I Overcame My Autism and All I Got Was This Lousy Anxiety Disorder

Overview

Sarah Kurchak’s memoir chronicles her undiagnosed autistic life, late Diagnosis at age 27-34, and her journey navigating a neurotypical world while developing elaborate masking strategies to survive childhood bullying, educational mismatch, and societal devaluation of disabled people. Through personal narrative, research analysis, and cultural critique, Kurchak explores how parental acceptance, community belonging, authentic self-expression, and systemic barriers shape autistic experience—ultimately arguing that accepting Autism rather than suppressing it is both ethically sound and practically beneficial for autistic wellbeing.

Core Concepts & Guidance

Parental Acceptance As Foundation for Resilience

Kurchak’s parents fundamentally shaped her resilience not through fixing her Autism, but through refusing to pathologize it. They approached her differences pragmatically, testing Accommodations through trial and error rather than forcing normalization: scheduling the dishwasher for times she wasn’t home to manage Sensory terror, finding hair salons with calmer environments, preparing her for restaurant outings with advance notice, and constructing a nutritionally adequate diet around her food sensitivities without shaming her. Critically, they framed her differences as simply “how she was” rather than problems requiring fixing, protecting her from public shame while never disclosing her vulnerabilities to strangers who might weaponize them.

Kurchak explicitly acknowledges that this parental approach depended on substantial unearned advantages: white privilege, cisgender and heterosexual identity, middle-class-adjacent stability, and most crucially, two parents born into circumstances allowing them to prioritize her emotional wellbeing over productivity or social conformity. She cannot and does not recommend this pathway as universally accessible, but she distills one principle that transcends circumstance: there is “power in trying and in the love that fuels those efforts” and “power in the act of being on their side.” Her parents couldn’t solve everything—she still receives panicked texts about Sensory overload decades later—but they provided an irreplaceable foundation: knowledge that she would never be held against or have her struggles weaponized by those closest to her. This stands in stark contrast to what she calls “helpful intervention”—when intervention prioritizes autistic wellbeing (like an occupational therapist who recommends chewable vitamins rather than forcing limited foods) versus behavioral compliance approaches like ABA that eliminate triggers and reinforcers without understanding root causes.

Masking: the Exhausting Performance of Normalcy

Masking involves the profound, often unconscious effort autistic people expend to hide Autism-related traits and appear neurotypical. Kurchak describes developing this strategy after severe bullying at age eleven, undertaking what she calls “The Great Jeans Project”—training herself to wear jeans that caused severe Sensory pain (particularly the inner seam rubbing against her pubic area) by enduring the discomfort until desensitization occurred. She extended this pattern to every aspect of her presentation: tone of voice, Body language, music taste, and hobbies. This early masking served a “measurable improvement” in her school experience but came with three critical caveats she emphasizes directly: (1) the changes are never fully sufficient—once she achieved jeans acceptance, shoes became the next status marker; (2) the uniform appearance masked deeper alienation and suffering; and (3) the results are fundamentally unsustainable, requiring constant maintenance and effort. She explicitly warns against viewing her masking success as a model for intervention, arguing it represents learned self-harm rather than healthy adaptation.

By adulthood, her masking had become automatic and multi-layered. She maintained fake Eye contact by looking at eyebrows or teeth, suppressed natural Stimming by converting them into socially acceptable fidgeting, rehearsed conversations obsessively, modulated her voice based on her mother’s speech patterns, and managed constant background “tracks” running simultaneously—one monitoring Eye contact, one processing conversation, one preventing her from saying “weird” things, another filtering Sensory overload. She practiced specific social scripts, studied other people’s behavior to mimic gestures, and created different personas for different audiences. This wasn’t conscious performance in controlled moments; it was automatic, constant, and deeply embedded into her consciousness.

Research confirms that masking causes near-universal exhaustion among autistic people, particularly women. Study participants report needing to “curl up in the fetal position to recover” after Camouflaging. Many report feeling their friendships aren’t real because they’re based on a lie, losing sight of their true identity after playing so many roles. Women controlling Stimming report reduced ability to handle Sensory and emotional issues. Masking leaves people with less energy for basic tasks like housework, emotional processing, or managing relationships. This ongoing drain is likely partially responsible for high rates of anxiety and Depression among autistic people. Critically, autistic adults are nine times more likely to die by suicide than the general population—a statistic directly correlated with masking costs.

In the context of shopping or social events, Kurchak’s masking appears invisible: she can navigate a mall successfully, purchase items, engage in conversation. What observers don’t see are the hours of advance planning, bathroom breaks for Emotional regulation and crying, research to locate quiet spaces, texting her mother for pep talks before social events, and multi-day recovery periods required afterward. A stranger seeing her shop would perceive no disability at all, unaware that she requires substantial invisible infrastructure to manage what appears to be a simple task. This reality of “high-functioning” Autism is precisely why accusations that she’s “not really autistic” correlate so directly with how effectively she performs normalcy; she faces accusations of inauthenticity specifically because she can pass.

Strategic Deception and Protective Disclosure

Kurchak challenges the common narrative that autistic people are inherently honest and cannot deceive, demonstrating instead that autistic individuals can and do learn to lie strategically when survival depends on it. Her first conscious deception occurred at age twelve when, afraid to admit her genuine crush, she claimed to like a boy she didn’t to avoid social rejection. This experience taught her that “people don’t have to hate you to hurt you” and that “your secrets probably aren’t safe with anyone.” While she retains a natural inclination toward honesty and directness, she learned to deploy lies strategically for self-protection: fake phone numbers given to unwanted male attention, claiming illness to decline social invitations, describing Meltdowns as physical ailments rather than Autism-related overwhelm.

She distinguishes between outright lies (which she struggles with) and subtler deceptions—irony, sarcasm, evasion, obfuscation, and lies of omission—which she mastered through cultural observation and practice, citing her study of the British comedy series Blackadder as key to developing sarcasm skills. Her parents modeled this protective discretion, using euphemisms like “Sarah likes the Titanic” to describe obsessive interests and “Sarah’s not feeling well” to cover anxiety episodes, shielding her from intrusive judgment while maintaining honesty about her actual needs with medical professionals. The motivation for these deceptions was not theory-of-mind deficit but survival: the recognition that radical honesty about vulnerability could be weaponized.

