindrance to it.

But this isn’t the reality.  

Being autistic does not mean that I’m broken. It’s taken me a long time to realise that. Even now, at 23, I still have my moments of insecurity. 

I might experience life slightly differently than some people, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t fulfilling. I’m studying for my Master’s, work a part-time job, I freelance write, and I live on my own.

I even volunteer for a charity and I actually have a pretty solid support network of friends: people who are well aware of my autism and like me. Not despite my autism or even because of it. They just like me.

Unfortunately, not everyone is as kind and understanding towards autism as my friends are. Some areas of society even think that we are better off trying to separate the autism from the person.

An old housemate of mine even made a snarky comment at me once, complaining she couldn’t tell where my autism ended and my real personality began. But, autism cannot be approached as simply as that. 

Advocating for an end to autism verges uncomfortably close to eugenics – the practice of trying to breed out characteristics that a particular elite group deem undesirable – which is utterly abhorrent. 

So, guys, put down your bleach bottles, keep vaccinating your children, and for your own dignity, stop snivelling on podcasts. I promise you that being autistic isn’t a life sentence. It’s just life. And I shouldn’t have to beg you to respect that.

Autism isn’t a broken leg or a common cold. It’s an integral part of my mind and, in turn, what makes me me. It’s taken me a long time to like myself, and to be honest; it’s a journey that is still in progress.

That’s precisely why it is so disheartening and damaging to mine and so many other autistic people’s self-esteem to think that so many people out there see our existence as some kind of tragedy that needs to be “cured”.

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