Bridgette Hamstead

 

Too often, autistic people are treated not as full human beings but as problems to be solved. We are approached by others with the assumption that we need to be improved, corrected, or managed. Whether it comes from a partner, a therapist, a teacher, or even a family member, this mindset reduces us to a checklist of deficits instead of recognizing the depth and complexity of our experiences. Relationships become tasks. Love is conditional. And support, when it comes, is often framed around who we might become rather than who we are right now.

The message that we are broken starts early. It is often woven into the language used around us from childhood. Phrases like “social skills training,” “behavioral intervention,” and “life readiness” may sound helpful, but they often signal a core belief that the autistic way of being is inherently wrong or less than. Instead of being encouraged to explore who we are and what we need, we are taught to perform a version of ourselves that is more palatable to neurotypical expectations. When this continues into adulthood, it becomes especially painful. We enter relationships where love and acceptance are offered in exchange for progress, where we are expected to work on ourselves constantly in order to be seen as worthy.

In romantic relationships, this dynamic can be particularly damaging. Some partners take on the role of fixer without realizing it. They may genuinely believe they are helping, offering advice or support with good intentions. But over time, it becomes clear that the relationship is not truly mutual. The autistic partner is placed in the role of student, patient, or project. Their feelings are analyzed. Their behaviors are pathologized. Their needs are seen as problems to solve rather than realities to honor. This creates a power imbalance that makes true intimacy impossible. When you are constantly being improved, you are never fully allowed to just be.

The same dynamic shows up in therapy, where too many clinicians focus on changing autistic behavior rather than understanding the underlying experience. Therapists may work from models that aim to make autistic people more socially appropriate, more emotionally regulated, or more productive in neurotypical terms. They may set goals that are rooted in someone else’s comfort rather than the client’s well-being. In these spaces, autistic people often find themselves performing again, trying to meet standards that do not reflect their actual values or needs. Instead of support, they receive scrutiny. Instead of growth, they experience erasure.

Families, too, can fall into this pattern. Parents who frame their love in terms of milestones and achievements may unintentionally teach their autistic children that they are only lovable when they are progressing. Siblings or extended relatives who speak about us with pity or concern often do not realize the harm they cause. We are not tragedies. We are not inspirational stories in progress. We are people. And when our families treat us like projects, we lose the chance to feel safe, seen, and truly loved.

This kind of conditional support is exhausting. It leads to internalized ableism, shame, and a constant sense of being behind. Many autistic adults carry the weight of never feeling good enough, always feeling like they are failing to meet an invisible standard. We begin to believe that we are burdens, that our needs are too much, that our way of processing the world is something to be ashamed of. This is not the result of autism. It is the result of a culture that treats autistic people as problems to be managed rather than individuals to be in relationship with.

What we need instead is radical acceptance. We need relationships where we are not being fixed, but accompanied. Where our communication styles are not corrected, but engaged with. Where our sensory needs are not brushed aside, but accommodated with care. Real support does not ask us to change who we are in order to be loved. It meets us where we are and values our presence, even when our expression or pacing is different.

To love an autistic person means learning to listen in new ways. It means recognizing that our struggles are often shaped by the world’s refusal to adapt, not by something broken within us. It means letting go of the fantasy that we will one day become more typical, more convenient, or more familiar. We might never make eye contact the way you want us to. We might need more silence than you are used to. We might express affection differently. But none of that means we are incapable of deep connection, trust, or love. It just means we do it in our own way.

When we are constantly treated as projects, we are denied the dignity of being full participants in our relationships. We deserve to be heard without being corrected. We deserve to be supported without being reshaped. We deserve to be trusted as the experts of our own experience. Relationships built on respect, mutual care, and curiosity are possible. But they require people to relinquish the role of fixer and choose to be present instead.

The path to real connection with autistic people begins with the willingness to sit with difference, not solve it. It requires moving from control to consent, from intervention to understanding, from fixing to witnessing. We are not here to be remade. We are here to be loved, supported, and met exactly as we are. That is not too much to ask. That is the foundation of any relationship worth having.

How to Support Autistic People Without Trying to “Fix” Us

  1. Listen without an agenda
    Let us speak for ourselves. Don’t interpret everything we say as a symptom or something to analyze. Just listen.

  2. Respect our communication style
    We may speak directly, slowly, or not at all. We may use text instead of voice. Our communication is valid, even if it is different from yours.

  3. Don’t center your discomfort
    If our behavior or needs make you uncomfortable, examine that discomfort before trying to change us. Your comfort is not more important than our autonomy.

  4. Ask before offering advice
    Support is not the same as fixing. Ask if we want suggestions or help, rather than assuming we do.

  5. Let go of expectations about progress
    We don’t need to be constantly improving or becoming more "functional" to deserve support or love. Growth is not linear, and our worth isn’t conditional.

  6. Value our needs without judgment
    Accommodations, boundaries, and routines aren’t optional or negotiable. They are how we survive.

  7. Recognize the harm of pathologizing
    Avoid treating every aspect of our personality as a symptom. We are full people, not problems.

  8. Stop measuring us against neurotypical standards
    Our success and happiness may look different from yours. That doesn’t mean it’s less valid.

  9. Be willing to unlearn
    Challenge the stereotypes, ableist beliefs, and clinical frameworks you were taught. Make space for what we know about ourselves.

  10. Show up with presence, not a plan
    We don’t need someone to manage us. We need people who are willing to be in real, respectful relationship with us, just as we are.

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When Inclusion Is Just Another Word for Control

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Grieving the Years You Lost to Not Knowing You Were Autistic