Autism Is No Tragedy

When my son received an autism diagnosis in 2012, at age three, the conversation on autism revolved around fear and panic. Doctors spelled out all the things a child would never do, never achieve. Parents like me were warned not to get our hopes up — that hope for our children’s futures was a delusion.

Improved diagnostic criteria and a growing neurodiversity movement have proven that autism is not the tragedy we were led to believe it was.

My son is now 17, a high school senior in a mainstream class. He won’t graduate this year, but I’m confident that he will graduate. He doesn’t drive, but he has learned to take the city bus. He doesn’t have a group of friends, but he does have one kid he hangs out with every weekend. He doesn’t have a job, but last summer he volunteered in the community.

At one time he was in a special needs class with a dedicated assistant. At one time his meltdowns were so intense, I wasn’t sure he’d be able to remain at home, much less attend school.

At one time he talked about not wanting to live. It took years, and it took a village of caring therapists, family members and school staff. Yet here we are.

Across Canada, a course correction is taking place.

In 2022, the federal government released its first-ever Disability Inclusion Action Plan, aimed at helping Canadians with disabilities participate fully in the workforce.

Neurodiversity is increasingly seen not as a hindrance, but as an asset. Many autistic people, including my son, have distinct strengths — particularly in pattern recognition and creative problem-solving — and often perform as well as, if not better than, their peers in those areas.

Employers are starting to take notice. Companies like TD Bank Group and EY Canada now actively recruit neurodivergent employees. Those who do report greater productivity, innovation and retention.

It turns out that simple accommodations, such as quiet spaces, flexible scheduling and written instructions, aren’t special privileges. They often make the workplace better for everyone.

A difference, not a defect

Researchers at Canadian universities, such as the University of British Columbia and McGill University, are studying autism through a neurodiversity lens, focusing not just on deficits but on strengths and lived experience.

For the first time, autistic voices like mine are being consulted when it comes to setting policy that directly affects us. This shift is nothing short of monumental.

In the media, autistic characters are no longer painted as caricatures and stereotypes but as complex characters whose autism is only one facet of their persona rather than a defining feature.

The card-counting savant in the 1988 American movie Rain Man has given way to a nuanced pro hockey player in the 2025 Canadian TV series Heated Rivalry.

And, after consulting with the autistic community, Mattel recently released an autistic Barbie. Such representation and visibility did not exist when I was a girl growing up in the ’80s, secretly wondering what was wrong with me.

What will the future hold for my son? I have no idea. But every day he gives me hope. The way we think about autism in this country is slowly changing, and that also gives me hope.

Contrary to lingering misconceptions, many autistic people do pay taxes, hold down jobs and go on dates. Many of us also play baseball and write poetry, for that matter.

We are actors and athletes. We are engineers and artists, scientists and comedians. We are professors and authors. Five years ago, at 44, I was diagnosed with autism. Last year, I published my first book. I have since written a second.

I feel optimistic for the autistic generation rising up behind me.

Maybe tomorrow’s neurodivergent kids will not grow up cloaked in shame and self-loathing as I did, masking hard to survive and burning out in the process.

Maybe, unlike me, these kids will grow up viewing their neurology as a fundamental difference rather than a fundamental defect.

And maybe the wider systems at play will finally see our inherent value and put in place the kind of scaffolding and inclusive policies we need to thrive. Our country will be better for it.

I do not wish to romanticize autism. Autism is hard. The shadow of ableism and stigma looms large. Wait-lists are too long. Services too few. Some children who need intensive care will grow into adults who need intensive care.

Yet I know that when autistic people are understood and supported, we have tremendous potential. We have possibility. That is no delusion.