A Mind Unstrange

In May 2024, the Biden administration issued a ruling affirming that gender dysphoria qualifies as a disability under Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act. This was a vital step in ensuring that trans people—especially those facing discrimination in healthcare, education, and employment—could access the same legal protections that disabled people rely on.

But now, Texas and 16 other Republican-led states are suing to overturn this ruling. They claim that including gender dysphoria as a disability is an overreach. But let’s be clear: this lawsuit isn’t just about trans people. It’s an attempt to dismantle disability protections altogether.

As a multiply disabled, Autistic, and trans person, I rely on these protections to survive. If Texas wins this case, the consequences won’t stop with gender dysphoria. The very foundation of disability rights is at risk.

This Lawsuit is an Attack on Disability Rights, Not Just Trans Rights

At first glance, Texas v. Becerra might only look like another attempt to target trans people. But beneath the surface, this lawsuit is part of a much broader strategy to weaken the Rehabilitation Act.

Section 504 is one of the most important disability rights laws in the U.S. It prevents discrimination against all disabled people in federally funded programs—including public schools, hospitals, and workplaces. If this lawsuit succeeds, it could create a dangerous legal precedent, making it easier to strip protections from other disabled groups in the future.

Disability protections exist because disabled people face systemic barriers to participation in society. Trans people experience these same barriers when we are denied medical care, fired for transitioning, or refused basic accommodations like correct gender markers on IDs. If this lawsuit succeeds in removing gender dysphoria from disability protections, it won’t stop there. Other conditions—especially those that conservatives find politically inconvenient—could be next.

Trans and Disabled Rights Are Deeply Connected

Many trans people are also disabled. Whether it’s due to neurodivergence, chronic illness, mental health conditions, or the physical toll of discrimination, the overlap is significant. A 2022 study found that trans people have a rate of disability twice that of the general population.

For trans people without other disabilities, losing Section 504 protections would still be catastrophic. These protections ensure access to:

• Accommodations in workplaces and schools
• Non-discriminatory healthcare
• Legal protections against harassment and mistreatment
• Housing and public services

If gender dysphoria is stripped from disability law, trans people will lose crucial protections that allow us to survive in a world already stacked against us.

While not all trans people have gender dysphoria (and a trans person without dysphoria is absolutely valid and real), being discriminated against for being transgender can create dysphoria in a person who otherwise wouldn’t experience it.

Gender Dysphoria Is a Disability—By Every Definition

The right-wing argument against this ruling hinges on the idea that gender dysphoria isn’t really a disability. But under both the medical model and the social model of disability, gender dysphoria clearly qualifies.

The Medical Model of Disability

The medical model defines disability as a condition that impairs a person’s ability to function in daily life. Under this model, gender dysphoria qualifies because:

• It is a recognized medical condition in both the DSM-5 and ICD-11.
• It causes significant distress and impairment when untreated.
• It requires medical intervention (such as hormones, surgery, and social transition) to alleviate symptoms.
• The medical community agrees that gender-affirming care is necessary treatment, not optional or cosmetic.

The Social Model of Disability

The social model of disability states that people aren’t inherently disabled—they are disabled by societal barriers. Gender dysphoria qualifies under this model because:

• Trans people face systemic discrimination in housing, employment, education, and healthcare.
• The distress of dysphoria is worsened by social rejection, lack of access to medical care, and legal barriers.
• If transition-related acceptance, healthcare, and legal protections were universally accessible, gender dysphoria would not be disabling for most trans people.

Section 504 exists precisely to address barriers like these. Removing gender dysphoria from disability protections doesn’t make trans people any less disabled—it just makes us easier to discriminate against.

The Hypocrisy of the Right’s Argument

Conservatives are trying to have it both ways. They frequently claim that trans people are “mentally ill” to justify discrimination. But the moment gender dysphoria is recognized as a legitimate medical condition deserving of protection, they turn around and argue it’s not a real disability.

This is bad-faith politics, plain and simple. Their goal is not consistency—it’s to strip trans people of every possible protection.

But the impact of this case won’t stop at trans people. If Texas wins, it sets a precedent for removing other disabilities from legal protection—especially mental health conditions, chronic pain conditions, and other “invisible” disabilities that conservatives don’t “approve” of.

The Dangerous Legal Precedent

This lawsuit is a test case for weakening disability rights overall. If Texas et alia succeed:

• Other states will follow suit, filing lawsuits to remove protections for other marginalized disabilities.
• The legal definition of disability could be narrowed, making it harder for people with chronic illnesses, mental health conditions, or neurodivergence to get accommodations.
• Schools, workplaces, and healthcare providers could legally deny services to disabled people, citing this ruling as precedent.

Conservatives have long wanted to dismantle the ADA and 504 protections—this case is just their latest attempt. They are using trans people as the wedge issue, but their real goal is to weaken disability protections for everyone.

What Can We Do?

This lawsuit hasn’t been decided yet—which means we still have time to fight back.