Notably, the demand for disclosure creates its own harm. When Kurchak published a professional piece about vaccine-Autism myths (“I’m Autistic, And Believe Me, It’s A Lot Better Than Measles”), she received intense backlash from “Autism Warrior Parents” (AWPs)—parents who view Autism as a tragedy to be cured rather than understood. Some demanded increasingly personal details about her life to “prove” her Autism was severe enough to speak on the topic. The emotional toll came from strangers knowing intimate details about her bodily functions and perceived failures while still dismissing her; from autistic people using her work to argue they were “better” than other autistic people; and from heartbroken parents of high-Support-needs children whose desperation she couldn’t adequately address. The vulnerability that was supposed to create connection instead became ammunition for interrogation and dismissal—illustrating why strategic withholding of information is not a character flaw but a rational response to a world that treats autistic people’s disclosed vulnerabilities as fair game for judgment.

Sensory, Physical, and Neurological Differences in Childhood

Kurchak catalogs the specific Sensory and physical challenges that shaped her early years: disrupted sleep patterns lasting three and a half years of not sleeping through the night, terror of loud noises (particularly the dishwasher), painful sensitivity to touch making hair and nail care traumatic, sensitivity to strong scents (laundry detergent caused chest discomfort she misidentified as “heartburn”), texture and taste sensitivities severely limiting her diet, rapid and monotone speech, extreme reactions to others’ emotions (hiding under chairs when her mother expressed frustration), atypical toilet training, poor gait and body awareness, and anxiety about public outings. Her narrow intense interests included dinosaurs, the Titanic, Max Headroom, and David Lynch’s Dune.

With age, these Sensory patterns don’t necessarily resolve—they shift and evolve. By her mid-thirties, Kurchak experienced increasing Sensory sensitivity: her cognitive processing speed slowed, she made more typos, lost words more frequently, and experienced deteriorating tolerance for masking. She became hypersensitive to touch in ways that previously didn’t bother her, experiencing panic when her mother touched her forearm during Las Vegas trips together. She expresses deep fear about what happens when she can no longer write—the one skill that has made sense to her and provided her only viable income. The specter of menopause looms, as older autistic people have warned her it can uniquely impact autistic neurology with minimal medical Support available. This aging process reveals a hard truth about Autism: Neurological differences don’t resolve with maturity; they require ongoing accommodation and adaptation.

The Concept of “high-Functioning” Autism and Invisible Disability

Kurchak critiques the concept of “high-functioning” Autism as largely performative and misleading. She explains that her ability to speak, process information at neurotypical speed, and maintain conversations doesn’t mean her Autism is less real or challenging—it means she has learned to hide her needs extraordinarily well. The term “high-functioning” functions primarily as a marker of how effectively someone masks, not as an accurate description of Autism severity. She notes the cruel irony that when she doesn’t disclose details of her struggles, she’s accused of glamorizing Autism, but when she does expose vulnerabilities, strangers (predominantly non-autistic parents) demand increasingly explicit details about her bodily functions and perceived failures, using this information to minimize her autistic credentials or dismiss her perspective as insufficiently disabled.

This invisibility creates a particular form of isolation. Shopping requires hours of mall reconnaissance to locate bathrooms where she can cry or shake. Parties involve hiding in quiet corners and texting her mother for pep talks before requiring days of recovery. Constant management of Sensory and emotional overwhelm happens beneath the surface of what others perceive. When she eventually received her Diagnosis, many people questioned whether it was legitimate precisely because she had succeeded in appearing normal—creating a situation where her successful masking became evidence against her Autism rather than evidence of autistic adaptation. The advocacy insistence on her “realness” as autistic correlates directly with how effectively she performs normalcy; she faces accusations that she’s “not really autistic” specifically because she can pass.

Autistic Burnout and the Recovery Pathway Through Special Interests

In spring 2015, Kurchak hit severe autistic burnout—a state where accumulating stress, masking demands, transitions between jobs, and unprocessed trauma cause a significant shift toward appearing “more autistic.” Symptoms included decreased motivation, loss of Executive function, memory problems, lethargy, and decreased tolerance for Sensory and emotional stimulation. She was making typos in her writing (previously impossible), couldn’t find socks that felt right, had to put her phone on vibrate because notifications overwhelmed her, and felt like she was “slipping.”

To recover, she decided to rewatch all 105 episodes of the 1960s spy show “The Man from U.N.C.L.E.”—a show she’d obsessed over as a teenager. She committed to an experiment: allow herself to pursue this “special interest” (intense autistic hyperfocus) without masking, without monitoring how much time she spent, without worrying about boring others. Within a week, she felt noticeably less depleted. She began posting extensively about the show on social media without her usual self-editing anxiety. She researched tie-ins and fanfiction, developed theories about the show’s cultural significance and queer subtext, and shared everything unfiltered. She successfully cold-pitched an article to The A.V. Club about the show’s sexual politics. When it was published, other unabashed fans reached out, and new friendships formed based on shared passion. She got a tattoo of the character’s badge. Throughout this five-week period of viewing all 105 episodes, she gained two new friends, three paying writing assignments, and a visceral recognition that she’d been wasting enormous energy trying to make herself palatable.

This experience fundamentally contradicted assumptions that special interests isolate autistic people. Kurchak identifies her pattern: Titanic appeared when she first realized she was different; David Lynch’s Dune during peer rejection; indie rock and The Man from U.N.C.L.E. during school breakdown; professional wrestling during early steps back into adulthood. These “special interests” provided crucial refuge from unrelenting stress. However, she learned early that loving things intensely—especially “wrong” things—was uncool and embarrassing. She spent decades hiding this capacity, experiencing shame for natural autistic hyperfocus. The U.N.C.L.E.-ing experiment revealed that the effort to suppress these interests was disproportionately draining compared to the actual benefit of appearing “normal.”

Research on special interests is predominantly pathologizing, framing them as problems to “fix” rather than valuable components of autistic life. The DSM-5 lists “Restricted interests” as a Diagnostic criterion, which has led many experts to advise parents to discourage focused interests to make autistic children “less autistic” and more employable. However, Kurchak argues that embracing special interests has actually expanded her world—visiting Portmeirion (the Welsh village where The Prisoner was filmed), deepening friendships with others who share interests, and discovering that “info dumping” about beloved topics is a legitimate and meaningful form of autistic communication. Special interests provide “a sense of order and control to a world that is often baffling” and crucial escapism during overwhelm. Suppressing interests caused more isolation than indulging them.

Belonging and Community Transformation

Kurchak’s experience working at Chart magazine—a music publication staffed by “obsessive pedants with rigorous filing processes”—provided her first genuine sense of belonging. Unlike high school, conversations felt natural because they centered on shared passions rather than arbitrary social hierarchy. Her colleagues weren’t “cuddly” but they were kind; they had defense mechanisms instead of social skills, and they bonded through sarcasm and shared obscure references. This community didn’t “fix” her Autism, but it fundamentally changed her relationship to her own differences. Being around people equally weird normalized traits she’d considered deficits. She developed professional skills (like conducting interviews) that later transferred to casual interactions.

