Why So Many Autistic Women Were in Gifted Programs—And What That Means

Bridgette Hamstead

For many late-diagnosed autistic women, looking back on childhood often reveals patterns that make perfect sense in hindsight. One of the most common threads is the experience of being placed in gifted programs. At first glance, this might seem like an unrelated coincidence, but when examined through the lens of neurodivergence, it becomes clear that the overlap between autism and gifted identification is not just common—it is systemic. The gifted label often functioned as an alternative explanation for traits that, in another context, might have pointed to an autism diagnosis. Instead of recognizing these children as autistic, schools categorized them as exceptional in ways that largely ignored or masked their struggles.

I was one of those children. I was in a gifted program in fourth and fifth grade, and being in that environment helped me academically. I thrived in creative and intellectually stimulating spaces, particularly in the arts. But that support was short-lived. My parents moved me to a private school for convenience, one that didn’t have a gifted program, and suddenly, the structure that had helped me feel somewhat successful was gone. I was back in a standard school setting that didn't accommodate my learning needs, my sensory sensitivities, or my deep focus on subjects that interested me. I struggled. Years later, I returned to a gifted program in my last two years of high school, and once again, I did better academically. But even in these spaces, I never truly fit. I still felt different. I now know that’s because I wasn’t just gifted—I was autistic.

Many autistic girls and women, especially those socialized as girls in childhood, excelled academically in specific areas while struggling in others. Their deep, passionate interests led to an intense focus that was praised when it resulted in high achievement but misunderstood when it didn’t align with the curriculum. A child who could read at an advanced level but struggled with basic social cues was often seen as quirky or precocious rather than neurodivergent. A student who could hyperfocus on science projects but fell apart when it came to group work or executive function-heavy tasks was viewed as intelligent but scattered, rather than as someone who might benefit from autistic accommodations. Gifted programs were often the only educational spaces where these students found stimulation that matched their intellectual curiosity, but they did not offer the kind of support autistic students actually needed.

One of the reasons so many autistic women were placed in gifted programs is that their intelligence, verbal ability, or academic success served as a convenient way to explain away their differences. In a world that has long framed autism as a childhood condition affecting mostly boys, autistic girls and women often fell through the cracks. Because they were articulate, insightful, or high-achieving in specific areas, teachers and parents assumed they simply couldn't be autistic. If they struggled socially, they were "shy." If they had difficulty with transitions, they were "sensitive." If they melted down after school, it was just "overexcitability." The gifted label often obscured the reality that these students were not just bright, but also struggling in ways that required recognition and support.

At the same time, autistic students who were placed in gifted programs often found themselves in an academic environment that only reinforced their differences. Being in a gifted program did not mean being surrounded by peers who understood them. In many cases, they still felt isolated, struggling with social communication even among intellectually advanced classmates. Some excelled academically but were penalized for executive function struggles, disorganization, or inconsistent performance. Others were seen as "not living up to their potential," blamed for underachievement rather than recognized as neurodivergent students who required a different approach to learning. Many autistic girls in gifted programs internalized the belief that their worth was tied to their intelligence and academic performance, leading to perfectionism, anxiety, and burnout that would follow them into adulthood.

High school was an incredibly challenging time for me, no matter what academic setting I was in. During my freshman year, I attended an all-girls boarding school where the bullying became unbearable. My classmates targeted me relentlessly, even using early forms of online harassment to tell me I should take my own life. It was a devastating experience, and I had no choice but to leave. Unfortunately, the next school I attended wasn’t much better. When I eventually enrolled in a public school with a gifted program, I found some relief academically, but the social and emotional challenges remained. While the structure of the gifted program provided a better academic fit, it did nothing to help me understand myself or navigate my neurodivergence. Looking back, I can see that what I truly needed wasn’t just academic challenge—it was the recognition that I was autistic, and that intelligence alone couldn’t compensate for a lack of support and understanding.

For those who were later diagnosed as autistic, understanding the link between their placement in gifted programs and their neurodivergence can bring a mix of emotions. There is often grief for what was missed—what might have been different if they had been understood as autistic rather than simply "gifted but difficult." There is anger at the systems that only recognized their abilities while ignoring their struggles. But there is also validation in recognizing that their experiences were not random, that there was a reason why they always felt different, why they thrived in certain areas and struggled in others.

This pattern raises important questions about how many undiagnosed autistic children, particularly girls and those socialized as girls, are still being overlooked today. If we continue to rely on outdated stereotypes about autism, assuming that verbal ability or intelligence contradicts an autism diagnosis, we will keep missing the students who need support. Many late-diagnosed autistic women recall spending years feeling alienated, anxious, or exhausted from masking their struggles in an attempt to meet the high expectations placed on them in gifted programs. They were told they had limitless potential but were never given the tools to manage the sensory overload, social challenges, or executive function difficulties that came with their neurotype.

Recognizing the connection between autism and giftedness is not about debating labels—it is about understanding the full experience of neurodivergent children. Autistic students who are also intellectually gifted do not need to be "fixed" or forced to conform to rigid academic structures. They need environments that recognize both their strengths and their challenges. They need support that allows them to thrive without burning out. Most importantly, they need to be seen for who they are—not just for what they can achieve.

For many late-diagnosed autistic women, the realization that they were not just gifted but autistic is life-changing. It reframes their childhood experiences, allowing them to finally understand why they always felt different. It gives them permission to unmask, to embrace the way their brains work rather than forcing themselves to meet impossible expectations. And for those still navigating this discovery, it offers a reminder that they were never broken or failing—just misunderstood.

What This Means for Autistic Women

For many late-diagnosed autistic women, being labeled as "gifted" instead of autistic meant they spent their childhoods navigating a world that misunderstood them. It means their struggles with social interactions, executive function, and sensory sensitivities were ignored because their intelligence masked their needs. It means they internalized the expectation that they should be able to manage everything on their own simply because they were bright. It means they were never given the validation or support they needed, leading to years of masking, perfectionism, burnout, and anxiety.

What This Means for How Autism Is Recognized

The pattern of autistic women being placed in gifted programs highlights the systemic failures in recognizing autism—especially in those who don’t fit outdated, male-centric diagnostic models. It means that intelligence and verbal ability are still incorrectly used to rule out autism in girls and women. It means that many autistic children today are still being overlooked, with their struggles dismissed because they excel in specific areas. It means we need to challenge the assumption that giftedness and autism are separate, rather than recognizing that many autistic individuals have deep intellectual and creative strengths alongside their challenges.

What This Means for Education and Support

Understanding this connection means we need to rethink how we support neurodivergent students. It means that gifted programs need to do more than provide intellectual stimulation—they must also recognize and accommodate the sensory, social, and executive function differences that many of their students experience. It means that teachers and parents should be educated about the diverse ways autism presents, so that bright, passionate, deep-thinking children aren’t left to struggle alone simply because they don’t fit a narrow stereotype of what autism "looks like."

What This Means for Late-Diagnosed Autistic Adults

For autistic women who grew up in gifted programs, this realization can be life-changing. It means that their childhood experiences weren’t random—it wasn’t just that they were "quirky" or "different" in some unexplained way. It means that their exhaustion, anxiety, and lifelong sense of isolation had a cause. It means they can finally start to understand themselves, grieve what was missed, and work toward unmasking and self-acceptance.

Ultimately, what this means is that intelligence should never be used as a reason to deny or overlook neurodivergence. The world needs to do better at recognizing and supporting autistic women—not just when they struggle, but in all the ways they experience and engage with the world.