This blog is based on a conversation with Simeon and Sophia on The Autism Podcast. Like the conversation, it covers a lot of ground!
Cisgenderism-Ableism
And when I talk about cisgenderism, I mean the idea that being cis is the right, natural, or ideal way to be — that everything else is somehow “other.” It’s the belief that the only legitimate kind of gender is the kind that fits neatly into a box drawn by other people, but biology and gender aren’t that tidy. And pretending it only serves to erase so many of us, including intersex and trans people.
When I talk about cisgenderism-ableism, I’m thinking about how it impacts disabled and neurodivergent folks who are also gender-diverse or questioning. Those of us who live in that overlap know it’s not just one identity or another — it’s a constant layering, an intersection. That’s what intersectionality means: the way our identities mix and influence each other, shaping how we’re seen, how we’re treated, and how we survive.
The Double Empathy Problem (and a Broken Arm)
I recently contributed a chapter to The Double Empathy Reader, edited by Damian Milton — an incredible collection exploring autistic and neurodivergent experiences. My chapter was about trans autistic people in healthcare, and I had a lot to say.
There’s this phrase in the trans community: trans broken arm syndrome. It’s the idea that no matter what you go to the doctor for, it’ll somehow get blamed on being trans. You could show up with a broken arm, and they’ll say, “Hmm, maybe it’s a side effect of your HRT?” It’s ridiculous, but it happens all the time. When you add being autistic into that mix, it gets even more complicated. You’re navigating systems that were never built to understand you — not as trans, not as autistic, and definitely not as both.
When I see debates in the UK about banning puberty blockers for trans youth — especially autistic trans youth — I get furious. There’s this idea that young people just walk into a clinic and walk out with hormones. That’s not reality. Most wait years just to be seen. Many turn 18 before they’ve even had their first appointment.
Politicians and other public figures have the nerve to say, “Think of the autistic children!” whilst the systems in this country — education, healthcare, benefits — already fail autistic children every single day. Those same people aren’t thinking about autistic kids when they’re cutting support services or closing inclusive schools. They’re using us as strawmen.
Coming Into My Autistic Self
I got my formal diagnosis of being Autistic before the pandemic. Then lockdown hit, and like a lot of people, I found myself online more than usual. I was working with vulnerable young people, pregnant, exhausted, and doing a deep dive into the autistic community. That’s when I started my blog, Autistic and Living the Dream.
I write my blog for myself, but I love that other people see stuff in it too. I didn’t expect that! I got really connected with a lot of other trans autistic people, a lot of autistic researchers, a lot of queer disabled people. I got involved in a lot of activism online, and that intensified for Boycott Spectrum 10K. Suddenly, I was part of a community that understood me in ways I didn’t know I needed.
Through those connections, I ended up co-founding the Autistic Substance Use Network with some amazing people — David Gray-Hammond, Tanya Adkin, and Chris Papadopoulos. We wanted to explore substance use among autistic adults — not from a place of understanding. So far, we’ve published a couple of papers — one about improving substance use services for autistic adults, and another on self-medicating and mental health.
What we found wasn’t shocking, but it was validating: autistic people often turn to substances to manage anxiety, trauma, and sensory overwhelm — and the services that are supposed to help them usually don’t understand that context at all. We’re trying to fill that gap — not by fixing autistic people, but by fixing the systems that misunderstand us.
Finding Your People
One of the biggest things I tell young autistic people who want to make friends is: start with your interests. If you’re not ready to join a “disability group” or talk openly about being neurodivergent, that’s okay. Go where your joy is.
Join a D&D table. A craft circle. A local gaming café. A book club. Whatever lights you up. Because when you follow your interests, you’ll often end up surrounded by other neurodivergent people without even realising it. I met some of my dearest friends through shared passions, not shared labels.
Researching While Living It
As a trans autistic person doing a PhD in psychology, I often feel like I’m walking a tightrope. Psychology, as a field, is still so rooted in deficit models — in seeing autistic and trans people as broken things to study, rather than people with knowledge to share. I keep asking myself:
How do I protect myself and my co-researchers?
How do I keep from losing my soul to the Academy?
How do I make sure our work doesn’t get twisted by institutions that weren’t built for us?
Can you really dismantle the system while working inside it?
What happens when the roof collapses?
We’re all just learning to exist as ourselves in systems that weren’t built for us. Some of us do that loudly, some quietly. Some through research, some through writing, some through art or friendship or survival. However we do it — it’s resistance. It’s connection. It’s joy. And it’s enough.