Stay Informed and Educate Others

Attend briefings and webinars to stay updated on the lawsuit’s progress and its implications. The Disability Rights Education & Defense Fund (DREDF) recently hosted a community briefing discussing the lawsuit and ways to take action.

Share information within your networks to raise awareness about the potential impact of this lawsuit on disability rights.

Support Advocacy Organizations

Consider donating to or volunteering with organizations actively working to defend disability rights, such as the National Council on Independent Living (NCIL) and the Disability Rights Education & Defense Fund (DREDF)

Contact Your State Attorney General

If you reside in one of the 17 states involved in the lawsuit—Alaska, Alabama, Arkansas, Florida, Georgia, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Louisiana, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, South Carolina, South Dakota, Texas, Utah, and West Virginia—urge your Attorney General to withdraw from the case. The National Council on Independent Living provides an Advocacy & Action Center to assist you in this process.

If your state is not part of the lawsuit, encourage your Attorney General to support Section 504 by submitting an amicus brief. The National Down Syndrome Society offers an action alert with guidance on how to proceed.

Share Personal Stories

Personal narratives can powerfully illustrate the importance of Section 504 protections. Consider sharing your experiences with national organizations, local disability rights groups, and the general public if you have a platform online.

If you are trans, disabled, or both, your voice matters. Talk about how these protections impact your life.

Conclusion

Texas v. Becerra is not just an attack on trans people—it’s an attack on the entire disability community.

As a trans, multiply disabled, Autistic person, I need these protections to survive. If this lawsuit succeeds, it could set a dangerous precedent for removing disability rights piece by piece.

We cannot let that happen.

The fight against this lawsuit is a fight for all disabled people, and we must stand together to stop it. Oppressors are hoping to turn us against each other so we don’t notice what they’re doing. Resist the attempts to divide us. Solidarity is key to protecting our rights.

[content note: this blog essay mentions poverty, lack of adequate support, mental health issues, and sui*]

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People talk about independent living like it’s a universal goal, a sign of success. They measure it in rent payments made on time, meals cooked in a kitchen, and the ability to keep a 9-to-5 job. If you can check all the right boxes, you’re independent. You’re thriving.

Except I live independently, and it looks nothing like that.

My independence doesn’t come from holding down a traditional job, cooking in a standard kitchen, or living in a house with four walls and a roof. My version of independent living means surviving in ways most people wouldn’t even consider. It is so outside-the-box because a box is dark on the inside, and living in darkness makes me sick.

Surviving by Refusing the Box

For me, living inside four walls without enough light isn’t just uncomfortable—it’s dangerous. Because I have Non-24-hour Sleep-Wake Syndrome, my body is tied to the sun in ways that most people don’t understand. Without sufficient (read: huge quantities of) natural light, my sleep schedule unravels. But it’s more than just insomnia or trouble sleeping. Without near-constant, daily exposure to daylight and dark nights, I become desynchronized, exhausted, isolated, and lethally sick.

So I designed my life around that reality.

Instead of forcing myself into an apartment with windows too small to be of any therapeutic value, I made my home in a minivan with uncovered windows, where I can wake with the sun and see the moon every night (though I’m currently forced to park in the middle of urban light pollution). Instead of trying to squeeze into an environment that harms me, I built an environment that mostly works—one that moves with me, one where I control how much light I get (sadly, at the cost of controlling how much darkness I get), one that doesn’t leave me trapped in a darkened room because laws require walls and a residential address to exist as anything more than a marginalized outlaw.

Most people assume I’m struggling in ways other than the actual struggles I’m coping with. Often, they see my solutions for my struggles and decide the solution is the struggle and think they understand my life. They see my minivan and my unconventional life and think I must be failing at independent living. They refuse the support I need, insisting that they have to help me live in a dark box before they will support me. I have to agree to become more disabled before I can get disability assistance beyond a small monthly check and Medicaid I rarely get to use. 

I designed a life that protects my physical and mental health.

I adapted in ways that no system would ever have suggested, because systems are built for non-disabled, housed, workers. The only people who seem to get access to the kind of housing that would actually promote my well-being instead of killing me—plenty of windows, sunlit rooms, natural surroundings—are those who can afford luxury architecture. But I refuse to believe that only the rich deserve to live in ways that support their health.

Why Am I Considered Independent When I’m Dying, But Not When I’m Trying to Stay Alive?

Despite all of this, I still can’t get the support I need.

If I lived in a dark, windowless apartment, crashed out from exhaustion, unable to function,  dying from illness that goes into remission when I live in the sun, I’d still be considered “independent” in the eyes of the system. If I were rotting but inside a socially acceptable structure, I’d qualify for help.

But because I problem-solved my way out of the N24 trap, I’m told I don’t qualify for anything.

I’m still poor.

I’m still disabled.

I’m still struggling to find meaningful work that doesn’t destroy me.

But I live in a way that keeps me alive, and because of that—as well as the overall “function level” other people have decided I have (and punish me when I fail to live up to my assigned function level)—I am excluded from support.

