At the time, clinicians might have noted the child’s “lack of social reciprocity” or “restricted patterns of behaviour.” But today, the question we’re beginning to ask is different: What if that child was simply communicating in a different language? This is the core of a cultural and cognitive shift that has taken root over the past two decades, sped up in the wake of mental health awareness campaigns, workplace inclusion programmes, and the growing voices of autistic self-advocates.

In 1996, a developmental psychologist named Simon Baron-Cohen sat across from a young boy with autism in a Cambridge clinic. The child was lining up toy animals in a precise row, matching them by size and colour. When Baron-Cohen gently interrupted to ask which animal the boy liked best, the child didn’t respond. Instead, he tilted his head, adjusted the line again, and smiled... not at the doctor, but at the symmetry he had created.

The Vocabulary of Understanding:

Enter a new lexicon coined not in textbooks, but in blogs, support groups, social media threads, and advocacy meetings. Neurodivergent, for instance, is now commonly used to describe individuals whose brains process information differently from the neurotypical majority. Coined by sociologist Judy Singer in the late 1990s, it’s a neutral, inclusive term, part of the broader neurodiversity movement that argues for difference without deficit. To be neurodivergent is not to be broken. It is to be wired differently. And that reframing makes all the difference.

Language is where this transformation begins. Our tools for understanding others are largely shaped by how we describe them, terms like “high-functioning” or “disorder” carry unintended consequences. They impose a hierarchy, suggesting that one way of being is more acceptable than another. “High-functioning” implies that someone is “passing” as neurotypical, and therefore more tolerable. “Disorder” places the person at odds with society, rather than examining whether society itself can adapt.

Stimming, Sensory Diets, and the Missing Manual:

Consider the concept of stimming (short for self-stimulatory behaviour). For decades, repetitive movements like hand-flapping, rocking, or spinning objects were pathologized. Therapies were designed to eliminate them. But from the perspective of many autistic individuals, stimming is not a symptom. It’s a form of regulation... a way to cope with overwhelming sensory input or to express joy.

Suppose you’re tapping your foot in a long meeting. You’re chewing a pencil while reading a dense report. You’re humming a tune in the shower. That’s stimming, too. The difference is, no one tells you to stop.

Then there’s the invisible threat called autistic burnout. It’s a term that doesn’t appear in official diagnostic manuals but resonates deeply with autistic adults. Burnout is what happens after prolonged efforts to mask: to appear neurotypical, to hold eye contact, to tolerate bright lights or small talk or unpredictable social situations. It’s exhaustion not of the body, but of identity; and it often leads to regression in skills, depression, and withdrawal. In a way, burnout is the ultimate argument against the concept of “functioning labels.” Because what looks like “high-functioning” on the outside is often achieved through immense internal cost.

Now consider the concept of a sensory diet. It’s not food. It’s a curated set of sensory inputs (textures, sounds, lights, smells) that help an autistic person stay regulated throughout the day. For some, it’s wearing noise-canceling headphones in the supermarket. For others, it’s using a weighted blanket to feel calm before sleep. If you can tailor your environment to your needs, your world becomes more navigable, not less.

A Shift in Power:

Increasingly, autistic voices are driving the conversation, not just being studied in it. They are writing the books, designing the apps, creating content, and building organizations that support fellow autistic people. They are not asking to be fixed. They are asking to be heard.

Take the example of companies like Microsoft and SAP, which have launched neurodiversity hiring programmes; not as acts of charity, but as strategic recruitment. These firms have realized that neurodivergent minds bring precision, creativity, and systems-level thinking. What was once considered a liability is now an asset. However, educational systems are still calibrated for the “average” student. Healthcare systems still prioritize diagnosis over lived experience. Parents are still handed grim pamphlets instead of hopeful roadmaps. So how do we get from here to there?

The Reframe That Changes Everything:

When we assume deficits, we overlook the brilliance of adaptation. When we assume difference, we open up a space for empathy. The philosopher Ian Hacking once said that every new category of people creates new ways for people to be. Neurodivergence is such a category: one that invites us to move beyond old binaries: able/disabled, normal/abnormal, functioning/not functioning. Instead, it urges us to ask: What if the problem isn’t the person, but the environment? What if the solution isn’t fixing people, but including them?

There’s a story about a young autistic girl who, during a school fire drill, refused to leave the building. Her teacher panicked, assuming she didn’t understand the danger. But later, the girl explained calmly: the fire alarm was so loud, it caused her pain. She wasn’t confused. She was overwhelmed.

Today, Autism Pride Day is about reclaiming language, identity and the narrative from deficit to diversity. In 1973, homosexuality was removed from the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders). In 2013, Asperger’s Syndrome was folded into the broader autism spectrum. In 2025 and beyond, we might see the very structure of diagnostic language itself evolve. Like any other variation in the human mind, autism carries with it strengths, challenges, and truths yet to be fully understood. But the more we listen openly, the closer we get to a world where every brain is welcomed at the table.

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