Later, creating a wrestling heel character, “Sarah Bellum,” in the Pillow Fight League—a professional pillow fighting promotion with wrestling-style storytelling—became another transformative community space. Initially conceived as an exorcism to bury her painful childhood self, the character became something more complex: a space to experiment with parts of herself she’d hidden. By performing her worst traits intentionally, she could test whether they were actually as unacceptable as she believed. When audiences’ reactions shifted from pure booing to sympathy, she realized Bellum wasn’t entirely loathsome—she was trying her best, funny in her awkwardness, and genuinely loved by her fellow fighters. This public performance allowed her to discover that the person she’d been hiding—flawed, weird, but authentic—could be accepted and even valued. The PFL community became “found family,” and the experience provided catharsis that Therapy and Diagnosis alone hadn’t achieved.

Finding community is qualitatively different from individual Therapy in its transformative power. Being around people equally weird normalized traits Kurchak had pathologized. Professional success, acceptance, and sense of purpose emerged not from “fixing” herself but from finding environments where her traits were assets rather than liabilities. This illustrates a fundamental principle: autistic wellbeing doesn’t come from individual self-improvement within systems designed for neurotypical people; it comes from finding or creating systems where autistic ways of being are valued.

Autism, Identity, and Performance

Kurchak discusses how wrestling’s blurred line between fiction and reality resonates with autistic experiences of masking—the conscious and subconscious hiding of autistic traits to appear socially acceptable. Some wrestlers play entirely fictional characters; others are barely exaggerated versions of themselves. This uncertainty mirrors the autistic experience of constantly navigating between “person and persona.” She notes that autistic people may be disproportionately drawn to wrestling because they relate to this liminal space between authenticity and performance, or because wrestling’s theatrical exaggeration and broad themes offer accessible (if imperfect) models for understanding social interaction. The constant navigation between authentic self and socially acceptable persona—whether in everyday life or professional wrestling—is exhausting but sometimes necessary. Spaces that allow exploration of hidden selves provide crucial opportunities for self-discovery and integration.

Autistic Sexuality, Gender Diversity, and Romantic Relationships

Research shows autistic people are 7.59 times more likely to express gender variance and approximately 70 percent identify as non-heterosexual—almost three times the rate of non-autistic people. This queerness is often erased in heteronormative discussions of Autism and love. Kurchak stresses that conversations about Autism and romance must address the full spectrum of autistic genders and sexualities, not just cisgender heterosexual relationships.

She also notes the critical but often overlooked issue that autistic girls and women are almost three times as likely to experience sexual abuse as non-autistic counterparts, requiring education about consent and boundaries—but not at the expense of acknowledging autistic sexuality as valid and normal. Furthermore, she warns against using her marriage as proof that autistic people can find love, because this attaches unrealistic expectations to romantic partnership and ignores that not all autistic people want romantic love, that asexuality is valid, and that platonic bonds can be equally fulfilling. Her own relationship with Aaron works well, but required luck, timing, and mutual effort—not Autism acceptance alone. She emphasizes that Autism is one piece of an “overwhelmingly convoluted 3-D puzzle” in relationships, alongside personality, communication styles, and life circumstances.

In her marriage, Kurchak struggles with reciprocal conversation, a major autistic social challenge. She prefers interconnected statement-based exchanges over Question-and-answer formats. When Chart assigned her interviews, questioning suddenly made sense within a formal structure with clear roles and purposes. She could prepare, take notes, and practice—making the abstract concept of “asking questions to show interest” concrete and learnable. Transcribing interviews taught her about tone, pacing, and verbal communication by analyzing recorded conversations. This professional context transformed a confusing social skill into a learnable tool, demonstrating how structured environments and clear purposes can help autistic people develop social abilities without forcing assimilation.

She also describes asking Aaron “Are you mad at me?” nearly daily for eighteen years due to lingering social anxiety and difficulty reading Facial expressions. Though she logically knows he would tell her if upset, her anxiety drives the repetitive question. Aaron’s frustration with the question itself became more manageable than the unknown, because “unknown” activates her catastrophic thinking patterns. This illustrates how autistic anxiety operates differently from social rudeness—it’s about managing unbearable uncertainty, not malice.

Substance Use As Self-Medication and Coping Response

Kurchak didn’t drink until her late teens/early twenties, having grown up in a substance-free household and initially adopting a “straight edge” identity. She later discovered that alcohol could temporarily reduce her anxiety and hypervigilance about social performance, allowing her to participate in group conversations without exhausting self-monitoring. A small amount lets her “hold her own in reciprocal situations” and care less about potential social failures. However, too much alcohol makes her overconfident and inappropriately earnest, leading to social missteps she later regrets.

A 2017 Swedish study shows autistic people with IQ ≥100 are twice as likely to develop alcohol and drug addictions compared to non-autistic people, with significantly higher risk for those with co-occurring ADHD. Rather than following stereotypes of autistic rule-following preventing substance use, research suggests autistic people may experiment with substances to self-medicate Sensory overwhelm, social anxiety, and Executive dysfunction. One researcher identified impulsivity, repetitive/compulsive behaviors, and possible genetic/neurochemical connections as factors, but the author emphasizes the “strong social component”—autistic people often start using substances for the same reasons she did: managing unbearable internal experiences.

Kurchak describes using alcohol to dull her senses in high-stimulation environments like Las Vegas, and discovering that cannabis briefly quieted her constant self-critical internal monologue—though excessive use triggers panic attacks. She worries about the tipping point where substances stop helping and start harming, particularly as hangovers become increasingly overwhelming with age. Critically, she emphasizes that Diagnosis and self-understanding alone haven’t fundamentally changed her coping strategies. She developed better understanding of why she drinks but continued the same pattern. She stresses that treating Autism and addiction requires more than addressing the addictions themselves—it requires acknowledging the exhaustion and confusion of being autistic in an ableist world and providing genuinely better alternatives. As long as existence feels unbearable, people will seek relief through whatever means available.

Systemic Devaluation of Disabled People and Worth

The author critiques how society ties disabled people’s value to their utility. Parents of autistic children are praised for “how hard we must be,” and disability narratives center on what non-disabled people learned from caring for disabled loved ones—not on disabled people’s own lives and desires. She references the PayNowOrPayLater hashtag in Ontario, showing how even well-meaning advocacy reduces autistic children to cost-benefit calculations. She notes that fear of being a burden motivates some disabled people to seek assisted suicide, and when disabled people are killed by family members, society is asked to sympathize with the killers. The pervasive message that disabled people must prove their value through productivity is psychologically devastating. She spent decades believing she had to become “perfect” to deserve friendship, only discovering through community that acceptance doesn’t require elimination of difference. Real relationships are built on mutual recognition, not transactional usefulness.