Agencies look at me and say, You don’t fit into our programs. Vocational Rehabilitation has turned me away twice now (in Kentucky and in Idaho) as too disabled to help. Other agencies won’t help me because I have college degrees instead of intellectual disability.

They don’t know what to do with someone who is both struggling and succeeding in the balance of my life. They don’t understand that just because I’ve found one or two solutions, it doesn’t mean I have all the solutions.

They tell me I look like I’m doing “fine.” Either they aren’t looking closely enough, the ways autism looks can be deceptive, or both.

I’m not fine.

And I’m not the only one.

It’s Not Just Me—Most Autistic Adults Aren’t Getting the Help They Need

A 2019 study in the journal Autism found that autistic adults report far more unmet support needs than the general population . But here’s the kicker: even though autistic people are at much higher risk of depression, anxiety, self-injury, and suicide, we are less likely to receive mental health care or support services.

(And it’s a vicious cycle, since the study found lack of adequate support increases depression, anxiety, self-injury, and suicidal ideation and completion.)

So many of us have been told we’re too independent to qualify for help but too disabled to actually function in the world as it is. One person in the study summed it up perfectly:

“I feel ‘lost’… I am too high functioning for most autism programming, but not neurotypical enough to function well in conventional work and social environments.” 

Another participant described being actively suicidal but told to wait nine months for help. Another was told that because they didn’t have a co-occurring intellectual disability, they weren’t eligible for services at all .

They were expected to fail in the right way before they could get help.

Just like me.

Independence Shouldn’t Only Mean Doing Everything Alone

I’m tired of living in a world where you have to fail in a way the system recognizes before you can get help. Where you have to be miserable in the right way to qualify for support. Where only the wealthy get to design their lives around their actual needs, while the rest of us are expected to just suffer through it. (Or become outlaws, like me.)

Independent living shouldn’t mean struggling alone. It shouldn’t mean being punished for figuring things out. It shouldn’t mean having to choose between a life that works and a life that qualifies for help.

I built a world that preserves my health and keeps me alive.

That should count for something.

That should be enough.

My necessary self-accommodation should not bar me from the external support I need, to move from surviving to thriving.

Every month, I wait.

I wait for the direct deposit that determines whether I and my cat eat, whether I can afford to get my oil changed so the car I’m living in doesn’t die and leave me stranded and sleeping in the streets, whether I can pay for the cheap storage unit where the remnants of my life are crammed together like a sad little time capsule. I wait with my heart in my throat, because I know—I know—that one day, the money might not come. And that day may be as soon as next month.

Because when you live on Supplemental Security Income (SSI), you are always one bureaucratic decision away from being erased.

And now, the erasure is happening in real time.

Trump’s goons have taken over the federal government. Not through elections. Not through Congress. But through brute force: physically seizing agencies, shutting them down, rewriting the computer code that runs the Treasury, deciding who gets paid and who doesn’t.

Elon Musk—who is not an elected official, not even an appointee in the traditional sense, but a billionaire who believes money equals divine right—is openly bragging about “feeding” the U.S. Agency for International Development “into the wood chipper.” Ten thousand employees, gone. An entire foreign aid infrastructure, wiped off the map. Just like that.

And now, Musk and his people are inside the Treasury. They’re rewriting the systems that make Social Security payments, that distribute benefits to disabled people, to veterans, to retirees. They say they’re cutting “corruption and waste.” I know exactly what that means. I know who they think is waste. Their hero called us “human ballast”.

It’s people like me.

People who rely on the government to survive. People who don’t fit into their billionaire vision of “deserving.” People they can starve out and push to the margins because we don’t have the power to fight back.

And so I wait.

I wait for a letter in the mail telling me my benefits have been cut because of a “routine review.” I wait to check my bank account and see a zero where the lifeline used to be. I wait to find out whether I can keep barely surviving, or whether this is the month that survival runs out.

I’m already living hand to mouth. What happens when the hand disappears?

The worst part is, I’ve seen this coming. We’ve all seen it coming. They’ve been dismantling the social safety net for years, chipping away at it, eroding it, making it more difficult, more bureaucratic, more humiliating to access. The application process alone is a gauntlet of suspicion and cruelty. Prove your disability. Prove your poverty. Prove you’re suffering enough. Then, if you’re lucky, you get a pittance: just enough to keep you alive, but not enough to actually let you live.

And now? Now they don’t even want to bother with the pretense of pretending we deserve to exist.

They’re gutting the government in real time, and Congress is standing around, hands in pockets, pretending they don’t see the blood on the floor. The Republican Senate Majority Leader, John Thune, claims he “doesn’t believe” this is happening. That they’re just “reviewing how the agency is spending money.” Either he’s a liar, or he’s a coward. Either way, we’re the ones who will pay the price.

I am furious. I am terrified. I am exhausted.

