That 'Bad Kid' You're Judging Could Very Well Be Autistic

“Ick. Aren’t you going to teach him some manners?” she said, staring at the teenager I was with outside Lifetime Fitness.

I was 23. I laughed because he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was shuffling across the pavement, wearing down his shoes in a way that clearly felt so good to his body. He was regulated. He was happy. And even back then, before I had the language for sensory processing and had been diagnosed myself, I knew that mattered more than her version of “appropriate.”

This wasn’t a rare moment. It’s one of millions. Caregivers and parents of autistic kids are trying to exist in a world that was never built with their kids in mind. It’s exhausting. And honestly? It’s ridiculous.

At some point, it’s like all the judgmental people of the world got together and decided what counts as “good.” Eye contact. Quick responses. The right tone. The right distance. The right kind of play. And if you don’t fit neatly into that checklist? You’re rude. You’re wrong. You’re a problem.

And somehow… we all just went with it.

It’s true for everyone, no matter your diagnosis: What’s familiar feels safe and comfortable. So when a child doesn’t respond on cue or moves in a way that looks different, people panic. They don’t say, “I don’t understand.” They say, “Fix them.”

And those words — no matter if you experience as a caregiver at the grocery store, the park, or anywhere else — cut deep. All we — the autistic community and those who love them – is to be treated the same.

And the cost of the looks and disapproval? It’s heavy. Parents and caregivers walk away feeling judged, like they’re failing at something they’re already pouring everything into. And the kids? They feel it too. You don’t need words to feel disapproval. A look, a scoff, a shift in energy — it all lands. Especially for autistic individuals, including those who are nonspeaking.

That teenager knew exactly what was happening. He didn’t need to make eye contact or say a word to understand she wasn’t safe. Autistic doesn’t mean unaware. Nonspeaking doesn’t mean unknowing.

They see it. They feel it. They carry it.

So this Autism Awareness Month, can we stop asking autistic kids to be better? Stop judging and start asking ourselves to be better? To be curious and not impulsive in our summaries?

Because the goal should never be to be “less autistic.” The goal is safety. Belonging. Understanding. We don’t need better kids. We need better humans and a broader definition of what is “good.”

Meg Raby is a mom, children's author of the My Brother Otto series, and Autistic residing in Salt Lake City where you can find her playing and working with neurodivergent children as a Speech Language Pathologist and friend, or writing and planning big things in the second booth at her local coffee shop that overlooks the Wasatch Mountains while sipping on her Americano. Meg believes the essence of life is to understand, love and welcome others (aka, to give a damn about humans).