Kurchak emphasizes she’s not advocating for avoiding challenges, but rather that earlier Diagnosis would have allowed informed decision-making about her future: “being able to apply an awareness of my Autism—and, by extension, a greater awareness of myself—to my choices in life.” She spent nearly three decades unaware she was autistic, making career decisions that were fundamentally misaligned with her neurology. She pursued fitness and media work—industries requiring extensive travel, emotionally intense interpersonal interaction, and rigid schedules—all incompatible with her autistic needs. She later recognized that writing, despite being an “unreliable industry,” would have been the more responsible choice given its flexible hours and lower social demands. The lack of early Diagnosis meant she forced herself into situations causing significant health damage while simultaneously experiencing constant self-blame for “failing” at aspects of work that were neurologically incompatible with her, rather than recognizing these as accommodation needs.

Harmful Stereotypes and Misrepresentation of Autism

The 1988 film Rain Man has dominated cultural understanding of Autism for over three decades despite being created by non-autistic people, based on a non-autistic savant, and centering a neurotypical character’s growth rather than autistic experience. Kurchak was asked repeatedly if she could count matchsticks or had special talents—expectations derived entirely from this film’s depiction of Raymond Babbitt’s savant abilities. She describes Rain Man as having no authentic autistic presence: “We’re not really present in its conception… We weren’t even in its conception.” The film has prevented non-savant autistic people from being recognized and diagnosed, reinforced narrow stereotypes that exclude most autistic people’s actual presentations, and created a lasting cultural association between Autism and extraordinary mathematical/memory abilities.

Kurchak’s bitterness extends to seeing non-autistic artists like Dustin Hoffman and Barry Levinson receive accolades for portraying Autism, while autistic storytellers struggle for visibility and funding. She humorously attempted “The Rain Woman Project”—spending years researching how to count cards at blackjack to subvert Rain Man stereotypes and prove autistic diversity. She spent months studying blackjack etiquette message boards, consulting her therapist about Sensory triggers in casinos, and taking lessons before finally attempting to play. She ultimately lost interest, realizing she couldn’t simultaneously track social norms, perform basic math, and keep track of multiple decks. However, this experience paradoxically deepened her understanding of gambling’s appeal: the hope that “the next hand will change your luck” and recoup losses resonates with how she approaches life—holding on despite mounting evidence of failure, hoping the next opportunity might restore what’s been lost.

Practical Strategies & Techniques

Creating Structured Environments for Skill Development

Kurchak’s experience with journalistic interviewing demonstrates how structure and clear purpose can make abstract social skills concrete and learnable for autistic people. When she conducted interviews professionally, she could prepare, take notes, and operate within defined roles and purposes. This made the abstract concept of “asking questions to show interest” concrete and actionable. Transcribing interviews taught her about tone, pacing, and verbal communication by analyzing recorded conversations. This professional context transformed a confusing social skill into a learnable tool. For practitioners or autistic people seeking to develop social abilities, this suggests that learning within structured contexts with clear purposes is far more effective than abstract social coaching. If you struggle with reciprocal conversation, create contexts where conversation has defined structure (interviews, professional meetings, panels with prepared questions) rather than trying to master open-ended social chat in unstructured settings.

Embracing Special Interests As Recovery and Connection Strategy

When experiencing autistic Burnout or exhaustion, give yourself explicit permission to pursue special interests without self-judgment, time limits, or concerns about appearing obsessive. Kurchak’s recovery involved committing to rewatch all 105 episodes of The Man from U.N.C.L.E. without monitoring time spent, sharing about it unfiltered on social media, and allowing authentic passion to drive her activities. This led to measurable recovery (within a week she felt noticeably less depleted), new friendships, and paying writing assignments—all from simply allowing authentic expression. For autistic people or those supporting them: recognize that suppressing special interests to appear “normal” causes more isolation and exhaustion than indulging them. Build recovery time around special interests, share openly about what you love, and seek communities formed around shared passions rather than forcing yourself into generic social contexts.

Practical Sensory Accommodation and Problem-solving

When faced with Sensory challenges, engage in systematic trial-and-error accommodation rather than forcing the autistic person to adapt. Kurchak’s parents tested Accommodations by: scheduling the dishwasher for times she wasn’t home, finding hair salons with calmer environments, preparing her for restaurant outings with advance notice, building a sustainable diet around her food sensitivities, soaking her hands before nail-trimming, and accepting unchanged behaviors that weren’t harmful to others. The principle here is: identify the actual barrier, test accommodation options, and accept that some Accommodations may need to be permanent rather than temporary training steps. This approach is more effective and significantly less traumatic than forced desensitization.

Building Authentic Relationships Through Shared Passion

Rather than forcing yourself into generic social situations or trying to be interesting through performance, seek or create communities centered around shared intense interests. Kurchak’s transformative experiences happened at Chart magazine (centered on music obsession), the Pillow Fight League (centered on wrestling passion), and through online communities of fellow Prisoner and Man from U.N.C.L.E. fans. In these contexts, her intensity became an asset rather than a liability. For autistic people: join communities organized around what you genuinely love, contribute your specialized knowledge enthusiastically, and allow friendships to form organically around shared passion. For Support networks: help autistic people identify their genuine interests and facilitate connections with communities organized around them, rather than trying to teach generic social skills in unrelated contexts.

Strategic Disclosure and Boundary Management

Develop a personal policy about what information you share with whom and under what circumstances. Kurchak distinguishes between lying (which she struggles with) and protective disclosure strategies: strategic use of lies of omission, vagueness, euphemism, and evasion. She describes saying “I’m not feeling well” rather than detailing her anxiety, claiming illness to decline social invitations, and giving fake phone numbers to unwanted attention. The principle is: you have the right to protect your vulnerability and are not obligated to provide detailed disclosure to anyone who asks. Determine what information serves you to share and what information serves you to withhold, regardless of what others expect or demand. This is not a character flaw; it’s a survival skill.

