There are a couple of points I’d like to clarify. The first is that while the opinions and interpretations in this book are my own, I’ve engaged in wider research on the experience of others on the autistic spectrum and much of what I say is based on the common experience, not just my own. I recognise, however, that some will have experienced their lives differently and will hold different views. These differences result from personal life experiences and because of how the spectrum works. Mainly, though, the reason for these differences is that autistic people are individuals with brains as complex as every person with a typical (neurotypical) brain.

Second, I wrote this book to educate about autistic adults, not children. Contrary to the beliefs of many – including the first doctor I consulted on my journey to diagnosis – autistic brains are for life and autistic children grow up to become autistic adults. We grow, learn and make progress just as neurotypical people do – even if the rate of that progress is slower. Behaviours and traits in autistic adults, therefore, can follow a recognisable pattern, but don’t always appear the same as autistic children.

I should also point out that I wrote this book to educate about those autistic adults who are without intellectual disability. There’s a common misconception that ‘Autism’ – I loathe that word – is a learning disability. The correct position is that some autistic people have intellectual disabilities just as some neurotypical people have intellectual disabilities, but a lack of intelligence isn’t a marker or requirement for an Autistic Spectrum Disorder (ASD) diagnosis. For this reason, there are many autistic people, regardless of whether they know they’re autistic, who’re struggling in the workplace. Many are under-employed or blocked from advancement in their jobs and many others want to work but find themselves excluded. In both cases, this is usually a consequence of prejudice, or past misinterpretations about the way our brains function.

This book will guide you through the differences between how autistic brains function compared to the neurotypical brain, in an easily understood, but comprehensive way. I would recommend reading chronologically, at least on the initial pass, as each chapter follows from the preceding chapter and ties together as you work through the book.

The consequences of ignorance for autistic people are too significant to tiptoe around or down-play, so I haven’t held back or attempted to sugar-coat anything unsavoury. As you read, I’ll ask you to re-think or reframe what you currently believe about social behaviour and the expectations society demands of us all. Few neurotypicals realise that traits they deem undesirable or unacceptable often signify an autistic brain and will attribute those traits to other causes. Acceptance of autistic people involves a big shift in thinking, and challenging current beliefs will elicit resistance in some.

Thankfully, most would now disagree that it’s wrong or unnatural to be gay, but it took time for society to lift its resistance to accepting this truth. The beliefs about autistic traits are just as deeply entrenched and may take time to overcome, but an open mind will help to limit resistance. For what it’s worth, there are neurotypical traits that autistic people find just as offensive as neurotypicals find ours, but we need to understand each other to overcome our differences. 

Just for fun, let me paint a picture. Imagine a reality where, many years ago, the moon was partially habitable and a group of humans happily lived upon its surface in an area protected from the glare of the sun. It was a peaceful existence suited to their need for calm, but resources were finite and running low. They desperately clung to the safe and predictable life they enjoyed away from the hustle and bustle favoured by most humans, but inevitably, had to accept their fate and devise a plan to travel to the mother planet, Earth.

They arrived quietly and, following orders, hid in plain sight among the locals. What could go wrong? They looked the same. They sounded the same – nearly. Most could almost get away with it, but there was a problem; a blip in the programming of their brains they hadn’t been aware of: they didn’t think in the same way as the locals. They’d learnt the language for the country they were to make their home, but time constraints meant they hadn’t known so much communication on Earth was non-verbal. They also hadn’t known their brains communicated in a style that was different to the locals.

If that wasn’t enough, they hadn’t anticipated how chaotic their new environment would be or how difficult they would find adjusting to it. The moon had been a quiet place, but by comparison, Earth was harsh, overwhelming and sometimes physically painful for these sensitive souls. They found the difference in lifestyle between the two communities a dramatic culture shock, but there was no going back; the moon couldn’t support their existence anymore.

Unfortunately, the natives weren’t open to strangers – they didn’t trust difference and felt compelled to reject, or even sometimes, destroy anyone who didn’t conform to their expectations. Desperate to survive, the autists (or autistics) tried to get along. Some could mimic those around them consistently, while others created hard or bolshy exteriors. Some engaged in physical battles to survive and some retreated into themselves; trying to minimise the harm they experienced from living in a hostile environment that wasn’t designed for them, but which they had no choice but to accept.

For a while, they survived, with some faring better than others. Some, mainly the younger ones, believed they’d got the pretence off to a tee; they could do this and the locals didn’t seem any the wiser. But others struggled and floundered out of their depth with no idea what they were doing wrong. Over time, things could only get worse for them, and those who’d initially faked with ease found it became harder as they got older.

Greater age into adulthood brought greater responsibility and more stress. The autists’ once robust health showed cracks. Many of those who’d struggled couldn’t continue anymore; the hostility from the locals had become too much to bear and the personal cost of survival too much to manage.

The locals had their customs, social expectations and style of communicating. They believed that anyone with an intelligent brain could understand their ways and that those who spoke in the same language should also be able to communicate in their style. They believed that the things they found instinctive should be instinctive to everyone; that their normal was the way for all.

The locals didn’t know that some people had brains that were wired to process information and communicate in a different style. Based on their own experience, they believed that those who said things they didn’t like, in a way they didn’t like, were being rude and needed to learn the error of their ways. They believed in the power of punishment and collectively they had immense strength. They wouldn’t tolerate non-compliance. The offensive people would learn or pay the price for their rudeness.

