“But You Don’t Seem Autistic”: Breaking Stereotypes & Misconceptions About Autistic Women (3/24/25 Keynote Address at Stockton University)

Bridgette Hamstead

On March 24, 2025, I had the honor of delivering the keynote address for Stockton University’s Neurodiversity Education and Celebration Day. Speaking directly to an audience of neurodivergent students, alumni, faculty, and allies was both meaningful and emotional, for many of us, these kinds of affirming spaces are rare.

My keynote, “But You Don’t Seem Autistic”: Breaking Stereotypes & Misconceptions About Autistic Women, is rooted in lived experience and a deep commitment to shifting the narrative around autism. Too often, autistic women and nonbinary individuals are dismissed, disbelieved, or left out entirely. We are masked, misdiagnosed, misunderstood, and still expected to justify our existence.

This talk was a call to change that. A call to see us, hear us, and believe us. I’m sharing the full keynote here, as delivered, in hopes that it will resonate with others navigating late diagnosis, autistic burnout, internalized ableism, and the exhausting demand to "seem autistic" enough for others to believe our reality.

_______________________________________________________________________________

“But You Don’t Seem Autistic”: Breaking Stereotypes & Misconceptions About Autistic Women

I. Introduction

It is an honor to be here today at Stockton University, speaking to an audience of neurodivergent students and faculty. Spaces like this, where autistic voices are centered, where we do not have to justify our existence or prove our struggles, are rare and deeply meaningful. Too often, conversations about autism are shaped by outsiders, by people who believe they know what autism looks like, how it should present, and who should count as autistic. But we know better. We know that autism is diverse, that it manifests in countless ways, and that no single experience defines what it means to be autistic.

Today, I want to talk about something that many of us, especially autistic women, have heard more times than we can count: “But you don’t seem autistic.” If you have ever disclosed your autism and received this response, you know how dismissive and invalidating it can feel. The person saying it may think they are offering reassurance, that they are complimenting you in some way. What they do not realize is that their words are steeped in ignorance, in outdated stereotypes that have shaped the public’s understanding of autism for decades. Their comment is not kind. It is not affirming. It is a reminder that, in their eyes, autism is something visible, something obvious, something that should look a certain way. And if you do not match that expectation, then surely, you must be mistaken.

The phrase “But you don’t seem autistic” is not just a casual remark—it is a reflection of a deeper, systemic issue. It reveals how little society truly understands about autism, how rigid and exclusionary its perceptions remain. It is rooted in ableism, in the assumption that autism is inherently negative, that appearing non-autistic is a good thing, and that if we have learned to mask well enough to pass, we must not need support or recognition. This belief is not only false, but profoundly harmful. It erases the experiences of countless autistic individuals, especially women and nonbinary people, who do not fit the outdated, male-centered model of autism that still dominates medical and cultural narratives. And today, we are going to challenge that narrative together.

II. The Stereotypes of Autism

For most of history, autism has been defined by a singular, rigid image: the young, white, nonverbal boy who struggles with eye contact, engages in repetitive behaviors, and has a narrow, intense interest in a specific subject. This stereotype is deeply entrenched in public perception and continues to shape how autism is recognized, diagnosed, and discussed. When people hear the word “autism,” they think of a child who needs constant support, not an adult who has spent decades masking, navigating the world, and working twice as hard just to be seen as competent.

This narrow understanding of autism has created an exclusionary model that leaves out countless autistic people, particularly autistic women and nonbinary individuals. Because we do not fit the stereotypical profile, our struggles are often dismissed, our traits misunderstood, and our need for accommodations ignored. Autistic women are frequently described as “too social” or “too verbal” to be autistic, despite the fact that social differences and communication challenges manifest in many ways beyond silence or avoidance. Nonbinary and gender-diverse autistic individuals face additional layers of erasure, as medical models have long been designed with binary gender assumptions in mind. The result is that many of us go undiagnosed for years, or even for life, because we do not fit the mold of what professionals and society expect autism to look like.

