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Share on bskyLately, I’ve been reading headlines about “avoiding” or “preventing” autism, and each time I see those words my heart aches.
It’s as if autism is something to be eradicated, like a disease, instead of what it really is—a different way of being in the world.
If we “cured” autism, what exactly would that mean? Would everyone suddenly make eye contact more easily? Would small talk come naturally to all of us?
Maybe. But at what cost?
Because when you take away autism, you don’t just take away the challenges. You also take away the creativity, the deep wells of sensitivity, the ability to see patterns and connections others miss.
You lose the children who teach themselves whole new worlds through their special interests, the artists who create with a unique lens, the inventors who think sideways instead of straight.
Autism is not separate from who we are. It is who we are. It’s part of what makes me, me. It’s part of what makes my children exactly who they are.
Without it, we would not be the same people—and I wouldn’t want to imagine a world without their spark, their depth, their brilliance.
I’ll be honest: there have been times when life has felt unbearably difficult, that I’ve wished autism didn’t exist.
But those moments haven’t come from autism itself—they’ve come from trying to exist within systems and institutions that refuse to bend. Systems that want you to fit their mold and, if you don’t, they try to “fix” you. Back into school. Back into the workplace. Back into conformity. It’s exhausting.
And yet, without autism, I wouldn’t think as deeply, care as intensely, or create as instinctively. Without autism, my child wouldn’t love animals with such fierce devotion—forming strong connections, rescuing, nurturing. Without autism, my child wouldn’t be the writer and creator he is today, building whole worlds from his imagination. And without autism, my child wouldn’t have the passions that keep her talking for hours—about music artists, hobbies, people, and places.
These “obsessions,” as some might dismiss them, are what make her a good friend, what allow her to form bonds, what light her up with joy.
We shouldn’t be asking how to take autism away. We should be asking how to make every environment safe, welcoming, and accessible for autistic people.
Of course, I don’t say this with rose-tinted glasses. Autism can bring struggles, for me and for my family. But those struggles are magnified not because autism is inherently “wrong,” but because society is built on a narrow idea of normal. We live in a world that values productivity over presence, conformity over authenticity.
It’s a world that thrives on everyone fitting the same mold—school, job, routine—without space for those of us who move differently, think differently, feel differently.
I can only speak from my own experience, and I know every autistic person’s life is different. Some face challenges that I don’t, some carry joys that I may never know. But I do know this: the answer is not to prevent or cure autism. The answer is to create a society where difference is not just tolerated, but celebrated.
So perhaps the question isn’t “How do we prevent autism?” but “How do we make space for autistic people to thrive?”
What if we shifted our focus from eradicating difference to embracing it?
What if, instead of pouring energy into a so-called “cure,” we poured it into making classrooms calmer, workplaces kinder, communities more flexible and compassionate?
When we widen the world to hold all kinds of minds, everyone benefits. And maybe then the conversation can move from “How do we stop autism?” to “How do we value and nurture autistic lives?”
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