Nothing About Autism Is Mild

I was diagnosed Autistic late in life. That diagnosis wasn’t just a medical formality — it was a revelation. It explained the exhaustion I carried for decades, the confusion of never fitting, the relentless effort to hold myself together in a world never built for me.

I held onto hope that Autistic children in Australia would grow up freer than I did — more understood, more supported, less punished for being who they are.

And then this week, I heard the government describe some Autistic children as having “mild Autism.” As if Autism can be experienced halfway. As if it can be outgrown. As if there are categories of lives that matter more, and others that matter less.

The cruelty of “mild”

Nothing about Autism is mild. Autistic people live Autism one hundred percent of the time. There’s no halfway version.

Just because our struggles aren’t visible doesn’t mean they don’t exist. You don’t see my fingers flicking under the boardroom table, but I do it when I finally get to bed. You don’t wake up with your jaw aching from clenching it through every meeting, every social interaction. You don’t feel the migraines, the tears, the hours it takes to rebuild after holding it all together in public.

And because you don’t see it, you think it isn’t real. That is the violence of “mild” — it tells us our pain doesn’t count, our reality doesn’t matter.

The danger of language

“Mild Autism” isn’t medical. It’s political. It suggests Autism is temporary, that children will grow out of it. They won’t. Autism is lifelong.

These labels don’t describe us — they erase us. And while they erase, they also divide. Families are pitted against each other, “mild” versus “profound,” “deserving” versus “undeserving.”

We are forced to fight sideways when the fight should always be upwards.

Media and division

The media amplifies these labels. It runs headlines about “cost blowouts” and “strain on taxpayers,” turning Autistic lives into budget problems. It feeds the story that Autistic people are the problem, instead of a system that was broken from the start.

But here’s what I know: Australians are often kinder than those headlines suggest. We saw it at the last election, when voters rejected some of the ugliest wedge politics. And we see it every day in schools, workplaces, and communities, where people show quiet acts of care.

The real danger isn’t ordinary Australians. The danger is leaders and media teaching us to doubt each other’s humanity.

The oldest playbook

This country has seen it before. Refugees branded as “queue jumpers.” People on welfare dismissed as “dole bludgers.” First Nations voices reduced to claims of “special treatment.

Each time, the playbook is the same: divide, label, control. Now it is Autistic people in the crosshairs.

The policy truth

Does the NDIS need reform? Yes. Anyone who has tried to use it knows it is inconsistent, exhausting, and unfair. Families fight for every scrap of support while others exploit loopholes and profit. That’s not sustainability — that’s neglect. Costs have blown out because the scheme was built without the infrastructure or workforce it needed from the start.

But this — inventing “mild Autism,” cutting children out, and pushing them into an untested program — is not reform. It is retreat. It doesn’t fix the system. It simply decides which lives matter less.

Real reform would mean fixing access, accountability, and workforce shortages. It would mean designing with Autistic people, not talking about us. It would mean funding Autistic entrepreneurs and leaders to design solutions for their own communities — not relying on white saviours or consultants to speak on our behalf. We are not children forever. We grow up. We lead. We build. And we know what works.

What this really means

This is not about costs. It is about who this country chooses to value.

Billions are spent on projects that never touch the lives of ordinary Australians. But when it comes to Autistic children, suddenly it’s about sustainability — suddenly their futures are weighed against a balance sheet. That corrodes everything. It doesn’t just strip services — it strips dignity. It tells children their Autism doesn’t count, that they might “get over it.”

But children become adults. And when a system insists Autism can be outgrown, it abandons us twice — first as kids, and then again as adults. My reality is this: when you first become an adult and finally find your voice, it can feel like things get easier. But Autism does get harder with age. The body weakens, the strain accumulates, and the toll deepens. Pretending otherwise is cruelty dressed up as policy.

There is nothing more painful than watching society debate your worth without ever asking what it is like to be Autistic. And the truth is, many Autistic children can’t voice these opinions themselves. So when I speak, I am also speaking for the child inside me — the one who couldn’t find words when it mattered most.

The fight is upwards

I don’t want another generation of Autistic children to carry the shame, exhaustion, and silence that I carried. I don’t want them growing up in an Australia where their humanity is up for debate.

The problem isn’t Autistic people. The problem is a system that refuses to fund what we already know works.

We cannot fight each other. We cannot accept labels that erase us. And we cannot let this country keep debating our existence as if we’re not in the room.

Our children deserve more than categories. They deserve more than survival. They deserve joy, freedom, and futures that aren’t rationed.

Because nothing about Autism is mild. Call me mild if you want — but know this: we are not equal unless we are all equal.

These views are, naturally — autistically — unapologetically my own.

First published on LinkedIn, 22 August 2025.