The Politics of Being ‘Too Much’: Autistic Intensity and Cultural Policing of Passion

Bridgette Hamstead

Autistic people are often told that we are too intense, too serious, too obsessive, too sensitive, or simply too much. From a young age, many of us receive the message that our enthusiasm is overwhelming, our interests are inappropriate in quantity or specificity, and our emotions are excessive. What is framed as “too much” is often a deep expression of connection, care, and engagement with the world. Yet time and time again, autistic people are asked to shrink ourselves, dilute our joy, and withhold our curiosity in order to avoid making others uncomfortable. This dynamic is not accidental. It reflects a broader cultural pattern of policing passion, regulating emotion, and rewarding only those forms of expression that conform to narrow norms of social acceptability.

In neurotypical social frameworks, intensity is often viewed with suspicion. Passion is expected to be expressed in measured doses, on appropriate topics, and within predictable emotional ranges. Joy should be casual, enthusiasm modest, and sadness quiet. Those who deviate from these unwritten rules are often met with discomfort, dismissal, or outright exclusion. For autistic individuals, whose natural rhythms of interest and emotional expression may not align with these norms, this leads to constant friction. We are frequently told to tone it down, lighten up, or change the subject. We are treated as though our excitement is performative, our focus is obsessive, and our emotions are disproportionate. But the truth is that what others call “too much” is often exactly what makes us who we are.

Autistic passion is not performative. It is rooted in a deep sense of presence and connection. When we speak with intensity, it is because we care. When we repeat facts or dive into details, it is because we are captivated, not because we are trying to dominate the conversation. Our interests may not always follow the patterns expected by mainstream culture, but they are no less valid or meaningful. In fact, many autistic people describe their deep interests or “special interests” as sources of joy, identity, and stability. These passions offer a way to connect with the world, to understand complex systems, and to build bridges across difference. To pathologize this intensity is to ignore the depth of our inner lives and the value of our contributions.

The idea of being “too much” is deeply gendered, racialized, and ableist. Autistic women and trans people are particularly vulnerable to being labeled as overbearing or unstable when we express emotion or speak passionately. In a culture that values composure and quiet compliance, those of us who are visibly animated, deeply invested, or emotionally expressive are often punished. We are told we are dramatic, unprofessional, or disruptive. This is especially true in institutional settings like schools, workplaces, and healthcare systems, where autistic intensity is frequently misread as aggression or emotional instability. In these spaces, our passion is treated not as a strength but as a liability.

These cultural judgments do not just silence us. They shape how we see ourselves. Many autistic people internalize the belief that our emotions and interests are problems to be managed. We learn to mask our joy, to hide our fascination, and to apologize for our curiosity. Over time, this leads to disconnection not only from others but from ourselves. When the world continually tells you that your natural way of being is too much, it becomes difficult to trust your own instincts. Many autistic adults describe a long process of trying to unlearn the shame and self-censorship that came from years of being told to be less.

But autistic intensity is not a deficit. It is a gift. It is the force that drives innovation, fuels creativity, and sustains lifelong learning. It is what allows us to engage deeply with the things that matter to us, often with extraordinary dedication and insight. Our intensity can build movements, create art, design systems, and transform the way people think. It is not something to be managed or reduced. It is something to be honored.

The problem is not that autistic people are too much. The problem is that the world is too uncomfortable with difference. The social scripts we are expected to follow were not written with our voices in mind. They privilege surface-level engagement over depth, social comfort over truth, and sameness over authenticity. When autistic people break those scripts by speaking with intensity or showing strong emotion, we are not failing to be appropriate. We are being real. And often, that reality is inconvenient to systems that rely on conformity and silence.

Reframing autistic intensity as valid, powerful, and meaningful requires a shift in how we define emotional appropriateness. It requires recognizing that emotional expression and cognitive engagement come in many forms, and that none is inherently superior. It also requires challenging the ableist idea that passion is only acceptable when it is easy to consume or when it matches neurotypical norms. Autistic people should not have to dilute our joy to be included. We should not have to pretend not to care in order to be heard.

Creating spaces where autistic passion is welcomed begins with listening without judgment. It means celebrating depth, encouraging curiosity, and making room for expression that may look different but is no less human. It means refusing to shame people for feeling deeply or speaking honestly. It means asking why intensity makes people uncomfortable and who benefits from that discomfort. It means questioning a culture that demands emotional moderation from those already working twice as hard just to be understood.

To be autistic and intense is to live in a world that constantly asks you to be less. But intensity is not the enemy. It is our language, our connection, and our resistance. In a culture that fears depth and polices emotion, being “too much” is often exactly what the world needs. Autistic passion is not something to be corrected. It is something to be protected, celebrated, and finally, allowed to take up space.

Common Ways Autistic People Are Told They’re “Too Much”:

• Being called obsessive for having deep, sustained interests

• Being labeled as dramatic for expressing strong emotions or reacting visibly to injustice

• Being interrupted, dismissed, or talked over when speaking passionately

• Being told to tone it down, calm down, or talk about something “lighter”

• Being perceived as argumentative for engaging in deep discussion or disagreement

• Being excluded socially or professionally for showing visible excitement or emotion

• Being pathologized in clinical or workplace settings for emotional expressiveness

Harmful Cultural Messages We Internalize:

• "You talk too much about that topic. It’s boring to everyone else."

• "You’re too sensitive. You need thicker skin."

• "You’re being too intense. You’re scaring people."

• "Stop being so emotional. It’s unprofessional."

• "Why do you care so much? Just let it go."

• "You need to learn to act normal if you want to fit in."

Reframing and Reclaiming Autistic Intensity:

• Your passion is not a problem. It is a form of presence and truth.

• Your interests are not “special” in a dismissive way—they are meaningful and vital.

• Feeling deeply is not weakness. It is emotional honesty and strength.

• Curiosity is not disruption. It is engagement and learning.

• Emotional expression is not instability. It is humanity.

• You are not too much. You are enough, exactly as you are.

• The world needs people who care deeply. Don’t apologize for showing up fully.

Reclaiming autistic intensity is an act of resistance in a world that constantly asks us to soften, shrink, or silence ourselves for the comfort of others. The messages we receive about being too much are not reflections of who we are, but of a culture that struggles to hold space for depth, difference, and emotional honesty. When we internalize these messages, we lose access to some of the most beautiful parts of ourselves—our passion, our curiosity, our fierce sense of justice, and our capacity to feel fully.

The truth is, there is nothing wrong with caring deeply. There is nothing wrong with being captivated by an idea, driven by a question, or moved by emotion. Autistic people deserve to be heard without being edited, to speak without being punished, and to live without being told that our natural way of being is too much. The work of unlearning shame and reclaiming passion is lifelong, but it is necessary, not only for our own healing but for building a more just and compassionate world. There is strength in our intensity. There is clarity in our focus. And there is power in refusing to apologize for either.