4 minute read
(level 1 autism, low support needs, late diagnosed autism, autistic traits, autism myths, autism acceptance, autism terms, autism stereotypes)
People sometimes say to me, “Oh, you must have mild autism.”
And every time, I have to resist the urge to ask whether they also believe in mild pregnancy or slightly being on fire.
Now, before anyone rushes to the comments, let me be clear: there absolutely are autistic people with very high support needs, including those with profound autism. Their challenges are real, significant, and deserve recognition and support.
But that's not what people usually mean when they say "mild autism."
What they usually mean is: "You don't look like my stereotype of an autistic person."
The problem is that autism isn't measured by how comfortable other people feel around you. It's measured by the impact it has on your life.
And even those of us classified as level 1 autism share a cluster of traits that make it genuinely difficult to function in a world designed by and for a different neurotype.
For me, autism affects everything: how I process sound, how I communicate, how I manage energy, how I experience social situations, how I think, plan, organize, recover, and move through the world. It isn't something I switch on and off depending on who is watching.
The old idea that autism exists on a simple line from "a little autistic" to "very autistic" doesn't really capture reality. Autism is more like a wheel with many different dimensions: sensory processing, communication, executive functioning, emotional regulation, motor skills, interoception, special interests, and more. Every autistic person has a different combination of strengths and challenges.
My wheel is spinning fast enough to power a small city.
While we're clearing up misconceptions, let's talk about Asperger's.
People still occasionally say, "Maybe you have Asperger's instead."
Actually, Asperger's is no longer used as a diagnosis in many countries, including Canada and the United States. In 2013, it was folded into the broader diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder because researchers recognized that there wasn't a clear line separating Asperger's from other forms of autism.
There's also a darker reason many autistic people prefer not to use the term. Hans Asperger, the physician the diagnosis was named after, has been linked to Nazi-era programs that categorized disabled children and contributed to horrific institutional practices during World War II.
For both scientific and historical reasons, most professionals now use Autism Spectrum Disorder, and many autistic people simply prefer the word autism.
Here's another discrepancy about level 1 autism that I would like to make. While I fully recognize that some autistic people require far more support than I do, being aware of the gap between yourself and the rest of society comes with its own difficulties.
Many Level 1 autistic people can see exactly where they are struggling. We notice the social rules we don't naturally understand. We notice the sensory environments that overwhelm us. We notice how much effort it takes to perform tasks that seem effortless for others.
And often, we learn to hide it.
We mask.
We rehearse conversations.
We force eye contact.
We suppress stims.
We push through sensory overload.
We spend decades convincing everyone—including ourselves—that we're coping.
From the outside, it can look like we're doing just fine.
Meanwhile, we're using every ounce of available energy simply to keep the wheels attached.
That's part of what makes this experience so isolating. If you're visibly struggling, people are more likely to recognize that you need support. If you're successfully pretending not to struggle, people assume you don't need any.
The result is that many autistic adults don't receive help until something breaks.
That was certainly my experience.
I spent years pushing through exhaustion, sensory overwhelm, social confusion, health problems, and increasing burnout because I thought that was just what adulthood felt like.
Eventually, everything came crashing down.
Looking back, my autism didn't ever feel mild.
But my suffering was invisible.
And now I know I'm not the only one.
So next time you meet an autistic person, skip the "mild" label.
You may not be seeing less autism.
You may just be seeing years of practice hiding it.
Here's what the autism spectrum actually looks like:
Each spoke or trait is like a volume knob—cranked up for some, barely a whisper for others, and subject to change depending on the day, the weather, or whether the Wi-Fi’s working.
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