Resisting Erasure Through Autistic Joy

Read now (8 mins) | Why Rejecting Harmful Therapies like ABA Is an Act of Liberation and Self-Preservation

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about why The Autistic Culture Podcast exists. People sometimes see our focus on celebrating autism as “fun” or even frivolous, but for me, celebrating Autistic culture is an act of survival. For most of human history, Autistic people were just seen as different, whether it was famous people like Sir Isaac Newton or Mozart or the wacky neighbor next door with an obsession with model trains. It wasn’t great (just ask the ladies from the Salem Witch trials or Joan of Arc), but it wasn’t pathologized. Then, in the 1940s, that shifted. We went from being seen as different - even heretics - to being labeled diseased, defective, disordered - and with that label came the dangerous notion that autism was something to “fix,” something broken. That’s when the world started trying to convert us, to make us someone we’re not.

When people ask why I care so much about seeing autism as a culture, I tell them this: because if the attempt to erase us had worked, there would be no Autistic people today — because we are human and we deserve to live our lives our way. And also, it’s worth noting if you take away our autism, you take away the deep thinkers, the innovators, the dreamers who have shaped the world.

Can you imagine a world without the creations of people like Mozart or Hans Christian Andersen? What about all the Autistic people who never got the chance to show the world their brilliance because they were pushed into therapies designed to make them “normal?” I think about that every day—the contributions we’ve lost because autistic people were taught to suppress their true selves.

A few of the things the world loses if they succeed in the attempts to erase us.

Even today, the most common autism diagnosis process carries this unspoken assumption: autism is something that needs to be “treated” or “fixed.” That’s the default, right? A child gets diagnosed, and almost immediately, families are steered toward therapies designed to minimize autistic traits to make that child fit more easily into a neurotypical mold. But if we look at it for what it really is, that whole system is a form of eugenics. Think about it. The goal isn’t to help autistic people thrive; it’s to make us more “acceptable” by erasing that which makes us who we are. If those therapies worked, if they succeeded in “curing” autism, you wouldn’t just lose us—you’d lose the contributions we make to the world.

Our world is full of the art, science, and innovation of autistic people—people whose unique way of thinking pushed boundaries. Take away autism, and you lose the brilliance that gave us Andy Warhol’s soup cans, the rhythms of QuestLove, and the whimsical, enduring charm of Alice in Wonderland. We wouldn’t have the Sistine Chapel or Charlie Brown. Greta Thunberg’s climate activism? Gone. Thomas Jefferson’s vast library, which shaped key historical documents, might not have existed. Autism is woven into the fabric of human progress, and yet, so much of the narrative around it today is still focused on how to make us disappear.

Nearly every child diagnosed with autism in the U.S. is funneled into Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) therapy. According to Autism Society, as many as 75-fucking-percent. It’s held up as the gold standard of treatment, but let’s be real—if ABA worked the way it claims to, there wouldn’t be Autistic adults. The fact is, even though ABA can’t and doesn’t make us neurotypical, it still steals our young. It teaches all of us - those in ABA and even us adults who were late-diagnosed - to hide who we are at great personal cost. It teaches us to mask, to suppress, to burn out. And that burnout? It’s not just emotional exhaustion—it’s a dimming of the creative and intellectual spark that so many of us carry.

And here’s the tragic part: we’ll never know how much has been lost. How many of us could have been the next Warhol, the next Thunberg, the next great thinker or artist, had our light dimmed by the idea we should be fixed or by exhausting therapy that told us we were wrong for being who we are?

What discoveries, solutions—maybe even the answer to global warming or the cure for cancer—have we lost because of a system that would rather see us erased than celebrated? We’ll never know, and that’s the real heartbreak. Every time an Autistic person is taught to suppress their true self, the world loses something precious—something that might just have changed everything.

Beth Hawkins’ article in The 74, titled America’s Most Popular Autism Therapy May Not Work—and May Seriously Harm Patients’ Mental Health, delves into the widespread use of Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) and its problematic foundations. Hawkins traces ABA back to its origin in the 1960s with psychologist Ole Ivar Lovaas (you might know him as the ‘pray the gay away’ guy), who infamously used harsh, abusive methods like electric shocks to "train" autistic children to be "indistinguishable" from their neurotypical peers. His work was hailed as revolutionary at the time, but now, decades later, both researchers and the autistic community are sounding the alarm on the long-term damage of these methods. Despite its continued prominence, particularly in the U.S., many former patients of ABA report severe trauma, likening the therapy to conversion therapy, which Lovaas also applied to LGBTQ individuals. His central belief, that Autistic children needed to be fundamentally changed to become “people,” casts a long shadow over modern ABA practices, despite their “new ABA” propaganda.