Managing Anxiety Through Clear Communication About Needs

When anxiety is driven by unbearable uncertainty rather than rational threat Assessment, name that explicitly in relationships and propose practical Accommodations. Kurchak asks Aaron “Are you mad at me?” repeatedly not from poor theory of mind but from anxiety patterns that activate catastrophic thinking when faced with ambiguity. Rather than trying to eliminate the question or force herself to “just know” he’s not upset, they’ve negotiated that he responds with clear indication of his emotional state. The principle: when anxiety is the problem, traditional reassurance often doesn’t help because the anxiety isn’t about logic—it’s about uncertainty. Instead, propose concrete, repeated Accommodations (regular check-ins, clear statements of status) that provide the certainty anxiety requires.

Key Takeaways

Parental unconditional acceptance and practical accommodation create resilience that survives all other hardship: Kurchak’s parents refused to treat her Autism-related differences as moral failures, separated what could be changed from what shouldn’t be, and never weaponized her struggles against her. This foundation allowed her to survive bullying, undiagnosed suffering, and years of masking without internalizing shame about her existence. The principle applies broadly: disabled children need acceptance (not “inspiration”) and practical accommodation (not forced normalization) to develop genuine resilience.
Masking appears successful but represents learned self-harm and is unsustainable: Kurchak’s ability to wear uncomfortable jeans, adopt sarcasm, and perform normalcy is framed by culture as a triumph of adaptability. She directly contradicts this, arguing that such masking represents learned self-harm, requires unsustainable effort, and doesn’t actually secure social acceptance. Once one marker of difference is erased, another becomes the target. Behavioral interventions that prioritize compliance over understanding root causes risk teaching autistic people to hide rather than to genuinely cope. The goal should be accommodation and acceptance, not erasure.
“High-functioning” Autism is largely performative and invisibly exhausting: Passing for neurotypical requires constant emotional labor—planning routes to bathrooms in advance, practicing social scripts, managing Sensory overwhelm in public, and recovering from social events for days afterward. This performance is neither evidence that Autism is mild nor that the autistic person is less deserving of Support; it reflects how effectively they’ve internalized the demand to hide their actual experience. Accusing autistic people of “not being really autistic” because they pass is both false and cruel.
Strategic deception and protective disclosure are necessary survival tools, not character flaws: Autistic people can and do learn to lie strategically when survival depends on it—not because of theory-of-mind deficit but because we learn that radical honesty about vulnerability can be weaponized. Lies of omission, evasion, and strategic vagueness protect both autistic people and those we care about. However, the impulse to demand voyeuristic disclosure about autistic people’s most vulnerable moments is a form of boundary violation enabled by low social power and should be resisted.
Belonging transforms more profoundly than individual Therapy or Diagnosis alone: Finding communities where autistic traits are normalized and valued (like Chart magazine, the Pillow Fight League, or online fandom communities) fundamentally changed Kurchak’s relationship to her own differences. Being around equally weird people normalized traits she’d pathologized. Professional success, acceptance, and sense of purpose emerged not from “fixing” herself but from finding environments where her traits were assets. This suggests that autistic wellbeing comes primarily from finding or creating systems where autistic ways of being are valued, not from individual self-improvement within systems designed for neurotypical people.
Special interests provide structure, control, and connection—never suppress them: Contrary to medical literature framing Restricted interests as dysfunctional, special interests provide autistic people with order, control, joy, and meaningful connection. Kurchak’s recovery from Burnout came specifically through allowing herself to pursue The Man from U.N.C.L.E. without shame, which led to measurable improvement, new friendships, and paying writing assignments within weeks. Suppressing interests causes isolation and mental health deterioration; embracing them expands social connection and world experience. Parents, educators, and autistic people themselves should actively resist the pressure to minimize special interests.
Autistic sexuality and gender diversity are normal and often invisible: Research shows 70% of autistic people identify as non-heterosexual and autistic people are 7.59x more likely to express gender variance. Yet discussions of Autism remain heteronormative and cisnormative, erasing large portions of the Autistic community. Additionally, autistic girls and women are almost three times as likely to experience sexual abuse, requiring education about consent and boundaries. These conversations must be integrated into all discussions of autistic life.
Substance use among autistic adults is self-medication for unbearable internal experiences, not moral failure: Research shows autistic people are twice as likely to develop addictions, driven by self-medication of Sensory overwhelm, social anxiety, and Executive dysfunction rather than lack of rule-following ability. Without better coping resources and environments designed for autistic needs, substance use becomes a rational response. Treating addiction among autistic people requires acknowledging the exhaustion and confusion of being autistic in an ableist world and providing genuinely better alternatives.
Society devalues disabled people by tying worth to productivity and utility: Even well-meaning disability advocacy reduces autistic children to cost-benefit calculations. Fear of being a burden motivates disabled people toward self-harm. This is not an individual pathology but a systemic message that disabled existence requires justification. Real change requires recognizing that disabled people have inherent worth independent of what they produce or contribute.
Rain Man stereotypes prevent Diagnosis and perpetuate harmful misrepresentation: The 1988 film created savant expectations that exclude most autistic people from self-recognition and Diagnosis. Non-autistic creators profit from Autism stories while autistic storytellers struggle for platform and resources. This cultural dominance has prevented autistic people from recognizing themselves and has created unrealistic expectations that obscure actual autistic experience.
Late Diagnosis creates preventable damage but early Diagnosis historically meant trauma: Kurchak’s late Diagnosis (age 27-34) meant decades of forced assimilation into incompatible career paths causing health deterioration and chronic self-blame. However, early childhood Diagnosis likely would have subjected her to traumatic interventions and bullying. This cruel paradox reflects the fact that autistic Support systems have historically been designed around compliance and appearance-normalization rather than genuine wellbeing. Real change requires fundamentally different approaches to Autism Support at all ages.
Autistic aging brings unpredictable Neurological changes with minimal medical understanding or Support: Processing speed decline, shifting Sensory sensitivities, worsening masking tolerance, and menopause-related Neurological impacts occur with almost no research or clinical guidance. This creates rational terror about losing core skills and increasing dependency. The solution requires research, clinical Support infrastructure, and broader cultural acceptance that autistic people’s needs evolve throughout the lifespan.

