14/06/2025
The side of Autism we are afraid to talk about
In February, I went to Phoenix and helped lead a series of autism workshops. We explored ways to support families through energetic medicine and holistic approaches. I came back inspired—pages and pages of ideas poured out of me, filled with hope about how we might ease the burden on families living with autism every day.
But as I’ve tried to find where this work fits into the broader “autism space,” I’ve run into a wall. That space has become increasingly hard to navigate—full of well-intentioned people, yes, but also fraught with fear of saying the wrong thing. It often feels like we’re all tip toeing on eggshells, trying not to offend anyone. The conversation around autism has shifted, and not always in a way that leaves room for the full, difficult truth.
We now understand autism as a spectrum, which is progress. Many of us remember the quirky kids we grew up with—the ones who were shy or literal. Today, we call many of those traits “autistic.” And in some cases, rightly so. But autism isn’t simply about being quirky or socially different. There’s a wide gap between a highly verbal adult discovering they’re autistic at 45 and a non-verbal child who is unable to communicate, self-regulate, or even keep themselves safe.
There are individuals with autism who become brilliant scientists, artists, accountants, and entrepreneurs. But there are also children who will never speak, who scream for hours, who bang their heads against walls, who don’t respond to their names or even to pain. Some are so severely dysregulated that they lash out violently, putting their families in danger—not because they are “bad” or “aggressive,” but because their nervous systems are overwhelmed.
And yet, much of our public focus remains on the high-functioning end of the spectrum. The adult who says, “Now I understand why I am the way I am,” is often held up as the new face of autism. Society is encouraged to adapt, to accommodate, to accept—which is a beautiful, necessary goal. But at the same time, we’ve largely stopped talking about the children and families who are in crisis every single day. The ones who can’t take their child to a supermarket, let alone integrate them into a mainstream classroom.
I’ve seen children who are completely non-verbal, who show no emotional reciprocity, no response to visual cues, and no understanding of danger or pain. They are not just “different”—they are deeply vulnerable, and so are their families. These are the children we don’t like to talk about, because their needs don’t fit easily into our feel-good narratives about neurodiversity.
We need to make space for all experiences of autism. Yes, celebrate the strengths. Yes, accommodate the differences. But also recognize the depth of need at the severe end of the spectrum—and the toll it takes on families who are fighting every day for support, safety, and dignity.
I believe in the work I went to Phoenix to do, there is room for energy work, holistic support, and community care in the autism space. But before we can help, we need to be honest. We need to acknowledge the full spectrum—not just the parts that are easier to talk about.
Autism is not one story. It never has been. But it’s time we told all of them.
Sending love to all the families out there
Xo