The consequences of these misconceptions are profound. Autistic women and nonbinary people are significantly more likely to be misdiagnosed with mental health conditions such as anxiety disorders, depression, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, or obsessive-compulsive disorder. Rather than being recognized as neurodivergent individuals with unique sensory, social, and cognitive processing styles, we are pathologized, labeled as difficult, and told that our struggles stem from personality flaws rather than from being autistic in a world that does not accommodate us. This misdiagnosis and misunderstanding often lead to years, sometimes decades, of unnecessary suffering, of feeling broken and out of place, of believing that we are simply not trying hard enough to function the way society expects. And this is why the phrase “But you don’t seem autistic” is so damaging. It is not just an offhand remark; it is a symptom of a broader system that has failed to see us, to support us, and to recognize the full breadth of what it means to be autistic.

III. Autism in Media & Cultural Representation

Much of society’s understanding of autism comes not from direct interactions with autistic people but from the way autism is portrayed in the media. From movies to television shows to bestselling books, autism has been repeatedly represented in narrow, stereotypical ways, most often through white, male-coded characters who fit the “socially awkward genius” trope. We see this in films like Rain Man, which cemented the idea that autistic people are savants with exceptional but highly specific talents. We see it in characters like Sherlock Holmes-inspired figures, whose intellect is emphasized while their social struggles are played for comedic effect. More recently, we see it in the trope of the emotionless, hyper-logical tech genius, the Sheldon Cooper or The Good Doctor archetype. While these portrayals may resonate with some autistic individuals, they do not capture the full diversity of the autistic spectrum. Instead, they reinforce a singular, limited version of what autism is supposed to look like.

One of the most glaring omissions in these representations is the near-complete absence of autistic women. When autism is depicted in media, it is almost always through the lens of male experiences. Autistic women, who may present differently, mask their traits, or struggle in ways that do not align with these male-centric portrayals, are simply erased. When we do see autistic women on screen, they are often portrayed through the same stereotypes as their male counterparts, socially awkward, emotionally detached, hyper-intelligent, or quirky in a way that makes them seem eccentric rather than autistic. These portrayals fail to reflect the reality of autistic women’s lives, where masking, sensory sensitivities, executive dysfunction, and the emotional toll of late diagnosis play a much larger role.

The impact of this misrepresentation is significant. When the media continually reinforces one narrow image of autism, it shapes the expectations of doctors, educators, employers, and even autistic individuals themselves. Many autistic women grow up not recognizing their own neurodivergence because they do not see themselves reflected in the mainstream narrative. Medical professionals, conditioned by these portrayals, fail to recognize autistic women who do not fit the expected mold, leading to delayed or missed diagnoses. And when autistic women do seek support, they are often met with skepticism because they do not align with what society has been taught autism is supposed to look like. The invisibility of autistic women in media translates directly into our invisibility in real life.

IV. Social Camouflage & Masking

From an early age, many autistic women learn that the world is not built to accommodate them, so they adapt. They observe and mimic the behaviors of their neurotypical peers, internalizing social norms that do not come naturally to them. This is called masking, a process of suppressing autistic traits and adopting a persona that feels safer and more acceptable in a society that does not understand autism in women. This often starts in childhood, when girls who struggle with social interactions are encouraged to be polite, to smile, to make eye contact, and to conform to gendered expectations of empathy and communication. Instead of being supported in their natural ways of interacting, they are trained to fit in at any cost.

Masking involves consciously and unconsciously suppressing natural autistic traits, such as avoiding eye contact, stimming, or speaking in a direct and literal manner. Autistic women often script conversations in their heads, rehearse social interactions, and force themselves to endure overwhelming sensory environments just to appear “normal.” These adaptations allow them to navigate school, work, and relationships, but they come at an enormous cost. The constant performance is exhausting and unsustainable, often leading to autistic burnout, anxiety, and depression. Yet, because they have learned to hide their struggles so effectively, the severity of their challenges is often overlooked.