Memorable Quotes & Notable Statements

“I’m still here, which is a legitimate accomplishment for someone of my neurotype and age.” — Kurchak reframes survival itself as meaningful achievement rather than waiting for “inspiration” narratives of overcoming. For autistic people facing suicidal ideation or Burnout, this reframes continued existence from failure to live up to expectations into simple, profound accomplishment.
“There is power in trying and in the love that fuels those efforts.” — Describing her parents’ approach to accommodation, this captures that parental care doesn’t require solving everything or forcing normalization. The power lies in the attempt itself and the fact of being “on their side.”
“We’re not really present in its conception… We weren’t even in its conception.” — On Rain Man, this articulates how non-autistic people have dominated Autism representation and Diagnosis, creating frameworks that exclude most autistic people’s actual experience and preventing self-recognition.
“I’m still exhausted, which is a legitimate thing. I’m still anxious, which is a legitimate thing. But I’m also still here.” — Acknowledges that Autism acceptance doesn’t mean symptoms disappear; it means they’re no longer framed as personal failure.
“Being able to apply an awareness of my Autism—and, by extension, a greater awareness of myself—to my choices in life.” — On what she would have gained from early Diagnosis, this captures that Diagnosis’s value isn’t in receiving a label but in enabling informed decision-making aligned with actual neurology rather than imposed expectations.
“The effort to suppress these interests was disproportionately draining compared to the actual benefit of appearing normal.” — Recognizing that masking costs far exceed its actual social benefits, providing permission to embrace authentic expression.
“People don’t have to hate you to hurt you. Your secrets probably aren’t safe with anyone.” — From her age-twelve realization about disclosure, this articulates the painful recognition that trustworthiness and care aren’t guaranteed and protective disclosure is rational.
“If you don’t give up, you can see the light.” — Borrowed from wrestler Tetsuya Naito’s philosophy, this reframes meaning-making not as destination-achievement but as permission to continue existing despite uncertainty.
“Aim higher for the next generation.” — Rejecting the narrative that her life is the best autistic people can hope for, demanding that Support systems and societal structures improve fundamentally.
“Unknown activates her catastrophic thinking patterns.” — On her repetitive anxiety questions despite logical security, this illustrates how autistic anxiety isn’t a character flaw or poor reasoning; it’s about managing unbearable uncertainty.

Counterintuitive Insights & Nuanced Perspectives

Masking “success” Is Evidence of Harm, Not Health

Common wisdom frames masking as admirable adaptation and evidence of autistic resilience: “Look how well she learned to wear jeans and socialize!” Kurchak completely inverts this interpretation. Her ability to mask so effectively is not a triumph; it’s evidence that she successfully taught herself self-harm, suppressed her authentic identity, and internalized that her natural ways of being were unacceptable. The measurable school improvement that resulted from jeans-wearing was purchased with ongoing pain, and once achieved, merely moved the goalposts—shoes became the next status marker. She explicitly warns against viewing her masking as a model for intervention or as evidence that autistic children should be trained to mask. The narrative that frames masking as success misses the fundamental problem: masking is not a skill to celebrate, it’s a trauma response to hostile environments. Truly successful intervention would make masking unnecessary, not more effective.

High-functioning Autism Means Excellent Performance, Not Mild Autism

The term “high-functioning” is widely understood to mean Autism is less severe or less disabling. Kurchak reveals the opposite: “high-functioning” simply means the autistic person is exceptionally skilled at hiding disability. Her ability to speak, maintain employment, conduct interviews, and appear socially competent correlates not with less Autism but with more successful Camouflaging. She requires hours of advance planning to shop, bathroom breaks for Emotional regulation during social events, and days of recovery after socializing. Yet she appears high-functioning because she successfully hides these infrastructure requirements. This has pernicious consequences: she’s told she doesn’t “really” have Autism, that her perspective is insufficiently autistic to matter, and that her needs are less legitimate than those of “more severely” autistic people. The term itself is misleading—what’s actually different is the visibility of disability, not the presence or severity of Autism. For practitioners and family members, this means that autistic people who “pass” may actually have more invisible, internalized struggle than those with more visible presentations, and their apparent success should not be read as evidence that they need less Support or accommodation.

Autism Doesn’t Prevent Lying; It Teaches Strategic Deception

The persistent narrative is that autistic people are pathologically honest and cannot or will not deceive others. Kurchak demonstrates that autistic people can and do become highly skilled at lying—not despite Autism but because of how Autism intersects with social power. She learned to lie strategically because “people don’t have to hate you to hurt you” and radical honesty about vulnerability can be weaponized. She developed sophisticated deception strategies: lies of omission, evasion, strategic vagueness, irony, and sarcasm (learned through studying Blackadder). This isn’t evidence of poor theory of mind; it’s evidence of learning from experience that disclosure can be dangerous. The stereotype of autistic honesty likely reflects that autistic people are often socialized from childhood in therapeutic and clinical contexts demanding disclosure, and autistic children may not yet have learned when lies are necessary for safety. Adult autistic people who have survived bullying, abuse, and systemic devaluation typically develop sophisticated protective deception. Practitioners should recognize that when autistic people are evasive about their experience, this reflects rational self-protection, not inability to understand social perspective.

Special Interests Are Not Symptoms to Suppress; They’re Survival Mechanisms

Medical and educational literature frames “Restricted interests” as a symptom requiring intervention. Parents are often advised to discourage narrow focus to make autistic children “more employable” or “less autistic.” Kurchak reveals that this represents a profound misunderstanding: special interests aren’t disordered; they’re survival mechanisms that provide order, control, joy, and meaning during overwhelming chaos. When she finally allowed herself to pursue The Man from U.N.C.L.E. without shame, she recovered from Burnout within a week, gained new friendships, and secured paying writing assignments—all from simply allowing authentic passion. Suppressing interests caused more isolation and mental health deterioration than indulging them. This inverts the standard intervention logic: the goal should not be reducing special interests but facilitating connections to communities organized around them. For parents and practitioners: resist institutional pressure to minimize autistic interests. Instead, actively encourage them, facilitate community connection around them, and recognize that doing so improves social connection and wellbeing, not worsens it.

Belonging Transforms More Than Individual Therapy or Diagnosis

Kurchak received Diagnosis at age 27 and began Therapy, which provided frameworks for understanding her life but didn’t fundamentally change her coping strategies or sense of self. What actually transformed her was finding communities where her traits were normalized and valued: Chart magazine staffed by similarly obsessive people, the Pillow Fight League where authenticity was rewarded, and online communities of fellow fans. Being around equally weird people normalized traits she’d internalized as defects. Professional success emerged not from “fixing” herself but from finding environments where her traits were assets. This suggests a radical reorientation of how we think about autistic Support: the problem isn’t primarily autistic Neurological difference, it’s the absence of environments designed for autistic ways of being. Individual Therapy focused on “improving” the autistic person is less transformative than facilitating connection to communities where they’re valued. For practitioners and Support networks: the most meaningful intervention is often not coaching autistic people to fit into hostile environments but helping them find or create communities where their actual traits are valued.

