An Autism Friendly World

You may hear the phrase “autism-friendly” often. I bet you also hear phrases such as “the world was not meant for people with autism” or “the world is not autism-friendly.” I can be caught saying these phrases quite often, and this is because they are true. If you are less familiar with autism, something being autism-friendly could be confusing. Is it a derogatory term? Are we targeting institutions and policies that make the world unwelcoming to autism? Should the world be forced to make accommodations? Even deeper, why would God put autistics on the earth if it isn’t autism-friendly? Is He dooming us to fail?

If something is autism-friendly, it meets the needs of autistic individuals and does not overwhelm them or cause pain or discomfort. For example, at an autism-friendly concert, the lights may be dimmed, any flashing of lights turned off, the microphones and music turned down, and attendance may be limited to a smaller crowd. It is easy to understand how a typical concert may not be autism-friendly, but what do autistics and advocates mean when we say the entire world is not autism-friendly? 

The easiest way to explain this point is to list everyday experiences that are harmful, confusing, or overwhelming to autistic individuals. Let’s start with the fundamentals of earthly life, experiences like sunlight and temperature. Because of dysfunction in the central and peripheral nervous systems, autistic brains cannot correctly interpret sensory stimuli, including light and temperature. For autistics, sunlight can be a painful experience. Going outside isn’t as simple as stepping out the door, but includes sunglasses and hats. What happens if an autistic is sensitive to clothing or items touching their face? They may choose to stay inside during sunny hours, possibly missing out on events or fun experiences. 

Next up, essential buildings. Most modern buildings like schools and grocery stores have fluorescent or LED lights. When you have autism, walking into a building with either of these lights is like meeting the person you are trying to avoid. You think: Great. How fast can I get out of here? Bright lights can be so discomforting that we leave places early because we cannot focus. Additionally, fluorescent lights are known to flicker and buzz. Autistic individuals are more likely to notice this flickering and buzzing, hyperfixate on it, and in turn, gradually grow more and more overwhelmed and distracted.

Unfortunately, autistics cannot escape buildings. We have to attend school until we graduate or age 21 years, and many of us will and must work. Plus, sensory challenges are not the only difficulties with school and work. One of the hardest things about these environments is their long hours. Autistics cannot sit still for long or focus like many of our neurotypical peers. Why? Our bodies cannot regulate our nervous system, so when we keep our body still, we are not getting the correct interpretation of signals that tell our body we are at ease, instead, we feel the opposite. We are uncomfortable and need to move, whether that is spinning, jumping, rocking, tapping our leg, waving our arm, or blinking our eyes. 

As far as our focus, our brains have additional, yet shortened neural connectivity, so are thoughts fly around trying to find the right outlet, meanwhile, our brains are hyperfixating on other things, anxious, and overwhelmed by sensory stimuli. This state of brain chaos makes it hard for us to focus at any time. When we are forced to sit still and focus, with stressful demands placed on us, we have a hard time regulating. We become physically and emotionally taxed. This is what makes school and work so difficult. If school or work were shorter, we would excel more. Personally, in high school, I left school early, having shorter days. Although it seems counterintuitive, it was so helpful for my grades and mental health!

Perhaps the most important real-world barrier to mention is the foundation of autism: social connection. If you are a Christian, you understand the dire importance of socialization from Genesis. God made Adam, and he could not be alone; he needed companionship, so God created Eve. If you are not Christian, you equally understand the nature of socialization. Have you ever been through a transitional period where you moved away from home, from your family and friends? If you have felt lonely, you understand that humans are fundamentally social beings, in need of connection to thrive. Autistics, too, need to be social! But remember, the foremost challenge of autism is an inability to understand or recognize the finer elements of communication, such as nonverbal cues, body language, facial expressions, figurative language, and jokes. All of the sudden, socializing becomes so much more difficult. 

What do you do when your disorder interferes with your ability to socialize? Too often, the result is not a good one. You become depressed, and you withdraw into your own world. The longer one spends in isolation, the harder it becomes to learn social skills. The gap widens and widens until you don’t feel like you can ever conquer your anxiety, get out and about, or make friends. In this way, autism is a direct contraction of the nature of the world. I believe this makes it one of the hardest disorders to live with. It takes away from us the one thing we need to thrive, the ability to form long and meaningful relationships.