I have spent my entire life fighting for scraps, for dignity, for the disability support that never comes, for the right to simply exist. And now, people who have more money than they could spend in a thousand lifetimes are pulling the plug on the only thing keeping millions of us from sinking into oblivion.

So I wait.

I wait to vanish. I wait to be declared “waste.” I wait to find out if I still have the right to survive next month.

And I am so goddamn tired of waiting.

Autism is a disability. How each Autistic person relates to this fact, however, is deeply personal. Some of us embrace being Disabled as an important part of our identity. Some feel disabled by autism while others feel disabled by society, rather than autism itself. For some, the disabling aspects of autism depend on their environment, while others don’t identify as disabled at all. And that’s okay—our individual relationships with autism and disability are as diverse as we are.

But one thing remains true: autism is always a disability.

This truth matters. Without recognition as a disability, society, government, and medicine would have no obligation to accommodate us. The systems we depend on for survival—whether disability benefits, healthcare, education, or workplace accommodations—exist because autism is classified as a disability. If autism were no longer recognized this way, many of us, myself included, would be left to fend for ourselves in a world that isn’t built for us.

What Makes Autism a Disability?

Disability is often misunderstood. The medical model defines disability as a condition that significantly impacts a person’s ability to function. Autism fits this model because it involves neurological differences that affect how we communicate, process sensory information, and navigate the world.

The social model of disability shifts the focus away from the individual and onto society. From this perspective, people are disabled not by their differences but by the barriers society creates—like rigid expectations, inaccessible environments, and a lack of understanding. Autism fits this model too. When systems are designed for neurotypical people, Autistic people are inevitably excluded and disadvantaged.

Both models have elements of truth, and both explain why autism is a disability within that paradigm. This doesn’t mean autism is inherently bad or that we are broken. It simply recognizes that the world wasn’t built for minds like ours, and that creates real, often life-altering challenges.

Are You Disabled?

While autism is always a disability, how we relate to it as Autistic individuals varies widely:

Some Autists proudly identify as Disabled, finding empowerment and community in the disability rights movement.

Others feel disabled by autism itself, especially when co-occurring conditions, sensory challenges, or communication difficulties make daily life a struggle.

Many feel disabled by society, not by their autism. In a supportive environment with accommodations, they might not feel disabled at all.

Some don’t identify as disabled or may even become offended if someone suggests they are disabled. 

These perspectives are all valid. Your relationship with autism and disability is yours to define. What matters is that we respect one another’s experiences and autonomy while recognizing the shared reality that autism is a disability.

Why Denying Autism as a Disability Is Dangerous

Here’s the problem: if we deny that autism is a disability, we risk losing the very systems that keep us alive.

Disability recognition isn’t just a label—it’s a lifeline. It’s what ensures access to healthcare, education, employment accommodations, and legal protections. If society decided autism wasn’t a disability, it could justify cutting off resources. Autistic people could be told to “buck up,” “fit in,” or “fly right”—and those of us who can’t would be left behind.

This is a matter of survival for many of us. Personally, I wouldn’t be here if autism weren’t recognized as a disability. And I know I’m not alone.

Autism as Disability and Diversity

Some worry that calling autism a disability erases the idea of neurodiversity. But that’s a false dichotomy. Neurodiversity and disability can coexist.

The neurodiversity movement challenges the idea that there’s only one “right” way to think, learn, and experience the world. It celebrates neurological differences, including autism, as natural variations of human diversity.

But recognizing autism as part of human diversity doesn’t mean it’s not a disability. It means that disability isn’t a bad thing. It’s simply a reality, and one that society needs to accommodate. By accepting autism as both a disability and a natural expression  of human diversity, we can advocate for a world that values us as we are while also meeting our needs.

The Power of Solidarity

Whether you proudly identify as Disabled, feel disabled only in certain contexts, or don’t see yourself as disabled at all, autism’s recognition as a disability protects all of us. It ensures we aren’t left to fight for scraps in a system designed for neurotypical people.

Disability isn’t something to be ashamed of. It’s a call for society to do better—for workplaces to be accessible, for schools to support all learners, and for governments to recognize and meet the needs of all its citizens.

Autism is a disability. But how you relate to it? That’s entirely up to you.

As an outsider academic, I often find myself locked out of the latest research behind paywalls. Sometimes I can access papers when I’m near a university library. Most of the time, I’m left with open access crumbs. (This is not fair. I pay taxes that fund universities. I’d argue that using public money to fund research and publication of research implies that the public should have access to the information we are paying for. (Also, I would be more willing to pay for access if the money flowed to the authors instead of in the other direction.))

I’ve been thinking a lot about aging and autism lately, so I pulled up what I could access on that first search phrase: four recent (published in the last four years) open-access papers exploring autistic aging. These papers highlight not just the challenges Autistic people face as we age but also the complexity and diversity of our experiences.

Here’s a summary of what I found. Collectively, they spoke to intersections of health, cognitive function, and social inclusion for Autistic adults.