One of the most damaging consequences of masking is that it leads people to question an autistic woman’s diagnosis. Because she has spent years refining the ability to “pass” as neurotypical, others assume she must not actually be autistic. This misunderstanding reinforces the harmful idea that autism must always be visibly apparent in order to be valid. In reality, many autistic women are struggling beneath the surface, spending an immense amount of energy on the simple act of existing in a world that does not accommodate them. Masking does not make someone less autistic, it only makes their struggles less visible to those who refuse to see them.

V. Diagnostic Barriers for Autistic Women

For decades, autism research and diagnostic criteria have been centered around male presentations of autism, leading to widespread misdiagnosis and underdiagnosis of autistic women. Early autism studies focused almost exclusively on young boys, reinforcing a model of autism that prioritized traits more commonly observed in males, such as outwardly visible stimming, difficulty with social reciprocity, and intense, restricted interests. This male-centered framework has had long-term consequences, creating an exclusionary diagnostic process that fails to account for the ways autism manifests differently in women and nonbinary individuals.

Because of this oversight, many autistic women are misdiagnosed with conditions that capture pieces of their experience but fail to recognize the underlying autism. Instead of being identified as neurodivergent, they are often diagnosed with depression, anxiety disorders, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, or social anxiety disorder. While some autistic women may also have co-occurring mental health conditions, these diagnoses do not fully explain their experiences. In reality, many of these mental health struggles stem from years of masking, unmet support needs, and the exhaustion of navigating a world that does not accommodate neurodivergence.

The emotional toll of going undiagnosed can be profound. Many autistic women spend years, even decades, feeling as though something is fundamentally wrong with them but never understanding why. They blame themselves for their struggles, internalizing the belief that they are simply failing at life. Without the language to describe their experiences, they feel isolated, misunderstood, and disconnected from both neurotypical and autistic communities. When they finally receive an autism diagnosis, it is often a moment of profound relief, but also grief. They grieve the years of misunderstanding, the lack of support, and the opportunities lost due to an identity that was invisible for so long. For autistic women, recognition is not just about having a label, it is about finally being seen.

VI. The Emotional Journey of Late Diagnosis

Finally receiving an autism diagnosis as an adult can be a profoundly life-changing experience—one filled with a complex mix of relief, validation, and grief. For many late-diagnosed autistic women, that moment of recognition is the first time their lifelong struggles make sense. It is a revelation that reshapes their understanding of themselves, offering an explanation for the experiences that had, for so long, felt isolating and inexplicable. Suddenly, the traits they had spent years masking, the challenges they had internalized as personal failings, are reframed through the lens of neurodivergence. The diagnosis provides validation: the realization that they were never broken, never lazy, never just “too sensitive” or “too difficult.” They were autistic all along.

But alongside the relief comes grief. A late diagnosis forces autistic women to re-evaluate their entire lives, seeing past experiences in a new light. They look back at childhood memories and recognize the moments where their autism was overlooked, where they were misunderstood, punished, or dismissed. They see the ways they pushed themselves beyond their limits, struggling in school or the workplace, not knowing that they were operating under a system that was never designed for them. They grieve the years spent believing they were failing at life, when in reality, they were simply navigating a world that refused to acknowledge them.

The grief of late diagnosis is not just about the past, it is also about what was lost along the way. Many autistic women grieve the friendships and relationships that suffered due to misunderstood social differences. They mourn the missed opportunities for support, the accommodations they never received, the self-acceptance that was delayed by years of trying to conform. There is anger, too—anger at the medical professionals who dismissed their struggles, at the educators who failed to see their needs, at a society that still refuses to expand its understanding of autism beyond outdated male-centric models. But through this grief, there is also healing. With diagnosis comes knowledge, and with knowledge comes the power to reclaim their identity, to unlearn the harmful narratives they were given, and to step into a future where they can live authentically as their true autistic selves.

