Autistic development doesnāt end in childhoodāit unfolds when safety and relationship arrive. This conversation traces how non-linear minds make meaning, why systems erase autistic futures, and why attunementānot controlāis what allows people to grow.
It was wonderful to get to spend another Saturday morning with Cathy. What todayās conversation keeps circling is a quiet but radical absence in our professional imaginationāthe idea that autistic children grow up.
So much of autism discourse is structurally frozen in childhood. Language development is treated as something that either happens on schedule or expires. Support is designed with an unspoken endpoint. By the time a young person ages out of services, the system behaves as if their story is complete. What I am trying to name is how falseāand how damagingāthat is. Autistic development is not arrested. It is contingent. It unfolds when safety, recognition, and relationship finally arrive. My own life is evidence of that. I did not āfailā to develop language. I was prevented from doing so, then later surged forward once the conditions changed. Development did not stop. It was deferred.
From there, the conversation opens into a wider question of how meaning itself is made. I do not process language in neat sequences. I process life as a whole firstāemotion, pattern, atmosphereābefore I can ever reduce it to parts. Writing is not output for me. It is translation. I write in order to make myself legible to myself inside a world that never offered cognitive mirrors. When institutions call this delayed articulation āconfusionā or ādistortion,ā they mistake a different epistemology for pathology. What they label disorder is often simply non-linear coherence.
This is where professional erasure enters. I work inside special education law, yet the system does not imagine that one of its former subjects might one day become its practitioner. Autistic people are built into policy as recipients of service, not as future colleagues, thinkers, or leaders. I rarely see myself reflected in professional development spacesānot as an autistic adult, not as a gestalt processor, not as someone whose cognition might itself be a source of insight. Much of my writing exists because I had to create the mirrors that were missing. It is not productivityāit is repair.
The same pattern appears in education more broadly. My teaching is shaped by story, cadence, and relational memoryāan inheritance from Gaelic culture, where knowledge travels through song and lived narrative rather than rigid hierarchy. That is not romanticism. It is pedagogy. When I teach mathematics, I begin with the wholeāthe meaning of what we are doingābefore breaking it into parts. Students who struggle under purely sequential instruction often flourish when sense comes first. Yet the system privileges speed over understanding. We move on whether meaning has arrived or not. Punctuality has replaced knowledge as the organising value of schooling.
This is not just an educational problem. It is cultural. We have dismantled the everyday spaces where attunement is learnedāpubs, cafĆ©s, informal public lifeāplaces where people once practised being with strangers. Without these relational commons, conversation itself atrophies. We then misdiagnose the resulting disconnection as personal failure rather than infrastructural loss. What looks like social decline is often relational deprivation.
Across all of this, one word keeps surfacing as the unspoken through line: attunement.
It runs through how I teach, how I write, how I relate, how I collaborate, how I understand autism, how I understand learning. Growth happens in relationship, not compliance. Whether with children in therapy, students in classrooms, colleagues in conversation, or readers on the page, what actually changes people is not technique but alignment. Systems obsessed with hierarchy, pacing, and control systematically undermine the very conditions that make development possible.
Even the small details belong to this same logic. Finding clothes that finally fit my body is not vanityāit is sensory and relational safety. It is the body coming into agreement with itself. Coherence is not abstract. It is lived.
The conversation with Cathy is not really about language stages, or education, or autism in isolation. It is about a civilisation that mistrusts relational knowledge and then wonders why so much no longer makes sense. What I am trying to articulateāacross my work and in this dialogueāis that we do not need better control systems. We need better conditions for contact.
Not more management of human beingsābut more understanding of how humans actually grow.
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