Why I Disagree with the Idea of “Curing” Autism

In recent years, conversations about autism have moved far beyond medical textbooks and therapy offices. They’ve entered mainstream discussions, political debates, and even media platforms, often framed in ways that do not accurately reflect the lived experiences of autistic people themselves. Former U.S. President Donald Trump, among others, has publicly spoken about his belief in finding a “cure” for autism. Though I recognize that his statements may stem from compassion or a genuine desire to help, I cannot agree with the concept or framing of autism as something that must be “cured.”

There are many reasons why I disagree with the idea of “curing” autism, and those reasons extend far beyond politics. Autism is not a virus to be eradicated, nor a malfunction that needs correction—it is a fundamental part of who we are. The call for a “cure” reflects deep societal misunderstandings about what autism truly means and risks doing real harm to millions of people around the world who identify as autistic.

To understand why I, and many others in the autistic community, strongly oppose the idea of a “cure,” we must first understand what autism is, what it is not, and why language and intent matter so deeply.

Autism is not an illness—it’s a neurodevelopmental difference. It affects how people perceive the world, communicate, process sensory information, and experience emotions. It influences how we think, how we solve problems, and how we connect with others. But to call it a disease implies that it’s something inherently wrong or harmful, something that should be eradicated. That is simply not true.

Autism is part of the broad spectrum of human diversity. It’s a neurological variation, not a contamination. It does not spread, it does not “infect,” and it does not diminish someone’s humanity. For many autistic people, myself included, autism is an inseparable part of identity—much like being left-handed, artistic, or analytical. To “cure” autism would mean to fundamentally alter who we are, not simply remove an inconvenience.

Imagine if society talked about “curing” introversion, or “curing” high sensitivity, or “curing” creativity. It sounds absurd, doesn’t it? That’s because those traits, while sometimes challenging in certain contexts, are also valuable parts of human diversity. They shape how we see and contribute to the world. Autism functions the same way—it brings challenges, yes, but it also brings insight, perspective, and capability.

When people talk about a cure, they are often not talking about understanding autistic people better or helping us manage sensory overload. They are talking about making us less autistic—removing traits that make us who we are. But autism cannot be separated from our personality or consciousness. It is not an accessory; it is an intrinsic part of the brain’s wiring.

Autism is lifelong. It shapes how we interpret reality, feel emotions, and experience life. Calling it a disease denies that fact and invalidates the millions who proudly identify as autistic adults. It’s like saying, “You are broken, and we need to fix you,” rather than, “You are different, and we need to understand you.”

One of the greatest misconceptions about autism is that we need a cure because autistic individuals “suffer” from their condition. While it’s true that some autistic people face significant challenges—especially when it comes to communication, sensory overload, or social understanding—these difficulties are often amplified by the environment, not caused by autism itself.

What autistic people often need is not a cure, but support. We need empathy, accessibility, patience, and inclusion. We need environments that understand how we process the world and respond to it. When these supports are in place, many of the so-called “symptoms” of autism lessen dramatically.

For example:

• An autistic student who struggles in a noisy classroom may thrive in a quieter, structured learning environment.

• An autistic adult who feels drained by unspoken social rules may flourish in a job where communication is clear and direct.

• A person who has difficulty managing sensory input may live a perfectly happy life with tools like noise-cancelling headphones, weighted blankets, or access to calm spaces.

None of these examples require a cure. They require understanding.

The truth is, the vast majority of autistic people want to be accepted as they are. They don’t want their existence framed as a tragedy or as a burden to be solved. They want to be included in conversations about their own lives. They want autonomy. They want respect.

When society focuses on the idea of “fixing” autism, it diverts attention from what really matters: building a more accessible world. We should be focusing on education reform, workplace accommodation, healthcare access, and social understanding—not trying to erase autism from existence.

The difference between seeing autism as an “affliction” versus an “identity” is enormous. When something is an affliction, it implies pain, disorder, or damage. When something is an identity, it represents a way of being—a unique human experience.

Many autistic people, myself included, describe autism as the lens through which we experience reality. It influences our creativity, empathy, logic, and sense of fairness. It shapes our passions, our attention to detail, and our emotional depth. To remove autism is to remove all of that.

Of course, not every autistic person feels this way. The spectrum is vast, and experiences differ. Some may wish their challenges were easier, especially if they face severe sensory sensitivities or communication barriers. But even then, most people wish for relief—not erasure. They want to live better with autism, not without it.

The problem is that “cure” language fails to distinguish between alleviating distress and removing identity. Supporting someone who struggles with meltdowns, shutdowns, or anxiety is a compassionate act. But trying to make that person “normal” according to societal standards is a form of assimilation that denies individuality.

In the same way that LGBTQ+ individuals fought for the right to exist without being “converted,” autistic people fight for the right to exist without being “cured.” Both struggles are about identity and dignity. Both are about saying, “We are not mistakes—we are human.”