Romantic Love Is Not a Measure of Autistic Life Quality or Possibility

Parents of autistic children anxiously ask Kurchak if autistic people can find love, seeking reassurance for their children’s futures. She warns against using her marriage as proof that autistic people can or should pursue romance, because this (1) creates unrealistic expectations that romantic partnership validates existence, (2) erases that asexuality is valid and common among autistic people, (3) ignores that many autistic people may not want romantic love, and (4) assumes that platonic relationships are inherently less fulfilling or important. Her marriage with Aaron works well, but that outcome required luck, timing, and mutual effort—not Autism acceptance alone. It’s one valid outcome among many. For autistic people exploring their sexuality: you do not need to achieve romantic partnership to have a meaningful, full life. Asexuality, singlehood, and deep platonic bonds are all equally valid. For parents and practitioners: stop using romantic relationship as a measure of autistic future-orientation or life quality.

Autistic Substance Use Reflects Rational Self-Medication, Not Moral Failure

Research shows autistic people are twice as likely to develop addiction—a statistic often misinterpreted to suggest autistic people have weak character or poor judgment. Kurchak reveals the actual mechanism: autistic people use substances to manage Sensory overwhelm, social anxiety, Executive dysfunction, and the psychological toll of masking in a hostile world. She didn’t drink until her late teens, grew up in a substance-free household, and still discovered that alcohol reduced her anxiety and hypervigilance enough to participate in social conversation. This isn’t moral failure; it’s rational self-medication in the absence of better alternatives. The problem isn’t that autistic people lack impulse control; it’s that society doesn’t provide genuinely adequate Support for managing the exhaustion and confusion of being autistic. Treating addiction in autistic people requires acknowledging the actual problem—that existence in an ableist world is unbearable without relief—and providing better coping infrastructure, not just substance abstinence.

Society’s Devaluation of Disabled People Is Systemic, Not a Reflection of Truth

Kurchak describes spending decades believing her value depended entirely on what she could provide to others, driven by internalized messages that disabled people must justify their existence through usefulness. She obsessively tried to eliminate her “flaws” to prove she deserved friendship and care. This wasn’t a personal pathology; it was absorbing the message that disabled people are burdens unless proven otherwise. She notes that disability narratives center on what non-disabled people learned from caring for disabled loved ones—not on disabled people’s own lives and desires. Even well-meaning advocacy frames autistic children as cost-benefit calculations (#PayNowOrPayLater). When disabled people are killed by family members, society is asked to sympathize with the killers. These aren’t isolated incidents; they reflect systemic messages that disabled existence requires justification. This is not a mental health issue to be fixed within the individual; it’s a structural problem requiring societal reorientation toward recognizing that disabled people have inherent worth independent of productivity.

Autism Diagnoses Come Too Late to Prevent Damage but Early Diagnosis Historically Meant Trauma

Kurchak emphasizes the cruel paradox: late Diagnosis (age 27) meant decades of forced assimilation into incompatible career paths causing health deterioration and chronic self-blame. But early Diagnosis likely would have subjected her to traumatic interventions, bullying, and the full weight of being labeled “disabled” in medical and educational systems. The problem isn’t Diagnosis timing per se; it’s that Autism Support systems have been designed around compliance and appearance-normalization rather than genuine wellbeing. An early Diagnosis that included behavioral modification, ABA, and forced Eye contact might have been more damaging than decades of undiagnosed masking. Real change requires fundamentally different approaches to Autism Support at all ages—approaches centered on accommodation and acceptance rather than erasure and compliance.

Sensory Sensitivity Patterns Change Unpredictably Throughout Life; Accommodation Isn’t a Temporary Fix

Kurchak describes Sensory patterns that resolved naturally (poor gait after orthopedic treatment), Sensory patterns that persisted throughout life (food restrictions), and Sensory patterns that emerged new with age (hypersensitivity to touch). She doesn’t have stable, predictable Sensory sensitivities that can be “solved” once; she has a Neurological system that changes throughout life requiring ongoing accommodation adjustment. This contradicts the narrative that autistic children will “grow out of” Sensory sensitivities if properly trained or supported. Some may naturally resolve; others will persist; new ones may emerge with age, stress, hormonal changes, and other factors. For practitioners and family members: accommodate Sensory needs as they actually present, not with the assumption that proper intervention will eliminate them. Be prepared for Sensory patterns to change and for accommodation needs to shift throughout the autistic person’s life.

Critical Warnings & Important Notes

Dangers of Aba and Behavior Modification Approaches

Kurchak raises critical concerns about Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) and similar behavioral interventions, using a hypothetical example that illustrates the fundamental problem: when a child throws tantrums when lights turn on without warning and his mother cuddles him in response, standard ABA recommends eliminating both the trigger (lights going on without warning) and the reinforcer (cuddling), replacing them with “appropriate behaviors.” This approach prioritizes behavioral compliance over understanding root causes. It never investigates why the child experiences distress. Did the intervention alleviate his fear or merely disguise it? Is the goal genuinely making his life easier or making him easier for others? She contrasts this with “helpful intervention”—an occupational therapist who, rather than forcing autistic children to eat limited foods, recommends chewable vitamins and acknowledges swallowing difficulties as legitimate. ABA teaches autistic people to hide their actual needs rather than to develop genuine coping mechanisms. Her own success in appearing normal through effort didn’t provide her with coping mechanisms for navigating a confusing world—it merely perfected her performance at the cost of her internal security and sense of self. Practitioners and parents should consider whether interventions address actual problems or merely make autistic people easier to manage.

Mental Health Crisis Risk and Suicidal Ideation Among Autistic Adults

Autistic adults are nine times more likely to die by suicide than the general population. Kurchak experienced suicidal ideation during her Las Vegas crisis, when a sudden Sensory change (touch aversion) triggered a catastrophic panic spiral about burden, deserving abandonment, and running out of time. She articulated the fear that her Sensory issues were “getting worse” and her world would “only get smaller from here.” While she survived this crisis with her mother’s Support and later conversations, the underlying dread about impermanence, change, and declining capacity persists. This isn’t merely individual anxiety; it reflects the cumulative effect of masking, Burnout, systemic devaluation, and the absence of Support infrastructure. For autistic people or those supporting them: recognize suicidal ideation as a potential response to unbearable internal experiences and systemic abandonment, not as a character or Neurological flaw. Seek crisis Support (crisis lines, emergency services) when ideation emerges. For practitioners: consider the role of systemic barriers and lack of accommodation in contributing to autistic suicide risk.

