“I don’t know who I would be if I wasn’t autistic.”

My name is Alice, and I am a peer tutor at the Brighton and Hove Recovery College – which means I co-teach courses and workshops on different things that can help support your mental health. I’m also autistic. 

I wasn’t diagnosed with autism until I was 19—when I was growing up, autism was a dirty word. My primary school teachers suggested I be assessed, but my parents felt that a label of autism would ruin my life. Their only frame of reference was films like Rain Man and stereotypes of little boys who love trains and never talk. I’m not sure they’d ever knowingly met an autistic person. The media plays on parents’ fears—just look at the website for Autism Speaks. There’s this idea that autistic people are a burden or that our lives are not worth living, with misinformation about vaccines or bad parenting causing autism. 

When I was diagnosed, I felt nothing but relief. It’s incredibly lonely growing up knowing you are different but not understanding why things are harder for you than your friends. I felt broken. Learning that I am autistic helped me understand who I am. That’s why I prefer to say ‘I am autistic’ rather than ‘I have autism.’ It’s not something I can separate from myself. 

Autism is genetic, and there’s nothing anyone can do to prevent it. There’s no cure—and even if there were, I’m not sure I would take it. I don’t know who I would be if I wasn’t autistic. Every autistic person is different, and the things we find difficult vary. Some don’t need much support, while others need care all their lives. A common misconception is that all autistic people have a learning disability—the figure is actually 30%. 

Another myth is that the spectrum is a line from ‘not autistic’ to ‘very autistic.’ The spectrum is more like a colour wheel, where autistic traits vary in degree from person to person. Some autistic people find verbal communication difficult but tolerate loud environments, while others speak fluently but struggle with executive function. The main challenges autistic people face fall into three categories: social communication, social interaction, and restricted and repetitive behaviours. 

Social communication challenges mean we may interpret language literally, struggle with ambiguity, and find nonverbal cues like tone and body language difficult. Social interaction difficulties mean we might struggle with social norms, conversation flow, or adapting speech to different audiences. This leads to something called the Double Empathy Problem—the idea that communication barriers exist not because autistic or neurotypical people are doing anything wrong but because we have different styles of interaction. 

Autistic people often prefer rules and routines and can struggle with change. This rigidity extends to thinking—we often see things in black and white. Sensory processing differences are common; many autistic people are hypersensitive or hyposensitive to sensory input. I find loud noises and crowds overwhelming but struggle to notice hunger or pain. 

A key part of sensory differences is stimming (self-stimulatory behaviour)—repetitive movements like rocking or chewing on a necklace. Everyone stims to some extent; tapping your foot or clicking a pen is stimming. Autistic people just stim more. Stimming helps regulate sensory input, emotions, and stress. It usually isn’t harmful and shouldn’t be stopped unless it’s causing injury. 

Autism is a ‘dynamic’ condition, meaning challenges fluctuate based on stress, tiredness, and hunger. When I’m overwhelmed, even small things become difficult. People sometimes assume fluctuating support needs mean someone is ‘faking,’ making it harder to ask for help. 

But for all the challenges, there are strengths too. I see the world differently, which makes me creative and good at problem-solving. I’m direct, honest, and loyal, which makes me a great friend. I struggle to recognise passive aggression—frustrating for those trying to be rude to me! I can hyperfocus, leading to bursts of extreme productivity. My ‘lack of social awareness’ means I stand up for what I believe in without fear of consequences. I am hyper-empathetic, and I know what it’s like to struggle in a world not designed for you. 

Knowing I am autistic helped me access the right support. It gave me permission to say no to things I had been forcing myself to do. It allowed me to find ways to make things easier—like wearing ear defenders at a concert or using fidget toys in a meeting. It meant I could ask for reasonable accommodations at work and gave me a way to explain why I might act differently. Most importantly, I found a community of people like me. 

Did you know that in the UK, 1% of the population is autistic? That’s 700,000 people—and that doesn’t include undiagnosed individuals. Diagnosis rates are rising as we better understand autism. The way we think about autism is changing—today, we use the neurodiversity paradigm, which views autism not as a deficit but as a different way of thinking. Neurodiversity includes conditions like ADHD. It simply means your brain works differently from the majority. Many believe Albert Einstein, Nikola Tesla, Charles Darwin, and Emily Dickinson were autistic. Our unique way of thinking allows us to see connections others don’t and challenge popular opinions. 

The truth is, many difficulties autistic people face come from how the world is designed rather than from autism itself. This is known as the social model of disability. Imagine a wheelchair user trying to enter a building with steps but no ramp. Are they disabled by their inability to walk or by the lack of a ramp? If the world were designed for wheelchair users, people who walk might struggle. Similarly, if the majority of people were autistic, neurotypical people would be the ones struggling to be understood. 

For Neurodiversity Celebration Week, think about how you can make your service more accessible. Talk to autistic employees or clients and truly listen. Too often, these efforts are just box-ticking exercises, and autistic voices are talked over by people who assume they know best. The only way to change public perception of autism is to listen to autistic people and build a more inclusive future. If my mum had heard from an autistic person what autism is really like, she wouldn’t have been so scared all those years ago.