The push for a cure does not exist in a vacuum. It carries profound psychological and social consequences. When leaders, celebrities, or organizations talk about curing autism, it sends an unintended but powerful message: that autistic lives are less valuable, less worthy, or incomplete.

For children growing up autistic, this can be devastating. Imagine hearing that the world wants to “cure” people like you. Imagine feeling that your existence is a problem science needs to solve. It breeds shame, self-hatred, and alienation. It tells children that who they are is wrong.

Autistic self-advocates have long warned against cure-centered rhetoric because it reinforces ableism—the belief that people with disabilities are inherently inferior and need fixing to be accepted. This mindset can manifest in subtle but harmful ways:

• Parents may spend years searching for miracle treatments instead of building emotional connections with their children.

• Governments may fund medical experiments while neglecting inclusive education and support services.

• Employers may exclude autistic workers under the assumption that they are “too difficult” to integrate.

Moreover, the cure narrative has historically justified harmful practices. From electric shock therapies to forced institutionalization, autistic individuals have been subjected to inhumane treatment under the guise of “helping” them. While science has evolved, the underlying mindset remains dangerous—the belief that being autistic is a problem to eliminate rather than a condition to understand.

At the heart of the “cure” conversation lies something deeper: humanity’s fear of difference. Throughout history, societies have often tried to “correct” what they didn’t understand. Left-handed children were once forced to write with their right hand. LGBTQ+ people were subjected to conversion therapies. Neurodivergent people were locked away in institutions.

Autism has faced a similar fate. Because it challenges social norms and expectations, society reacts by trying to normalize or suppress it. But forcing conformity does not create harmony—it creates suffering.

The truth is that diversity is the engine of human progress. Every major advancement in art, science, and technology has come from people who thought differently. Many of history’s greatest innovators and thinkers—people like Albert Einstein, Nikola Tesla, Alan Turing, or Emily Dickinson—showed traits consistent with what we now understand as autism or other neurodivergent conditions. Their minds saw the world from angles others could not.

If we had “cured” that difference, what brilliance would we have lost?

Autism changes how the brain processes information. Many autistic people have heightened pattern recognition, deep focus, honesty, and creative problem-solving abilities. Some experience the world in vivid sensory detail, noticing things that others overlook. Others have unique empathy, feeling emotions so deeply that it can be overwhelming.

These are not deficits—they are variations.

Of course, these strengths can coexist with difficulties: sensory overload, burnout, or social anxiety. But these challenges do not erase the value of our way of thinking. They highlight the need for balance, not elimination.

The autistic mind can be both a blessing and a burden, depending on context. But that’s true for every human mind. A highly analytical brain may struggle in emotional conversations but excel in mathematics. A deeply empathetic person may feel overwhelmed by others’ pain but become a remarkable caregiver. Autism is part of that same spectrum of human difference.

When we stop viewing autism as a tragedy and start viewing it as a unique mode of existence, we unlock compassion, understanding, and innovation.

The autism spectrum is incredibly broad. No two autistic individuals are the same. Some may be nonverbal, while others are highly articulate. Some may have intense sensory sensitivities, while others seek sensory input. Some may live independently, while others require lifelong support. All are equally valuable.

This diversity within autism is what makes a “cure” even more problematic. There is no single version of autism to remove. There are only millions of unique individuals whose brains function differently. Trying to “cure” autism would mean erasing all that diversity.

It’s like trying to cure humanity itself.

Furthermore, research into so-called “autism cures” often focuses on behavioral conformity, not genuine well-being. For example, some therapies aim to make autistic children behave more like neurotypical peers, rewarding eye contact and suppressing stimming (self-stimulatory behaviors like hand-flapping or rocking). While these interventions may appear to “normalize” a child, they can also cause trauma by teaching that natural behaviors are wrong.

Instead of trying to make autistic people appear normal, we should be helping them feel safe, supported, and empowered to be themselves.

Acceptance is the opposite of a cure. It’s about meeting autistic people where they are and valuing them as they are. Inclusion means not forcing autistic individuals to adapt to an unaccommodating world but reshaping the world to welcome different minds.

When workplaces, schools, and communities embrace neurodiversity, everyone benefits. For instance:

• Schools that use sensory-friendly classrooms often find that neurotypical students also perform better in calm, structured environments.

• Companies that adopt flexible communication methods improve overall teamwork, not just for autistic employees.

• Communities that provide accessibility services, quiet spaces, and inclusive events create better environments for all kinds of people—parents, elderly individuals, and people with anxiety alike.

Acceptance is not pity. It’s respect. It’s the recognition that difference does not equal defect.

Throughout the 20th century, autism was misunderstood and mistreated. Early psychiatrists and researchers framed it as a form of childhood schizophrenia or emotional coldness. Mothers were once blamed as “refrigerator parents” who failed to love their children enough. Treatments ranged from isolation to electroshock therapy. These were not cures—they were cruelties born from ignorance.