(If you have access to articles on autism and aging, I would love to hear from you—I’ll gladly review them. This is an area of study I want to spend more time with.)

The Think Tank Paper: Strategies for Autism and Aging

The cornerstone paper of what I found today was a 2021 think tank report titled Strategies for Research, Practice, and Policy for Autism in Later Life. This paper offers a comprehensive roadmap for addressing the challenges Autistic people face as we age.

It emphasizes the importance of inclusion and collaboration, guided by the principle “Nothing about us without us.” The authors argue that aging outcomes are not solely determined by biology but shaped by systemic factors like access to healthcare, housing, and social support. They call for interdisciplinary approaches that focus on abilities rather than disabilities, situating autistic aging within a socio-ecological framework that considers the individual within their environment and community.

Key recommendations include:

• Developing tools to diagnose and study autism in older adults.

• Expanding housing and community support options tailored to autistic needs.

• Addressing the high rates of co-occurring medical and mental health challenges in autistic adults.

• Advocating for lifelong learning and employment opportunities.

This paper provides a hopeful and practical foundation for thinking about autism and aging. The think tank raised important questions for researchers to address.

What the Other Three Studies Reveal

Cognitive Decline: Stratified Insights

A longitudinal study on cognitive aging in autism, published in 2023, challenges some common assumptions, among them, the previously held belief that autism is universally a dementia risk factor. Among Autistic adults without intellectual disabilities, cognitive decline does not appear to accelerate compared to neurotypical peers.

This is an important finding: it reminds us that autism manifests in diverse presentations. Some Autistic people may show resilience in cognitive function, while others—especially those with intellectual disabilities or co-occurring conditions—face greater risks, as also highlighted in the think tank paper.

Inclusive research needs to balance these perspectives. By understanding where accelerated decline occurs and where it doesn’t, we can target interventions appropriately. For Autistic adults without intellectual disabilities, the focus might shift to other issues, like social isolation or physical health, while not neglecting any Autists who do experience cognitive challenges.

Motor and Neurological Trajectories After 40

Aging with Autism Departs Greatly from Typical Aging, a 2020 paper, which analyzed involuntary motor variability using fMRI data, revealed something striking: Autistic aging diverges sharply from neurotypical aging, particularly after age 40.

Autistic adults show unique motor and neurological patterns that suggest a fundamental shift in how our nervous systems age. While these changes don’t necessarily indicate cognitive decline, they might translate into everyday challenges like clumsiness, fatigue, or increased sensitivity to sensory inputs.

This study highlights the need for tailored physical and occupational therapies to support motor function and adaptability in midlife and beyond. It also underscores how important it is to consider biological aging alongside social and systemic factors, as the think tank paper advocates.

Systemic Barriers and Social Isolation

The first of the four papers I read was Aging Well and Autism: A Narrative Review and Recommendations for Future Research (published in 2024). It paints a stark picture of the systemic challenges Autistic people face as we age:

• High rates of loneliness and social isolation.

• Limited access to tailored healthcare and mental health services.

• Persistent disparities in quality of life, with little improvement over time.

These findings align with the think tank’s call for better community-based solutions. Housing models like intergenerational living or microboards, for example, could address social isolation while respecting the independence of Autistic adults. Similarly, expanding access to mental health services tailored to Autistic needs could dramatically improve outcomes.

The Bigger Picture

Taken together, these studies reveal the complexity of aging in autism. On the one hand, we see encouraging findings, like the absence of accelerated cognitive decline in some subgroups. On the other, we face sobering realities, like the heightened risks of loneliness, health challenges, and systemic neglect.

To address these issues, we need both broad, inclusive research and stratified studies that identify the unique needs of different subpopulations. Autistic aging isn’t a monolith, and our approaches to support and policy shouldn’t be either.

Conclusion

Autistic people deserve to age with dignity, support, and understanding. The research I’ve reviewed here offers valuable insights and highlights how much work remains to be done. Let’s continue the conversation—whether by sharing studies, advocating for inclusive policies, or simply listening to Autistic voices telling our own stories of aging.

If you know of studies on autism and aging please send them my way. Together, we can discuss these findings and push for a better future for ALL Autistic adults.

Works Cited

Edelson SM, Nicholas DB, Stoddart KP, Bauman MB, Mawlam L, Lawson WB, Jose C, Morris R, Wright SD. Strategies for Research, Practice, and Policy for Autism in Later Life: A Report from a Think Tank on Aging and Autism. J Autism Dev Disord. 2021 Jan;51(1):382-390. doi: 10.1007/s10803-020-04514-3. PMID: 32361792; PMCID: PMC7195819.

Klein CB, Klinger LG. Aging Well and Autism: A Narrative Review and Recommendations for Future Research. Healthcare (Basel). 2024 Jun 17;12(12):1207. doi: 10.3390/healthcare12121207. PMID: 38921321; PMCID: PMC11203987.

