Every person deserves to feel valued. Every single one. And yet, for so many autistic individuals, walking into a social setting can feel less like an opportunity and more like an obstacle course.
I’ve watched this firsthand with my own boys when they were younger.
Blake is incredibly sensory — touch and smell are both heightened for him, and certain environments would tip him into overwhelm before he’d even had a chance to settle. Matthew, on the other hand wanted connection. But when he was young he found it extremely challenging to talk to children his own age. He could talk to adults about history or geography, but wasn’t confident when talking to children. And honestly, as his mum, that broke my heart a little every single time.
The thing is, it doesn’t take much to change someone’s experience completely.
A quiet corner. A bit of flexibility around how people are expected to participate. A little patience when someone communicates differently, or needs a moment, or doesn’t quite respond the way you might expect. These aren’t big asks. But they make an enormous difference.
When people take the time to understand — really understand — what an autistic person might be dealing with in a busy, noisy, unpredictable environment, something shifts. Instead of retreating, instead of just trying to get through it, my kids get to actually be somewhere. They get to belong.
And belonging — real belonging — only happens when someone can show up exactly as they are, without having to mask or shrink or perform a version of themselves that’s easier for everyone else to deal with.
That’s not too much to ask for. That’s just basic human decency.