Research shows that autistic people are more likely to commit suicide than neurotypical people. We’re more likely to be unemployed or under-employed. We’re more likely to find ourselves subjected to disciplinary procedures in the workplace and our ability to do our job is rarely the reason. Most often, our superiors have deemed us a poor fit in a social sense or believed that we have an attitude problem, according to neurotypical standards. If we have a job, we’re more likely to be financially poorer and blocked from progressing within the organisation.

Social isolation is common for autistic people and not limited to the workplace. Autistic people are also more likely to be manipulated by others. Too often, people adopt a buyer beware attitude towards life, (Machiavellian) believing this to be a dog-eat-dog world, and often, even when they know someone lacks the awareness to protect themselves, will gleefully take advantage, just because they can. It’s the people who take this stance that create and perpetuate a standard that lacks integrity.

In the western world, not so long ago, women were second to men. Skin colour was a massive barrier to equal treatment and being gay wasn’t just frowned upon, it was criminal. Decent people faced incarceration simply for being different. Many argue that prejudice in these areas still exists, but we’ve made progress, even if there’s still a way to go. Change is necessary. It’s also a fact of life, but sometimes it needs a nudge in the right direction. Sometimes, it needs much more than a nudge.

When there’s a mountain to climb to elicit change for oppressed people, only tenacity, audacity and willing supporters will beat the inevitable resistance. For most minority groups, the change is already happening and has been for a while, but for autistic people, the required change is barely off the starting blocks. The mountain looms large ahead of us, and some autistic people accept the insistent view of the majority who believe that our brains are faulty, and therefore substandard. 

Prejudgement, ignorance, and a reluctance to open closed minds are barriers that people now recognise and are dismantling to the benefit of many minority groups, but they still prevail, mainly unchallenged, in the arena of neurodiversity. The way autistic and other neurodivergent people find themselves prevented from flourishing in the modern workplace has broad consequences for them, but nothing will change without an acknowledgment and willingness to correct it. Change must happen, but it won’t unless we’re all open to learning about our differences and recognising them for what they really are when we see them.

I believe autistic brains represent a neurotype rather than a spectrum disorder and I’m not alone in thinking this, but being diagnosed autistic, and therefore having a recognised disability, is what protects all autists with a diagnosis in the current climate of ignorance. It doesn’t, however, help those without a diagnosis and labelling us disabled encourages minds to remain closed. It perpetuates the belief that we’re substandard, faulty and not part of mainstream society; only tolerated and accommodated out of obligation.

A lifetime of condemnation, criticism, ridicule and contempt preceded the diagnosis of ASD that has enabled me to make some sense of my life experiences; to understand why, despite doing well at school, my working life has been one disaster after another, why relationships and friendships are best left to other people, and why solitude is always a sanctuary.

My family drilled into me from an early age that my struggles and problems were my doing because I wasn’t trying hard enough. There was no help or support, just frowning, scowling, mocking belittlements and comments that I should know better by now. My research has revealed that I’m far from alone in this experience.

I’ve lived a life riddled with misunderstandings and demands from others who’ve expected me to change and be someone that I’m not, with punishments thrown at me for every perceived failure to meet those expectations and if you’re thinking I’m saying all of this out of self-pity, you’re wrong. I’m saying this because my experience isn’t unique. Autistic people find themselves expected to live inauthentic lives because most people don’t recognise autistic traits when they see them. Many people have other names to describe us, and some aren’t shy about using them.

People assume rudeness where none exists. They assume explanations for what they see and hear without doubting the validity of their assumptions. They assume a lack of intelligence where intelligence may be in abundance, and they assume the right to judge and punish with impunity.

My use of the word assume is no accident; it represents a core difference between people born of the standard neurotype and those of the detail-driven autistic neurotype. Neurotypical assumptions are plentiful and cause problems when observed through an autistic lens. The problem is that these assumptions aren’t being made on a like-for-like basis. Neurotypical people just believe they are. Because autistic brains work so differently, the likelihood of neurotypical assumptions being accurate is rather thin, but the harm caused to us by inaccurate assumptions is, sadly, significant.

It’s often the assumption that autistic people are just rude neurotypicals (unless we have a piece of paper saying otherwise) that leads to us being expected to live our lives with our comfort zones stretched to a point that ultimately results in illness, or at the very least, a break-down in the ability to pretend to be someone that we’re not.

Faking our personalities to make us more acceptable to neurotypicals is called autistic masking, and for us, the inevitable consequence is burnout. Masking isn’t unique to autistic people. Most people wear a mask every time they attend a job interview, but for us it’s essential to our survival on a day-to-day basis and always entails a denial and burial of our true natures in public.

Unfortunately, the cost we pay for acceptance is high – too high. If we can’t mask successfully, the judgements, contempt and constant assault on our self-esteem are bad enough, but that’s before we even consider the financial ramifications of trying to exist in a world that is unaccommodating and unforgiving.

Now is the time for that change. Awareness of diversity is growing every day and working well for most minority groups, but unwittingly, it can negatively affect neurodivergent people. This book endeavours to correct this situation and help create a reality where autistic, and other neurodivergent groups, can feel safe living authentic lives.