Reflections of an Autistic Researcher studying Autism
In this blog, our Guest Contributor, shares a fascinating insight into their lived experience of being Autistic and working as a Researcher who studies Autism.
As an Autistic researcher studying Autism, I occupy a unique space – one where my lived experience intertwines with my academic pursuits. It’s a journey that is equal parts enlightening and challenging, a delicate dance between personal insight and professional rigour. In the UK, where Autism research is advancing but still often framed through a medical lens, embracing a Neurodivergent-affirming approach feels both radical and necessary. Here, I share my reflections on what it means to research my own neurotype, the strengths I bring, and the hurdles I face in a world that doesn’t always understand.
A personal lens on research
Being Autistic while researching Autism gives me an insider’s perspective that’s hard to replicate. When I read about sensory sensitivities – how fluorescent lights can feel like a physical assault or how certain textures can trigger overwhelm – I don’t just nod along to the data. I feel it. I’ve lived it. My own sensory profile, where the hum of a crowded room can drown out my thoughts, informs how I interpret studies and design research questions. This lived experience helps me spot gaps in the literature, like when studies overlook the joy of sensory-seeking behaviours or the creativity that can stem from hyperfocus.
This perspective is a strength. It allows me to approach Autism not as a puzzle to be solved but as a way to be understood. I’m not here to ‘fix’ Autism; I’m here to amplify Autistic voices, challenge stereotypes, and advocate for environments that allow us to thrive. For instance, when designing studies, I prioritise participant comfort – offering sensory-friendly settings or flexible communication methods – because I know how much these details matter.
Navigating a neurotypical research world
Yet, being an Autistic researcher isn’t without its challenges. Academia, like much of society, is built on neurotypical norms. Endless meetings, networking events, and unspoken social expectations can be exhausting. I’ve sat through conferences where the fluorescent lights buzzed relentlessly, making it hard to focus on the presentations. I’ve grappled with the expectation to ‘sell’ my research in crowded, noisy rooms, where my words get lost in the sensory chaos. These moments remind me that the environments where knowledge is created aren’t always accessible to those of us who think and process differently.
There’s also the emotional weight of studying something so personal. Reading outdated or pathologising research – papers that frame Autism as a tragedy or a deficit – can feel like a punch to the gut. I’ve had to learn to balance my emotional response with the objectivity required in academia. But this, too, is a strength. My passion for Neurodivergent-affirming research drives me to challenge those narratives, to push for language and frameworks that respect Autistic people as whole, complex individuals.
The power of Neurodivergent-affirming research
Adopting a Neurodivergent-affirming approach is at the heart of my work. This means moving beyond the medical model, which often focuses on ‘curing’ or ‘managing’ Autism, and instead celebrating the diversity of human cognition. It’s about asking questions like “how can we create schools that embrace Autistic ways of learning?” “How can workplaces value the intense focus or pattern-recognition skills many of us bring?” It’s about recognising that sensory difficulties, while challenging, are part of a broader tapestry of strengths, like my ability to hyperfocus on data analysis for hours or spot patterns others might miss.
In the UK, where Autism services are often stretched and public understanding can lag, this approach feels urgent. I collaborate with Autistic communities to co-design research, ensuring their priorities shape the questions we ask. This participatory approach not only makes the research more relevant but also empowers Autistic people to see themselves as experts in their own lives. It’s a reminder that research isn’t just about data – it’s about impact, about creating a world where Autistic people are valued for who they are.
Embracing the dual identity
Being an Autistic researcher studying Autism is a balancing act. I’m both the observer and the observed, the scientist and the subject. There’s a vulnerability in that, but also a profound sense of purpose. Every paper I write, every study I design, is a chance to rewrite the narrative around Autism – to move it away from deficit and towards celebration. I’m not just researching Autism; I’m advocating for a world that sees my neurotype as a valid, beautiful way of being.
There are days when the challenges feel heavy – when sensory overload or academic politics make me question my place in this field. But then I remember the Autistic young person who told me my research made them feel seen, or the colleague who thanked me for explaining why the office lighting needed to change. Those moments remind me why I do this. Being Autistic isn’t a barrier to my research, it’s the lens that makes it meaningful.
In the end, being an Autistic researcher is about bridging worlds – personal and professional, Autistic and neurotypical, academic and lived experience. It’s about using my voice, my mind, and my unique perspective to build a future where Neurodivergence is not just accepted but celebrated. And that, to me, is worth every challenge.