Torenvliet C, Groenman AP, Radhoe TA, Agelink van Rentergem JA, Van der Putten WJ, Geurts HM. A longitudinal study on cognitive aging in autism. Psychiatry Res. 2023 Mar;321:115063. doi: 10.1016/j.psychres.2023.115063. Epub 2023 Jan 18. PMID: 36709700.

Torres EB, Caballero C, Mistry S. Aging with Autism Departs Greatly from Typical Aging. Sensors (Basel). 2020 Jan 20;20(2):572. doi: 10.3390/s20020572. PMID: 31968701; PMCID: PMC7014496.

For the past three years, I’ve had the privilege of serving on the board of the Autism National Committee (AutCom). I’m deeply grateful for this opportunity to work with an organization whose mission of “Social Justice for All Autistics” resonates so strongly with my own values. AutCom’s focus on social justice for all Autistic people—promoting inclusion, self-determination, and respect—has both guided my work and inspired me.

Social justice, to me, is about more than just equity. It’s about recognizing and centering the voices of those who are most often overlooked: Non-speaking Autists, Autistic people of color, Autists living in poverty, Autists with multiple disabilities, and so many other Autistic people with intersected life experiences.

At the same time, social justice calls us to embrace everyone, rejecting gatekeeping and division. AutCom embodies this nuance beautifully, balancing a commitment to all Autistic people while ensuring that marginalized voices are heard, respected, and centered. Centering doesn’t mean one person’s voice is more important than another’s, just that we value a culture where no Autist is left out.

During my time on the board, I have been continually inspired by the work AutCom does to educate and advocate for our community. The organization’s webinars and newsletters are excellent tools for fostering understanding and inclusion, with diverse panels that represent a wide range of lived experiences. These efforts were already underway when I joined, and it’s been an honor to support and contribute to this vital work.

As a board member, I’ve felt heard and valued. Leadership and my fellow board members have welcomed my ideas and contributions and I’ve received positive feedback about my work. I’m especially grateful for the opportunity to work alongside such like-minded individuals, whose passion for social justice and commitment to the Autistic community have enriched my life in so many ways.

Looking to the future, I hope to see AutCom strengthen our partnerships with other organizations and explore new ways to support the community. One idea I’d love to help create is curating a collection of helpful toolkits and resources from sources that also embrace autistic autonomy and dignity. Not only could we share the collection of tools, we could identify gaps in available resources, potentially developing our own toolkit to address unmet needs. By continuing to listen to the larger community and collaborate with others, I believe we can deepen our impact and remain potent in advancing social justice for Autistic people.

Serving on the board of AutCom has been a deeply fulfilling experience. It’s given me the chance to be part of meaningful work that reflects my personal values, and to build connections with incredible people who share the same vision. I’m grateful for the opportunity to help move the needle toward greater inclusion, respect, and justice for all Autistic people—and I look forward to what the future holds.

Please take a look at today’s AutCom! See if our resources resonate with you, consider joining us if you haven’t already, donate if you have the resources and want to help us create more for the community. Thank you.

The word vulnerability carries a lot of weight. For Autistic people, it’s often used to describe us in academic research, social services, and advocacy circles. Autistic people are officially labeled a “vulnerable population.” But what does that actually mean? And why do so many Autistic people push back against being called vulnerable? Is it because the term makes us feel weak, helpless, or infantilized—or is there something deeper at play?

I’ve thought about this a lot. As an Autistic person who has spent years writing about autism, using my own life as a case study, I’ve lived with this tension. I’ve been labeled vulnerable countless times—sometimes in ways that felt accurate, other times in ways that felt dismissive. Over time, I’ve realized that vulnerability isn’t as simple as it seems. It’s complex, dynamic, and often misunderstood.

What Does Vulnerability Mean?

Let’s start with the basics. When we call someone “vulnerable,” we’re usually talking about exposure to harm. That harm could come from other people, systems, environments, or even internal struggles. But vulnerability isn’t a fixed trait—it’s something that can change depending on the situation.

For Autistic people, vulnerability can show up in three key ways:

Vulnerability as a Structural Condition

Many of the risks Autistic people face come from systemic barriers. Society isn’t built for us, and that creates challenges. For example:

Workplaces often refuse to make accommodations, leaving us more likely to lose jobs or burn out.

Healthcare systems frequently misunderstand Autistic needs, leading to inadequate care.

Social norms prioritize neurotypical communication styles, which can leave us open to bullying, exploitation, or exclusion.

This kind of vulnerability is closely tied to the way society treats disability in the social-relational model. The social-relational model tells us that disability isn’t an inherent trait—it’s something society creates by failing to accommodate diverse needs. For example, an Autistic person who thrives in a quiet, structured environment might struggle in a loud, chaotic workplace not because they’re “too sensitive,” but because the workplace wasn’t designed with their sensory needs in mind. The problem isn’t the person—it’s the system.