Studies by groups such as Project AIM, as well as the U.S. Department of Defense, have shown ABA’s claims of effectiveness are largely based on outdated studies that fail to account for the real-world outcomes or the mental health toll on those subjected to the therapy. While many parents still advocate for ABA, seeing it as their child’s best chance at learning social norms or speech, the reality for many Autistic adults who underwent ABA is different: reports of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), anxiety, and burnout are disturbingly common. Hawkins notes that while some children might learn to mimic neurotypical behaviors, it often comes at a cost, with patients masking their true selves to the point of exhaustion. (I mean, duh!)

One of the most troubling aspects of ABA, according to Hawkins, is the way it enforces compliance. Autistic children are often drilled on behaviors like eye contact or sitting still—actions that might appear harmless to neurotypical observers, but can cause significant distress to our people. The therapy focuses on "extinguishing" autistic behaviors without addressing the underlying causes, such as sensory overload or anxiety. ABA might make a child appear more "normal" in the short term, but the emotional and psychological damage of constantly suppressing their natural responses can last a lifetime. We know how damaging it is to try to fit into a world that punishes our authenticity, which can lead to long-term mental health challenges.

Hawkins also points out the alarming financial incentives driving the ABA industry. With an estimated $2.45 billion annual market, ABA has become a highly profitable business. This economic power has allowed ABA to dominate autism treatment options, often to the exclusion of other therapies that might better support autistic individuals. Families are frequently funneled into ABA because it’s the most widely available option, with insurance companies and schools supporting its use, leaving little room for alternatives that honor the autistic child’s humanity rather than seeking to “correct” them.

At the heart of The Autistic Culture Podcast is the belief that autism is something to be celebrated, not erased. We’re pushing back against a world that tells us we need to be “fixed,” and instead, we’re claiming our place in society with pride. Our commitment to Autistic Joy isn’t just about happiness—it’s about survival, resistance, and self-love. In a world that often sees our traits as flaws, choosing joy is a radical act. It’s the decision to live unapologetically as we are, to embrace the sensory differences, the deep thinking, the stimming, the special interests—all the things that make us uniquely autistic. We celebrate these traits as part of a rich culture that has shaped the world through art, science, and activism.

The author experiencing unbridled Autistic Joy after a concert by her life-long special interest favorite band, Crowded House, and then wins a signed set list.

Autistic Joy, much like Black Joy, is an act of defiance against systems that would rather see us conform or disappear. Our work here at TACP is inspired by the work of Audre Lorde, who taught us that caring for ourselves and finding joy in our identities is not self-indulgent but an act of political warfare. She famously said, “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence; it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” This wisdom applies to our fight for Autistic Joy. In a world that constantly tells us we need to change, finding joy in our stims, our SPINs (special interests), and our unique ways of communicating is how we resist. It’s how we preserve ourselves.

As a Queer, Autistic adult, the Black Joy movement has taught me that joy isn’t just a reaction to moments of happiness—it’s a form of resistance against the erasure of identity. Black Joy says, “We are here, we are thriving, and we will not be erased,” and Autistic Joy echoes that sentiment. We learn from bell hooks, Zora Neale Hurston, and Brittney Cooper that finding joy in our authentic selves, in our community, and in our culture is a powerful tool for survival.

Celebrating Autistic Culture isn’t about being against something (although, let me be clear, we are very much against harmful therapies like ABA), but it is about being FOR something. It’s about creating spaces where Autistic people can thrive in their authenticity, where our sensory differences are respected, where our deep interests are honored, and where our stimming is welcomed as part of who we are. We take inspiration from movements like Black Joy because they show us the power of reclaiming what society tells us is “wrong” about us and turning it into a source of pride.

In the same way that Black Joy is about resisting the forces of racism while celebrating Black culture, Autistic Joy is about resisting ableism while celebrating the beauty of neurodivergence. Both movements remind us that joy is not just an emotion—it’s a force for change. Through joy, we claim our right to exist as we are. We claim our place in the world, not as broken individuals in need of fixing but as vibrant contributors to a diverse human culture. That’s why we do what we do at The Autistic Culture Podcast, and that’s why celebrating Autistic Joy is essential. It’s about survival, it’s about community, and it’s about love—unapologetically and unconditionally.

So, with that, I have to ask: What’s something you loved about being Autistic this week?