Another inescapable experience for autistics is spontaneity and cancellation. It is well known that autistics favor routines and predictability. This helps us grasp the world around us when our minds feel chaotic. Having a routine is grounding and provides us a sense of control. Unfortunately, the real world does not like routine. Personally, this is one of my biggest challenges. If you read my last blog “Losing Precious Control”, you know that I cannot handle cancellations. When something is planned, it is in my mental, physical, and electronic schedule. Once an event is in my calendar, it is engraved in stone. I look forward to it, and I plan the rest of my day, even my week, around it. This is not true for all people. Some people prefer spontaneity, and others are too comfortable with cancelling for minor reasons. As an autistic, you do not cancel, you just don’t. Not if you’re sick, not if you’re tired, definitely not because you “just don’t feel like it.” We follow through because our plan is engraved in stone; it is unchangeable. To change a plan is unthinkable, if not malicious! Other than personal cancellations, there is weather, sickness, or death. These three factors are out of anyone’s control but God’s; however, they often affect our plans. Just because we know we cannot control these things doesn’t make their interferences any easier. I would explain it this way: when an individual cancels plans, first, I panic. My brain screams: What!? Why!? Then I feel anger. I think: They didn’t need to cancel. “Suck it up buttercup.” I wouldn’t do that to them, how mean. My panic turns to anger because there is a person who stole my control over the plans by canceling on me. When the culprit is the weather, sickness, or death, my brain panics, but instead of anger, I feel sadness. My brain has no rationale, no scapegoat, so I can only retreat into myself and let the panic consume my thoughts until it overwhelms me, causing a shutdown (cue the crying!).

The final experience I want to mention is more nuanced but equally potent. I am speaking of trips to the doctor or dentist. This is universally one of the hardest experiences for autistics, but it is a necessary one. No matter how much we wish we did not have to go, it is important to look after our health. Of all the earthly experiences, why are doctors’ and dentists’ offices so frightening? It combines many of the already unfriendly experiences with two more factors, physical touch and novelty. Autistics are forced to deal with bright lights and loud noises throughout their day-to-day life, so when we experience doctors’ and dentists’ spotlights and tools, have our personal space violated, and are touched for physical exams or dental work, we can lose it. 

For me, the dentist is especially difficult. I cried each time I went to the dentist until I was fifteen years old, fifteen! For me, there is a lot of anxiety (remember: 10x that of a neurotypical) around the dentist because I am terrified of having a cavity. Already keyed up, now I enter a room where I will be touched, in a sensitive place, my mouth. We all know that dental tools are not soft or friendly; they may nick your gum or floss too roughly. Not to mention, I am sitting in the chair where they will either confirm or deny my worst fear: a cavity. Also until age 15, I made my mom accompany me into the room because I was so upset. For me, trips to the dentist got easier when I found one amazing and sweet dental hygienist who worked with other autistics. She knows the anxiety, does not get offended when I cannot talk casually during my visit, and knows that I need routine. She makes sure to schedule me on days she is in the office so that I see her each time. 

Doctor’s visits pose many of the same challenges, especially novelty. For many, doctor’s visits only happen once a year, meaning the experiences of the office and physical exam are not part of one’s routine. Each time they go, they have to reacquaint themselves. For autistics, this does not happen quickly. Once a year is not enough to grow comfortable with these processes, meaning our anxieties and discomfort are repeated anew each year.

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So, with all that said, what does an autism-friendly world look like? An autism-friendly world would mean that all personal schedules are planned months in advance with zero cancellations or adjustments. Buildings and all other facilities would be built without fluorescent or LED lights. There would be a law regulating the volume level when speaking in public places. Room capacities would be strictly enforced to allow for more personal space. Doctor’s and dentist’s appointments would not be necessary. The sun would be dimmer. There would be more effective means to control our anxiety. Physicians would be able to cure our dysfunctional nervous systems. We would not get stuck in hyperfixations. And everyone would be autism-educated and patient. Oh, and it would be great if we could magically be communicative masters with great wit. 

Obviously, this is unattainable and utopian. But I want to call your attention to one aspect of my utopian world that we can change: autism education. The mission behind my blogs and my work as an autistic consultant and assistant director for Ashland Special Needs Ministry is to spread awareness and educate as many people as possible. I strongly believe that with more education comes more patience and understanding. Plus, more willingness to make accommodations and influential programs for autistic individuals. 

To my readers, you can make this change! You are making this change by reading my blogs. I encourage you to do what you can to understand and advocate for autistic individuals. This is your contribution to making an autism-friendly world.

March 24th, 2025