Structural vulnerability works the same way. It’s not about an inherent weakness or limitation in Autistic people. It’s about how society is structured to exclude us. When systems, policies, or environments don’t consider our needs, they make us vulnerable. But in an inclusive society, those same vulnerabilities could disappear entirely.

As Mel Baggs wrote:

“Usually, when people assume things about me, they’re wrong. My life is complicated, and it does not follow the standard stories that people expect either of disabled people in general, or of people with my specific conditions. Pretty much no matter what I say, it ends up creating assumptions that are inaccurate. I am not trying to mislead people, I just can’t tell my life story every time I say something about myself. Please be understanding about this. Every person is different, even a person with a collection of labels identical to mine is going to be completely different from me in a large variety of ways. For some reason, however, the blame always ends up being put at our feet as disabled people, when we aren’t what someone expected.”

(Ballastexistenz)

Mel’s words capture the exhausting reality of navigating societal assumptions. Vulnerability, in this context, isn’t about who we are—it’s about the ways we’re misunderstood and the blame we carry for failing to meet other people’s expectations.

Vulnerability as a Situational State

Vulnerability isn’t permanent; it’s contextual. An Autistic person might feel completely capable and confident in one setting and deeply exposed in another. For example:

Imagine someone who thrives in their home, surrounded by familiar routines, but becomes overwhelmed in a loud, chaotic grocery store.

Or think about a workplace meeting where you’re asked to answer an unexpected question on the spot. For some Autistic people, this might feel like a small crisis of vulnerability.

The environment, support systems, and social context all play a role in shaping whether someone feels vulnerable at any given moment.

This is the story of the vulnerability I currently experience as a transgender, multiply disabled, unhoused person living in a vehicle, often in places where I don’t know anyone and am not plugged in to local support systems, formal or informal. I’m a strong and competent person, but the way I live is against the law so I am always vulnerable to whatever authorities decide to believe about me or do to me. If they knew me, they might understand. Like Mel, I can’t tell my life story every time I say something about myself. I am vulnerable.

Vulnerability as Emotional Openness

Sometimes, vulnerability isn’t about risk at all—it’s about authenticity. Autistic people are often known for being direct and honest. We say what we mean, even when it’s not the socially “safe” thing to do. This kind of emotional openness can make us vulnerable, but it can also be a profound strength. It’s the foundation for genuine connection and integrity.

Why Do Some Autistic People Reject Being Called Vulnerable?

Many Autistic people dislike being labeled vulnerable, and for good reason. The word often comes with baggage. It can feel like:

Infantilization: Being treated as if we’re helpless or incapable.

Stigma: The assumption that vulnerability means weakness or lack of competence.

Overgeneralization: A blanket label that erases individual strengths and differences.

Reframing Vulnerability

Here’s the thing: being vulnerable isn’t inherently bad. It’s human. For Autistic people, vulnerability often comes from external conditions, not internal flaws. The problem isn’t that we’re “too sensitive” or “too different.” The problem is a world that isn’t designed for us.

In some cases, vulnerability can even be a strength. Being open and authentic takes courage. It’s what allows us to form deep, meaningful connections. It’s what drives creativity and innovation. Vulnerability, when supported and protected, can be a source of power.

What if, instead of seeing vulnerability as a weakness, we saw it as an invitation? An invitation to build systems that work for everyone. An invitation to create communities where people feel safe being themselves. An invitation to honor the unique ways each person contributes to the world.

Where Do We Go From Here?

The question isn’t “Are Autistic people vulnerable?” The better question is, “What does the world need to change so that Autistic people aren’t made vulnerable?”

For me, part of that answer lies in stepping back to create space for myself, to live closer to the rhythms of nature, and to recharge after years of emotional labor. For you, it might look different. Maybe it’s advocating for systemic changes or simply recognizing your own needs and honoring them.

Vulnerability is part of being human. But it’s not the whole story. Autistic people are resilient, creative, and strong in ways the world often fails to see. Let’s build a world that sees us fully.

For Autistic workers, success often depends on clear communication, predictable expectations, and an environment that aligns with our strengths. But what happens when these supports slip away?

Accommodation drift—the neglect or sudden removal of workplace supports—can leave even the most capable workers struggling to meet expectations. For Autistic employees, this isn’t just about job performance; it’s about health, quality of life, and the ability to stay employed.

Accommodation drift isn’t always subtle. Sometimes it happens gradually, as supports are deprioritized over time. Other times, it’s abrupt and dramatic—pulling the rug out from under a worker who was thriving just days earlier. Either way, the result is the same: the worker is set up to fail, and the workplace loses out on their contributions.

I’ll share some thoughts from my experience, but countless other Autistic workers have had similar experiences: Workers whose success depends not just on their abilities, but on consistent, thoughtful support.

My Sudden Accommodation Drift

Some time ago, I had a job I loved and excelled at. I was thriving, meeting expectations, and confident in my ability to handle a major assignment I’d been preparing myself for over five months to accomplish. Then, just two weeks before the assignment would go into action, everything changed.