The Damage of Voyeuristic Disclosure Demands

When Kurchak published her article challenging vaccine-Autism myths, she was demanded to provide increasingly explicit details about her bodily functions, Sensory experiences, and perceived failures to “prove” her Autism was severe enough to speak on the topic. Non-autistic parents used her disclosed vulnerabilities to minimize her credibility or to argue they had it worse. She experienced harassment about aspects of her life she’d shared hoping to create understanding. This illustrates how disclosure of autistic people’s vulnerabilities can become ammunition rather than connection point. For autistic people: recognize that disclosing vulnerability to people with less social power (parents, medical professionals, strangers on the internet) can result in that information being weaponized. You have the right to protective non-disclosure. For people supporting autistic individuals: resist the impulse to demand detailed disclosure about struggles, bathroom habits, Sensory experiences, or other intimate details. This is voyeuristic and represents a form of boundary violation enabled by power differentials.

Diagnosis Without Support Infrastructure Can Be Hollow

Kurchak received Diagnosis at age 27, but the Diagnosis itself wasn’t immediately transformative—it didn’t change her coping strategies or create access to meaningful Support. What helped was specialized Therapy that provided frameworks for understanding her life patterns. However, adult Autism Assessment in Canada is financially prohibitive, and most Therapy isn’t designed for autistic neurology. Standard addiction programs’ group Therapy requirements, for example, have led to incarceration for autistic individuals unable to comply with these neurotypically-designed expectations. Diagnosis without corresponding infrastructure changes—accessible Assessment, specialized Therapy, accommodated services—can feel like a label without utility. For practitioners and policy makers: Diagnosis should be followed by systematic Support, accommodation, and connection to resources. Diagnosis without Support is incomplete and can ADD Stigma without benefit.

The Limitations of This Book As Universal Model

Kurchak explicitly acknowledges her substantial advantages while resisting the narrative that these make her Autism “less real.” She was born at her exact due date in a small Ontario town, benefited from white privilege, cisgender and straight identity, middle-class-adjacent stability, low Support needs, and most critically, two loving parents able to prioritize her emotional wellbeing. She cannot recommend her specific parental approach to others because it depended on these particular advantages. She resists the narrative that her survival and eventual thriving is a model for other autistic people to follow. This is important context: readers should not internalize her story as proof that “if you just accept yourself and find community, everything will be fine.” Her pathway was shaped by privileges and circumstances inaccessible to most autistic people. What she can offer is principles (like the power of authentic community, the dangers of masking, the value of special interests) and a warning against the false idea that individual effort and acceptance alone can overcome systemic barriers.

What This Book Does Not Cover

This memoir focuses on Kurchak’s experience as a white, cisgender, straight, relatively low-Support-needs autistic adult. It does not center the experiences of autistic people of color, trans and non-binary autistic people, asexual/aromantic autistic people, multiply disabled autistic people, or high-Support-needs autistic people (those with significant Support needs, intellectual disability, or complex care requirements). While Kurchak acknowledges these intersections (particularly regarding Autism’s connection to gender variance and sexual diversity), the book’s central narrative doesn’t deeply explore how racism, transphobia, or other forms of marginalization compound autistic experience. Additionally, the book focuses primarily on her experience and doesn’t provide comprehensive coverage of systemic solutions or policy recommendations (though it implies what changes are needed). Readers seeking insights specifically centered on autistic people of color, trans autistic people, multiply disabled autistic people, or high-Support-needs autistic people should seek additional resources that center those communities.

References & Resources Mentioned

Chart magazine - Canadian music publication where Kurchak worked and found community among obsessive music enthusiasts
The Man from U.N.C.L.E. - 1960s spy television series that became catalyst for Kurchak’s recovery from autistic Burnout
Portmeirion - Welsh village that served as filming location for The Prisoner, which Kurchak visited as pilgrimage to location of long-term special interest
Pillow Fight League (PFL) - Professional pillow fighting promotion with wrestling-style storytelling where Kurchak developed wrestling character “Sarah Bellum”
The Prisoner - 1960s spy series, Kurchak’s 20-year special interest that she hid from others for decades
Blackadder - British comedy series Kurchak studied to develop sarcasm skills
David Lynch’s Dune - Special interest during period of peer rejection
The Posies - Musical group Kurchak uses as example of continued creative work after commercial failure
Tetsuya Naito - Professional wrestler whose philosophy about perseverance inspired Kurchak’s reconceptualization of meaning
Redpath Centre in Toronto - Location where Kurchak received official Autism Diagnosis at age 27
A.V. Club - Publication where Kurchak successfully cold-pitched article about The Man from U.N.C.L.E. sexual politics
DSM-5 - Diagnostic and Statistical Manual listing “Restricted interests” as Autism Diagnostic criterion (pathologizes special interests)
Rain Man - 1988 film depicting autistic savant, created by non-autistic people, which has dominated cultural Autism representation for 35+ years
Autism Canada - Organization referenced for ABA case studies
Swedish study (2017) - Research showing autistic people with IQ ≥100 are twice as likely to develop alcohol and drug addictions
PayNowOrPayLater hashtag - Ontario disability advocacy campaign that reduced autistic children to cost-benefit calculations
Occupational Therapy - Mentioned as alternative to ABA; focuses on accommodation rather than behavior modification
Ontario child protective services - Context for discussing how parents of color face different scrutiny for parenting practices

Who This Book Is For

This book is written primarily for and about undiagnosed or recently diagnosed autistic adults, particularly those perceived as “high-functioning” (able to mask effectively) who may have spent decades unaware of their neurology. It will resonate strongly with autistic people who experienced childhood bullying, performed normalcy at significant cost, discovered authentic community as transformative, struggled with substance use as coping, and/or experienced Burnout that prompted self-examination and Diagnosis.

The book has significant value for parents of autistic children, though Kurchak’s message is countercultural to much mainstream Autism parenting advice: she argues against forcing normalization, for accepting and accommodating autistic traits, for embracing special interests rather than minimizing them, and against behavioral modification approaches like ABA. Parents seeking traditional “how to help my child overcome Autism” narratives will find this book confrontational; those willing to question standard intervention approaches will find it liberating.

The book also speaks to non-autistic partners of autistic people, particularly regarding how to Support rather than fix, and how to understand autistic communication and relationship patterns without pathologizing them.

Kurchak’s analysis of systemic devaluation of disabled people and her critique of Rain Man representation will resonate with disability advocates and cultural critics, though the book’s focus remains personal rather than providing comprehensive policy recommendations.

Readers should note that the book assumes a baseline understanding of Neurodiversity concepts and may feel more resonant if you’ve already encountered Autism terminology and contemporary Neurodiversity discourse. It’s not an introductory primer on Autism basics but rather a deep exploration of autistic experience and society’s relationship to Autism.

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I Overcame My Autism And All I Got Was This Lousy Anxiety Disorder