VII. Societal Disbelief & Autism Impostor Syndrome

One of the most exhausting realities of being an autistic woman is the constant need to justify and defend our diagnosis. When we disclose that we are autistic, we are often met with skepticism, disbelief, or outright dismissal. People who have known us for years insist, “But you seem fine,” or “You don’t look autistic,” as though our lived experience is up for debate. Others assume we must be mistaken or exaggerating because we do not match the stereotypical image they have in their minds. It is frustrating, invalidating, and, at times, deeply isolating to have our neurodivergence questioned at every turn.

The expectation to “prove” our autism is one of the most harmful consequences of these misconceptions. Unlike other disabilities, autism is often perceived as something that must be visibly apparent to be real. If an autistic woman is articulate, employed, or socially engaged, she is assumed to be “too functional” to be autistic. If she struggles with executive dysfunction, sensory overload, or burnout, she is assumed to be dealing with a mental health issue rather than neurodivergence. This constant scrutiny creates an impossible situation where autistic women are either dismissed for not seeming autistic enough or penalized when their struggles become too visible.

The impact of this disbelief is profound. Many autistic women, even after receiving a formal diagnosis, experience intense self-doubt, wondering if they are “autistic enough” to claim the label. This internalized doubt, often referred to as autism impostor syndrome, is the direct result of years of invalidation. We start second-guessing ourselves, questioning whether our diagnosis is legitimate simply because we do not fit society’s rigid expectations of autism. This self-doubt can prevent us from seeking the support and accommodations we need, further reinforcing the cycle of masking and burnout. But the reality is this: there is no single way to be autistic. We do not need to perform autism in a way that makes sense to others in order for our experiences to be real. Our autism is valid, whether the world chooses to see it or not.

VIII. Barriers to Accommodations & Support

For many late-diagnosed autistic women, accessing support after diagnosis is an uphill battle. There is an assumption, by employers, educators, medical professionals, and even friends and family—that if we have made it this far without accommodations, we must not truly need them. This belief fails to account for the years of struggle, burnout, and exhaustion that often precede a diagnosis. Many of us survived not because the world was accessible to us, but because we masked, overcompensated, and sacrificed our well-being to fit into neurotypical expectations. Survival, however, is not the same as thriving, and receiving a diagnosis should open doors to support rather than reinforce the idea that we should continue struggling alone.

Another barrier to accessing support is that many resources and accommodations are designed with the needs of traditionally diagnosed autistic individuals—mostly men diagnosed in childhood, in mind. Workplace accommodations, for example, often focus on adjustments for sensory sensitivities or structured task modifications, but fail to consider the unique struggles of late-diagnosed autistic women, such as executive dysfunction, autistic burnout, or the cumulative effects of lifelong masking. Similarly, social support systems are often geared toward parents of autistic children, leaving late-diagnosed adults with few spaces where they can seek understanding and guidance.

The key issue is that society still views autism as a condition that only needs recognition and support if it is visibly disruptive. When autistic women navigate life without outwardly “struggling,” their support needs are minimized or dismissed entirely. But the reality is that many of us are struggling beneath the surface, quietly battling sensory overwhelm, mental exhaustion, and the deep toll of masking. Accommodations are not just about making life easier, they are about making life sustainable. Autistic women deserve access to the tools and support that allow them to function without burning themselves out. We should not have to reach a breaking point before being taken seriously. A late diagnosis should not be treated as proof that we never needed help, it should be seen as an opportunity to finally receive the support we have always deserved.

IX. The Harmful Effects of Masking

Masking may help autistic women navigate social and professional environments, but the cost of this constant performance is steep. Suppressing natural autistic traits, such as stimming, avoiding eye contact, or communicating in a direct and unfiltered way—requires immense mental and emotional energy. Over time, this chronic effort to appear “normal” leads to exhaustion, burnout, anxiety, and depression. Many autistic women report that they are so accustomed to masking that they no longer know who they are beneath it. They have spent years molding themselves into whatever version of themselves was most acceptable to those around them, often at the expense of their own well-being.