New interpersonal dynamics, unexpected disruptions to routines, and shifts in my work environment created barriers I hadn’t planned for. Routines I relied on were upended, and basic aspects of my workspace became inaccessible.

Despite my concerns, the changes were brushed off as “not a big deal,” and “simple to address.” I was afraid to say no, fearing it might cost me my job. It cost me my job anyway. The abrupt changes undermined the foundation I’d built to succeed, leaving me unable to complete the assignment. And when I failed, all the blame fell on me.

Why Accommodation Drift Happens

Accommodation drift—whether gradual or sudden—often stems from structural issues in workplaces, including:

Workplace Focus on Productivity: Accommodations are often seen as secondary to work goals. When priorities shift, support for workers can be sidelined, intentionally or not.

Unrealistic Expectations: Consistent success can lead managers to assume a worker no longer needs accommodations—or can handle anything thrown at them.

Dismissed Concerns: When workers voice concerns, they can be seen as overreacting or resistant to change, rather than identifying legitimate barriers to success.

Fear of Advocacy: Self-advocacy can feel risky, especially in workplaces where raising concerns might lead to retaliation or being labeled “difficult.”

The Role of External Support

One solution to accommodation drift that I wish I could access is having external support systems—advocates or mediators who work outside the workplace to ensure accommodations are maintained.

I’ve been trained to do this work for others—as an Employment First employment specialist—but for decades I’ve met barriers when I’ve tried to secure this much-needed service for myself.

Here’s why work support can be invaluable:

Focused on the Worker’s Needs

While managers and colleagues may care, their primary focus is on work goals, not accommodations. An external advocate’s sole focus is on the worker, ensuring their needs don’t fall by the wayside.

Neutral and Unbiased

External advocates aren’t bound by workplace politics. They can:

• Raise concerns without fear of retaliation.

• Mediate between the worker and employer.

• Help clarify and implement accommodations that work for everyone.

Supporting Self-Advocacy

Self-advocacy can be emotionally exhausting, especially when concerns are dismissed. Imagine a worker who uses a wheelchair being handed a hammer and a pile of lumber every time they point out there isn’t a ramp to an area they need to access in order to do their job.

Self-advocacy is draining for everyone (including wheelchair users who aren’t asked to build their own ramps, of course.)

An outside advocate can:

• Translate the worker’s needs into actionable recommendations.

• Provide reassurance and guidance during difficult conversations.

• Reduce the emotional toll of navigating workplace dynamics.

In my situation, an advocate could have made all the difference. They could have intervened when the parameters of the assignment suddenly changed, ensuring my concerns were heard and accommodations were adjusted before it became a crisis. They could have talked me out of the internalized ableism of  second-guessing myself and my genuine workplace needs. They could have counseled me to say no, even at the last minute, to an assignment that suddenly became a barrier.

A Path Forward: What Workplaces Can Do

Preventing accommodation drift benefits everyone—not just Autistic workers. Here’s how workplaces can create environments where support is sustained:

Treat Accommodations as Evolving

Accommodations aren’t a one-time fix. They need to adapt as roles and circumstances change. Regular check-ins can ensure support remains effective and relevant.

Listen to Concerns

When workers raise concerns, treat them as signals—not complaints. Dismissing them risks undermining the worker’s ability to succeed.

Create a Culture of Advocacy

Workers need to feel safe advocating for their needs without fear of retaliation. Encouraging open communication and external advocates when needed can help.

Pro tip: If you’re a manager, you probably think external advocates aren’t needed because you’re good at what you do. It doesn’t matter how good you are—your Autistic workers need advocates who don’t work for your company. They probably haven’t asked for this because they think it’s not an option or fear losing their job if they ask.

Respect the Need for Preparation

For Autistic workers, preparation is everything. Sudden changes to expectations or environments can disrupt carefully built scaffolding. Workplaces must recognize the importance of predictability and avoid last-minute changes whenever possible.

A Call for Change

Accommodation drift isn’t just an Autistic issue—it’s a workplace issue. When support systems fail, businesses miss out on the contributions of talented workers, and employees face unnecessary stress, health impacts, and job loss. But when accommodations are upheld, workplaces thrive—becoming more inclusive, productive, and successful for everyone.

For Autistic workers like me, the solution isn’t just about making accommodations—it’s about maintaining them. It’s about creating structures that adapt to change, support advocacy, and respect the needs of all employees.

Further Reading

For those interested in exploring affirming resources related to workplace accommodations:

• Job Accommodation Network (JAN)

Expert guidance on workplace accommodations and disability employment, offering resources for both employers and employees.

• Embrace Autism: Workplace Accommodations for Autism & AuDHD

A practical guide to accommodations for Autistic and ADHD workers, including advice on navigating workplace dynamics.

• Real Work For Real Pay: A Self-Advocate’s Guide to Employment Policy (ASAN)

An overview of employment policies and the role of accommodations in work.

Let’s stop accommodation drift in its tracks—and build workplaces that work for everyone.