Even in the 21st century, we still see remnants of these ideas. Some organizations continue to portray autism as a global tragedy or epidemic, using fear-based marketing to attract funding. They often speak about autistic people without including them. Their goal: to find a cure.

But the autistic community has repeatedly rejected this framing. Movements like #ActuallyAutistic and Autistic Pride Day exist to reclaim the narrative—to show that we do not need fixing; we need listening.

It’s easy for non-autistic people to discuss cures abstractly, as if autism were a separate entity attached to a person. But for autistic individuals, this talk is deeply personal. It cuts to the core of our identity.

When people say they want to “cure” autism, it feels like they are saying, “We wish people like you didn’t exist.” It’s a statement that devalues lives and experiences. It makes autistic people feel invisible, unwanted, and expendable.

Growing up, many autistic individuals struggle with self-esteem, not because of their autism itself, but because of how society treats it. They internalize messages that they are “wrong” or “broken.” This can lead to depression, anxiety, self-harm, or suicidal thoughts. Studies show that autistic people—especially autistic women and LGBTQ+ individuals—are at much higher risk of suicide than the general population. Much of this distress comes from social rejection, not from autism itself.

By contrast, when autistic individuals are accepted, understood, and celebrated, they thrive. Confidence grows. Creativity flourishes. Relationships deepen. The difference between “You need to be cured” and “You are enough as you are” can be the difference between despair and self-love.

Support is not about erasing autism—it’s about empowering autistic individuals to navigate the world more effectively. It’s about giving tools, not prescriptions. It’s about building bridges, not walls.

Examples of meaningful support include:

• Access to speech therapy that respects natural communication styles.

• Employment programs that match autistic strengths rather than punish differences.

• Sensory-friendly environments in public spaces.

• Training programs for teachers and police officers to understand autistic behavior.

• Better funding for mental health services tailored to neurodivergent individuals.

None of these require curing autism. They require listening to autistic voices.

We need to move from a medical model of disability—where the individual is the problem—to a social model, where barriers are the problem. Autism does not disable people; society’s refusal to accommodate difference does.

My vision is not one where autism disappears, but one where it is embraced. I envision a world where autistic people can live authentically, without shame or fear. A world where support is readily available, workplaces value diverse minds, and schools teach empathy instead of conformity.

I imagine a society where people no longer whisper about autism as if it’s something to hide but speak openly and proudly about it. Where parents are told not to fear their child’s diagnosis but to celebrate their unique potential. Where being autistic is just another part of being human.

That’s the kind of future I fight for—and that’s why I disagree with the idea of “curing” autism.

When public figures like Donald Trump speak about curing autism, they often do so from a place of concern. They may see children struggling, parents exhausted, and families desperate for answers. They want solutions. But the problem lies in the framing.

By calling for a cure, they imply that the problem is autism itself—not the lack of support or understanding around it. This misdirects funding and attention away from what truly matters. Instead of researching how to help autistic adults find stable housing or employment, governments invest in genetics labs trying to eliminate autism genes.

Autism is not a singular enemy to defeat—it’s part of human neurodiversity. Trying to remove it is like trying to erase an entire color from the human palette. We need all shades of thought to make the world complete.

So while I acknowledge that Trump and others may mean well, I urge them—and society as a whole—to shift focus: from “cure” to “care,” from “elimination” to “empowerment.”

Autism acceptance isn’t just a matter of kindness—it’s a matter of human rights. The right to exist without discrimination. The right to education, healthcare, and employment. The right to self-determination.

Disability rights movements throughout history have fought against forced sterilization, institutionalization, and segregation. The neurodiversity movement continues that legacy, fighting for recognition that different brains are not defective—they are diverse. To speak of curing autism is to undermine that struggle. It’s to suggest that equality will only come when we erase difference.

True inclusion means protecting diversity, not eliminating it.

I live with autism every day. It shapes my thoughts, emotions, creativity, and how I view the world. It challenges me at times, but it also gifts me insight and empathy that I wouldn’t trade for anything.

When I was younger, I used to wish I could be “normal.” I wanted to blend in, to stop standing out. But as I’ve grown, I’ve realized that the very traits that made me different are the same ones that made me strong. My attention to detail, my honesty, my deep thinking—they come from my autistic mind.

To cure autism would be to erase that version of me. It would create a stranger in my place. I don’t want to be someone else. I want to be accepted as I am.

While I recognize that Donald Trump and others may have good intentions when they talk about curing autism, I deeply and respectfully disagree with this framing. Autism is not a disease to be eradicated. It is a difference that deserves recognition, understanding, and support.

The world doesn’t need fewer autistic people. It needs fewer barriers. It needs more compassion. It needs to evolve.

The goal should not be to “cure” autism, but to cure ignorance, cure stigma, and cure discrimination. The world doesn’t need a world without autism—it needs a world that celebrates every way of being human.

My hope is that future conversations about autism move away from the language of erasure and toward the language of empowerment. Because when we stop trying to cure autism and start embracing it, we don’t just make life better for autistic people—we make life better for everyone.