What makes this even more damaging is that society praises autistic women for their ability to “blend in.” The more we mask, the more we are rewarded with jobs, friendships, and social acceptance, but at a devastating cost. Instead of recognizing the difficulty of this constant self-editing, society sees it as proof that we must not need support. If we can “pass” as neurotypical, people assume that we must not truly be struggling. But passing does not mean thriving. It means suppressing, adapting, and contorting ourselves to fit into spaces that were never designed for us. The praise we receive for doing so only reinforces the pressure to continue masking, even when it is harming us.

The long-term impact of masking is profound. Many autistic women experience autistic burnout—a state of complete mental and physical exhaustion caused by years of suppressing autistic traits and overextending themselves to meet neurotypical expectations. This burnout can lead to increased sensory sensitivities, diminished ability to function in daily life, and even a loss of previously developed coping mechanisms. It is a stark reminder that masking is not a sustainable solution—it is a survival mechanism, one that comes with significant consequences. For autistic women, the ability to live authentically, without the constant pressure to mask, is not just a preference—it is a necessity for long-term health and well-being.

X. Breaking the Stereotypes & Moving Forward

Challenging the misconceptions surrounding autistic women requires a fundamental shift in the way autism is perceived and discussed. First and foremost, we must expand the narrative beyond outdated stereotypes and recognize that autism does not have a singular look, sound, or experience. Autistic women exist, and our experiences—whether we are diagnosed in childhood or late in life—are just as valid as those of anyone else on the spectrum. We must push back against the expectation that autism must be visibly obvious in order to be real.

Believing autistic people when they disclose their neurodivergence is essential. Too often, autistic women are forced to prove and justify their diagnosis simply because they do not conform to societal expectations. This disbelief is deeply rooted in ableism, reinforcing the harmful idea that if someone does not fit a stereotype, they must not actually need support. The simplest and most impactful action anyone can take is to listen and believe autistic individuals when they share their experiences—without skepticism, without interrogation, and without demanding proof.

Better representation, advocacy, and awareness can drive real change. Media must move beyond the narrow portrayals of autism that have dominated the narrative for decades and begin including diverse, accurate depictions of autistic individuals, especially women, nonbinary people, and people of color. Advocacy efforts must center the voices of actually autistic individuals, ensuring that conversations about autism are led by those with lived experience. And awareness must evolve beyond basic recognition to a deeper understanding of the full, complex reality of autism. Only through these efforts can we create a world where autistic women are recognized, supported, and empowered to live authentically without having to constantly justify their existence.

Autism is not a performance. It is not something that can be measured by how well we mimic neurotypical behaviors or by how much we struggle in ways that are visible to others. Autistic women do not need to “seem autistic” to be valid. Our experiences, our challenges, our strengths—they all exist regardless of whether they fit into society’s limited expectations of autism. We deserve to be recognized as we are, not only when we conform to outdated stereotypes.

The path forward begins with listening, believing, and supporting autistic individuals without skepticism or doubt. It means challenging misconceptions when we hear them, pushing for better representation in media, advocating for more inclusive diagnostic criteria, and creating spaces where autistic people do not have to justify their existence. True progress comes when we no longer have to prove our autism to be accepted, but when we are accepted simply for who we are.

Thank you for your time, for your attention, and for being part of this conversation. By working together to dismantle these harmful narratives, we can create a world where autistic women are not only recognized but fully supported in living as their authentic selves.

_______________________________________________________________________________

This keynote is not just a reflection of my personal journey. It’s a reflection of thousands of others who have spent years, even decades, believing they were broken, when they were simply autistic in a world that never saw them.

If you saw yourself in this speech, please know: Your autism is valid, even if others don’t see it. Your exhaustion is real. You do not need to prove your neurodivergence to deserve understanding, support, or self-acceptance.

I’d love to hear your thoughts. If you’re late-diagnosed, self-identified, questioning, or supporting someone who is, feel free to share your experience in the comments. Let’s continue dismantling these outdated stereotypes together and building a future where neurodivergent people can live openly, safely, and authentically.