Like many women my age, it took me a while to get the point of seeking out an autism diagnosis. This was despite multiple friends looking at me and saying, sometimes word-for-word, “you’re autistic”. And it was despite my wide knowledge of how autism could present, having worked with young autistic men and women for years. As it turned out, even though I had advocated for, researched and written about autism, I had a blind spot – and that blind spot was myself.

I remember sitting in the psychologist’s office after receiving my diagnosis. “When I was a kid, no one looked for it in people like me,” I told her.

The comment replayed in my head as I drove home. I felt like I had taken a step into a new community, one that was only just beginning to know itself. I confided my suspicions in a friend: that an entire generation of autistic girls had been missed and had consequently suffered, and was only just now beginning to figure itself out with the help of greater representation in the news, films and TV, and social media.

The importance of representation

You can’t be what you can’t see, so the saying goes. Society’s understanding of autism has always been influenced by representations on screen, but many of those representations have been extremely limited. I can vividly recall that when I was younger, autism was associated with Rain Man and savant syndrome. Autism was something experienced by boys, and was characterised by super smarts, emotional distance, rocking in the corner and flapping your hands.

There was no understanding of the ‘spectrum’ component of the condition.

Growing up, I was the shy girl – painfully shy, some said, with no understanding of how to come out of my shell. I was a voracious reader, with very few friends who I always felt were drifting away from me. I did well in school, but my report cards often said I needed to work on my social side. I can recall many occasions where I found myself alone in the playground or talking to the teacher instead of playing with the other kids. I often collected rocks, putting them in my pocket or pencil case to hold onto later. I got upset when other people touched my neatly piled stacks of schoolbooks  – something a few kids decided to exploit for fun when they saw my reaction. I loved a good routine and religiously used my school diary to track the days.

But as I told my psychologist this year: no one was looking for autism in girls like me.

And this is why representation in the media is so important: to broaden perspectives so that parents, doctors and the community know what to look for, and can offer help to ensure autistic girls are comfortable and supported to become strong, thriving autistic women, and to allow these girls and women to feel that actually, they are normal, there’s nothing wrong with them, they are part of a community, and they are allowed to be their authentic selves.

Representation of autism in the media

Representation is something that’s particularly important to me, both personally and professionally. I began my career writing about autism, and I have made it my mission in every piece I’ve written about people with disabilities to ensure that I give them a voice and allow them to tell their stories in their own words. To me that just seemed logical; after all, who better to talk about their experiences than disabled people themselves? But back then it seemed I was an outlier, with very few other journalists doing the same.

I was prompted to explore this further when I had the opportunity to do my Honours thesis. Inspired by my own experience as a journalist and working with the disability community, I decided to investigate Australian news media portrayals of people with disability – how frequently they occur, where they are published and whether they are framed in a positive, neutral or negative way. I analysed a selection of articles from Australian news publishers across two separate time periods. What I found was that there has been an overall improvement in the way that disability is being framed in Australian news media, with an increase in articles that depicted disability in a positive light. I also found a rise in the number of articles that framed disability in the context of issues within society, rather than as a medical concept or as an oddity or burden. My research results tracked with what I had observed anecdotally – that the media was finally starting to take an interest in telling the stories of people with disability, and often in their own words. In news media, it seems the times are a-changing.

What films and TV get wrong – and what they get right

My thesis focused on journalism and news, rather than film and television, but these fascinate me too. In online autism circles, people often make lists of characters that they feel might be autistic but haven’t been directly described as such by their makers. Characters such as Belle from Beauty and the Beast, Ariel from The Little Mermaid and Sandy from Grease often get a mention, and you can see the theme here: quiet girls, some with special collections of objects, who follow their own path and have difficulty relating to those around them. And although those characters have not been officially diagnosed, it’s easy to see how autistic women and girls might have been drawn to characters they identified with, who shared many of the traits they were teased for at school. Representation is vital. Imagine what might have happened if one of these characters was openly autistic?

That’s not to say that the media gets it right every time. Some representations of autistic characters, such as the Good Doctor or Sheldon Cooper (who, it must be said, has never explicitly been declared to be autistic) are often criticised by autistic circles for relying on common stereotypes rather than exploring autism more deeply. That said, I’ve also seen some praise on social media for the fact that Sheldon is portrayed as being accepted by his friends, and The Good Doctor at least brings conversations about autism into the mainstream.

But sometimes, a popular media portrayal of autism is considered accurate. Heartbreak High won acclaim around the world for its portrayal of Quinni – a neurodivergent character played by autistic actor and advocate Chloé Hayden. Viewers felt validated, as though their life was finally being shown on screen.

Then there is social media, which is where many women and girls are having their autistic awakening. Social media has given a platform to many people to share their personal experiences of autism, giving an insight into their daily lives that Hollywood can’t always capture effectively. And it creates a community where people who have felt like outsiders their whole lives can find people they connect with and make friends. While social media often gets a bad rap, places like Reddit, Facebook, Instagram and even TikTok are spaces where the tribe gathers to share experiences, find support and where we aren’t judged for our “quirks”.

Where to from here?

So what can we do to make media representations better? I have a few ideas. Lived experience is vital to getting it right – this is what made Heartbreak High such a success. An autistic character, played by an autistic person, showing real experiences we can connect with? Bingo!

We also need to show the full spectrum of autism. Because the reality is, autism is a spectrum and as the saying goes, if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person. We’re not all savants, we don’t all stim by flapping our hands, and we’re not all obsessed with trains. Some of us are, which is wonderful (I’m a big fan of trains), but autism is more than that. It’s a whole-of-life condition that affects people differently, often at different times or in different places. For LGBTQIA+ people, or for BIPOC communities, the challenges of autism can be compounded by the intersectionality of their lived experience. This needs to be portrayed in the media too.

Would my own autism have been picked up sooner if portrayals in popular and news media had been more accurate? It’s possible. I guess I’ll never know. But as a journalist, and as a newly identified autistic woman, I will continue to champion lived experience in all its forms in my work, and I’ll encourage others in the industry to do the same. If that can help a single other girl to feel seen and validated, then that, to me, is a success. 

What YLB means to me: I am so glad that women, girls and gender diverse people have access to Yellow Ladybugs. Having a powerful, welcoming community to be part of, and to draw support from, means so much to those trying to navigate the world through an autistic lens.

Written By: Danielle Kutchel, for Yellow Ladybugs

Reach Danielle at wordsmithbyDK@gmail.com or connect with her on LinkedIn. 

Danielle Kutchel is an award-winning journalist specialising in writing on disability. Her work has appeared in various publications including The Age and Pro Bono News, and she currently writes regularly for Link Disability Magazine and Ability News. You might also know her from her work with the I CAN Network. She received her formal autism diagnosis this year. She loves dying her hair in bright colours, indulging in her special interests and looking after her cats and chickens.