Is autism a disability? That’s a more complex question than it may seem given the vast range of levels of impairment and abilities in autistic people. But the words ‘disabled’ and ‘disorder’ are part of the baggage that comes with being labelled as autistic. As an extension on my last post on being careful with labels you apply to yourself, I’ve been reflecting on the impact of the ‘disabled’ and ‘disordered’ labels. I’m comfortable with the term neurodivergent, and 2eAuDHD (a gifted autistic with ADHD) fits me well. But ‘disabled’? This article explores why I, as a low-support-needs (i.e. high-functioning), late-diagnosed adult, don’t personally claim that label, and why I still value its importance for others.
Disability vs Disorder
Technically, in medical and educational settings, neurodivergent conditions like autism and ADHD are classified as disorders rather than disabilities. People often confuse the words ‘disability’ and ‘disorder’, but they’re not the same. Getting these terms clear helps reduce stigma, especially around neurodivergence.
A disability is any condition that makes daily life harder—physically, mentally, or emotionally. It can be visible (like needing a wheelchair) or invisible (like autism or dyslexia).
A disorder is a medical diagnosis and it refers to a functional abnormality or disturbance that can disrupt normal physical or mental processes. Autism’s medical label is autism spectrum disorder.
Not all disorders cause disability, and not all disabilities are disorders. Autism is classified as a disorder, but for many autistic people it is also a disability.
In Australia, eligibility for services such as the NDIS requires a formal diagnosis of a ‘disability’ over and above the diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder or attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). It’s not automatically assumed that they cause disability.
The Australian Survey of Disability, Ageing and Carers (SDAC) says that ‘not all people with autism have disability’ and those that do have disability are referred to as ‘people with autism and disability’.
Disordered or differently ordered?
Though I accept that my brain has a ‘functional abnormality that disrupts normal mental processes’ and therefore meets the definition of ‘disordered’, I still find even the ‘disorder’ label misleading and disempowering.
It is, after all, only disordered in relation to what is considered normal mental processing.
A ‘dis-order’ implies something is broken or incorrect. But I and many other neurodivergent people don’t see ourselves as broken or as having something ‘wrong’ with us—rather we experience the world differently, which brings both challenges and strengths. The word ‘dis-abled’, though necessary in order for people to get the support they need, also carries this connotation of brokenness.
And certainly on the days the supermarket is too overwhelming for me to manage the shopping, it’s easy to feel that there is something wrong with me, but perhaps the ‘wrongness’ is not in my make up, but in the way supermarkets are set up. It’s the same with schools. They are simply not designed for neurodivergent people.
The Social Model of Disability
This social model of disability sees disability as the result of a mismatch between people who are different to the norm and their environment.
From the medical model, a person with disability is in need of being fixed or cured. From this point of view, disability is a tragedy and people with disability are to be pitied. The medical model of disability is all about what a person cannot do and cannot be.
The social model sees ‘disability’ as the result of the interaction between people living with impairments and an environment filled with physical, attitudinal, communication and social barriers. It therefore carries the implication that the physical, attitudinal, communication and social environment must change to enable people living with impairments to participate in society on an equal basis with others.
A social model perspective does not deny the reality of impairment nor its impact on the individual. However, it does challenge the physical, attitudinal, communication and social environment to accommodate impairment as an expected incident of human diversity. https://pwd.org.au/resources/models-of-disability
I prefer to see myself as ‘differently-abled,’ though I understand some in the disability community feel this downplays real struggles. I respect that viewpoint. For me, it’s a way to acknowledge both the challenges and the unique abilities that come with neurodivergence.
Why I Don’t Feel Disabled
The label ‘disabled’ brings up emotions: unease, resistance, and a sense of misfit—not because I judge others who use it, but because it doesn’t reflect my lived experience. I’ve structured my life to minimise the impact of my challenges and to ensure my support needs are consistently met. I’m lucky in that I’ve been able to recognise my needs, advocate for myself, and pursue a life that plays on my strengths. I gave up trying to fit in about 5 decades ago and decided that living a fulfilling lifestyle was more important to me than joining the search for money and material goods that drives our capitalist society. This self-designed lifestyle has protected me from the kind of burnout or crisis that often validates the disability label for others with level one support needs.
That makes me unusual, even in the neurodivergent community. I work from home, set my own schedule, manage sensory input, and pursue projects that suit my passions and capacities. Because of these choices, I rarely feel unduly impaired. The systems that might disable me—rigid workplaces, noisy environments, fast-paced demands—are not part of my daily life, and I have a husband and family who supports my way of being.
Would seeing myself as disabled for all those years have held me back? I don’t think it would have had a positive effect on my self-esteem. As it was, I had to make a conscious effort to stop thinking of myself as ‘weak’ – the perception of myself I had as a teenager – and focus on building my strength. For me, that meant being unapologetically myself – though I did also train myself in social skills!
Understanding the Broader Context
While I don’t claim the disability label for myself, I recognise its necessity and power. It opens doors to funding, accommodations, and vital recognition. Many neurodivergent people struggle invisibly, and without the legitimacy of a recognised disability, they may not receive the support they need.
Disability is not binary. It exists on a spectrum, and it can fluctuate. Some people are only disabled in certain contexts or at certain times. Even if I don’t identify with the label, in settings that don’t accommodate my needs, the reality of it quickly becomes clear.
Claiming Support
Like many twice-exceptional (2e) people, I’ve been highly independent, relying on self-awareness and adaptability to manage my life. But I don’t believe that needing support means failing. I’ve designed a life where support is built in, so I generally don’t need to seek it from others, but I have no problem asking for assistance or for an adaptation in an environment when I need it – and sometimes I do.
Now that I have a label people recognise as a disability, it’s become a lot easier to request support when needed. And that’s why it’s important that the general population do recognise it as a disability. It’s easier to ask for music to be turned down, for instance, if I can begin the request with, ‘Excuse me, I’m autistic and I’m having trouble functioning due to the volume of the music, is there any chance you could turn it down?’ Before I could say I was autistic, people weren’t always so ready to oblige.
For me, thriving has come from avoiding environments that disable me. That doesn’t mean the label isn’t valid, it just means I’ve found a workaround – most of the time. Not everyone has that option, and I’m deeply aware of the privilege that allows me to live this way.
Holding Space for All Experiences
Labels like ‘disabled’ or ‘autistic’ can be empowering or limiting, depending on how they’re used. They help people find community, access resources, and understand themselves. But no label should become a fixed identity if it doesn’t resonate.
I don’t use the disability label, but I support those who do. I want a world where no one is forced to justify their needs or apologise for how they navigate life. Where all forms of difference are seen as valid, whether or not they come with a diagnosis or label.
Final point
Let’s remember an essential point here, though, one that comes from my mystic self.
We are not our labels.
We can use them without being defined by them.
We can use them with a light touch
so they help rather than hinder us on our path.
For we are so much more than any label could ever express.
This blog is part of a series on thriving as a neurodivergent multipotentialite. If you’d like to explore more, check out other articles in the category. And so you don’t miss more of them …
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All images AI generated by the author using Midjourney. I wrote the article myself, used Chatgpt to refine it – which saved me some editing time – and then I edited it some more, including expanding and rewriting some sections.
