I’ll never forget the first time someone said to me, “But you don’t look autistic.”
I was at a family gathering, sitting at the edge of a too-loud conversation. My aunt had just heard about my diagnosis. She tilted her head, eyebrows furrowed, and said, “You’re not like those kids on TV. You’re too normal.”
In that moment, I felt invisible. Years of masking, of working twice as hard to fit in, had erased my struggles in her eyes. To her, I wasn’t “autistic enough” to be real.
What Does ‘Not Autistic Enough’ Even Mean?
The idea of “not being autistic enough” comes from stereotypes—rigid, outdated ideas of what autism looks like.
For decades, the media has portrayed autism as something you can spot: the genius who can solve impossible equations but can’t hold a conversation, or the child who doesn’t speak or make eye contact. These depictions are valid, but they’re not the whole picture.
Autism is a spectrum. It’s not about how we “look” or “act”—it’s about how our brains process the world.
A Story About Being Misunderstood
A few months ago, I had a conversation with a coworker that still stings.
We were discussing accessibility in the workplace, and I mentioned needing noise-canceling headphones to concentrate.
She frowned. “But you’re so social. You’re always smiling and chatting. You don’t seem autistic.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I wanted to tell her about the hours I spend recovering after those “social” moments, the meltdowns no one sees, the years I spent perfecting my mask to blend in.
Instead, I just nodded and changed the subject.
Why This Misconception Hurts
- It Invalidates Our Experiences: Just because I don’t fit the stereotype doesn’t mean my struggles aren’t real.
- It Creates Barriers to Support: When people don’t believe you’re autistic, they’re less likely to offer accommodations or understanding.
- It Forces Us to Mask Even More: If we’re not “autistic enough” for others, we feel pressure to hide our true selves to avoid judgment.
What I Wish People Knew
- Autism Looks Different in Everyone: Some of us are outgoing; some of us are quiet. Some of us stim visibly; others mask our stims to avoid stares.
- Masking Doesn’t Mean We’re Fine: Just because I can appear “normal” doesn’t mean I don’t struggle. Masking is exhausting and often comes at a high cost.
- You Don’t Get to Decide What’s ‘Enough’: Autism isn’t a contest. If someone tells you they’re autistic, believe them.
How I’m Learning to Respond
When someone questions my diagnosis or says I’m “not autistic enough,” I’ve started responding with:
- Education: “Autism is a spectrum, so it looks different for everyone. My diagnosis might not match the stereotypes you’ve seen.”
- Boundaries: “I don’t owe you an explanation of my diagnosis.”
- Self-Compassion: I remind myself that their misunderstanding doesn’t invalidate my reality.
Visual Snapshot
I’m writing this from my kitchen table, the scent of fresh coffee wafting through the air. My notebook is open beside me, its pages filled with scribbles and half-formed thoughts. The late afternoon sun streams through the window, casting golden light across the wooden surface.
It’s a moment of clarity and calm—a rare space where I don’t have to explain or prove myself to anyone.
FAQ
Q: Why do people question autism diagnoses?
A: Misconceptions about autism, influenced by media and outdated stereotypes, lead people to believe it must look a certain way.
Q: How should I respond if someone says I don’t seem autistic?
A: You can educate them, set boundaries, or simply choose not to engage. Your diagnosis doesn’t need validation from others.
Q: How can I avoid making someone feel invalidated?
A: Believe them. If someone tells you they’re autistic, trust that they know their own mind better than you do.
Final Thoughts
Being told you’re “not autistic enough” is a painful reminder of how far we still have to go in understanding neurodiversity.
If you’ve ever faced this judgment, know this: your experience is valid. You don’t have to fit someone else’s idea of autism to be deserving of understanding, respect, and support.
And if you’re wondering where I am right now, I’m here—quietly sipping coffee, writing my truth, and reclaiming my space in a world that doesn’t always see me.
