We often see glimpses of it in characters we love. Think of Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory, with his passionate, all-consuming interest in physics, or Newt Scamander from Fantastic Beasts, who is far more comfortable with magical creatures than with people. Their intense focus on a single subject can seem to replace their interest in the rest of the world. They might have subdued emotions, less expressive faces, and a noticeable lack of interest in casual social chatter.

These are examples of what some call “autism coding”—when writers give characters traits associated with autism spectrum disorder (ASD) without ever stating it directly. It’s a way of representing a different kind of human experience on screen. But what does this look like in reality? Is it true that people with autism see the world through a fundamentally different lens? Let’s explore this together.

The Brain's Unique Blueprint

Autism is a neurodevelopmental condition, meaning the brain develops and is wired differently. It’s not something you can get from a vaccine or from how you were raised; it's a part of a person's makeup from birth.

Imagine your brain is a complex city with countless districts. In a neurotypical person, the connections between these districts—the highways and communication lines—are well-established and operate automatically. When you hear a sarcastic joke, several areas of your brain work together in an instant. They process the words, the speaker's tone, their facial expression, pull related memories, and gauge the social context. This complex “electrical waltz” happens in the background, without conscious effort.

In a person with ASD, even one with what was formerly known as Asperger's syndrome, this internal conductivity works differently. The connections between brain regions, particularly in the associative cortex responsible for integrating information, may be less coordinated. This means processing a sarcastic joke isn't automatic. It requires a conscious, step-by-step analysis, and even then, the humor might not land. This isn't a lack of intelligence; it's a difference in processing. This principle extends to many skills that neurotypical people learn intuitively, such as interpreting emotions or responding to social cues.

The Core Pillars of Experience

While autism manifests differently in every individual—as the saying goes, “if you've met one person with autism, you've met one person with autism”—the experience is often characterized by three main areas.

1. A Different Approach to Social Interaction: This isn't a complete inability to communicate, but often a significantly lower innate need for the kind of social interaction neurotypical people seek. The drive to share hobbies, interests, or personal feelings with others may simply not be as present. It’s not about being aloof or uncaring; it's about having a different social battery and motivation.
2. Deep, Focused Interests: A second common trait is the presence of limited, highly focused interests. A person with ASD can become so deeply absorbed in a specific topic that the rest of the world fades into the background. While these interests are stereotypically associated with technical subjects like drawing maps or creating complex chronologies, this is not a rule. They can just as easily be in art, literature, or creative pursuits. Uniquely high intelligence is found among people with ASD just as often as it is among the neurotypical population.
3. Repetitive Behaviors and the Need for Sameness: The third pillar involves repetitive behaviors and specific movements, sometimes called "stimming." Neurotypical people do this too—tapping a foot when nervous, clicking a pen to focus. For a person with ASD, these stereotyped behaviors are often more pronounced and serve a crucial purpose. They can be a way to self-soothe in moments of stress, manage overwhelming sensory input, or even express joy. These actions can range from simple motions like rocking or hand-flapping to more intricate rituals. When these behaviors are persistent, rigid, and repeated frequently, they become a hallmark of autism. They are not a whim or a choice; they arise from the brain's unique wiring and are often a necessary tool for navigating the world.

The Truth About Empathy and Overload

One of the most dangerous and persistent myths about autism is the supposed lack of empathy. People with ASD form deep attachments, experience a full range of emotions, feel love, and get angry. The difficulty often lies in expressing these emotions in a way that neurotypical people easily recognize, or in cognitively processing what another person might be feeling.

Imagine a neurotypical person comforting a grieving friend. Empathy helps them intuitively put themselves in the other's shoes, and a socially appropriate response comes almost instantly. For a person with ASD, the process is often more analytical. They may have to rationally assess the situation, compare it to past experiences and learned social rules, and then consciously construct a response they know is socially acceptable. This cognitive load can make social interactions exhausting.

This is why some people with autism may seem to shy away from social situations. It's not a lack of caring, but an attempt to manage the immense effort required.

Now, picture walking into a busy cafe. The music is loud, the lights are glaring, and people are talking everywhere. A neurotypical brain can quickly filter this sensory information, allowing you to find a quiet corner or ask the waiter to turn down the music. For a person with ASD, this can be an overwhelming sensory assault. The brain's difficulty in filtering and prioritizing information means they experience everything at once, at full volume. The resulting reaction—which might look like anger or aggression—is often a desperate attempt to find safety and escape an unbearably painful environment.

What many of us do automatically, people with ASD often must learn consciously through immense effort. Recognizing this changes our perspective. They are not rude, withdrawn, or badly behaved. They are navigating a world that wasn't built for their operating system. And like all of us, they thrive with support, acceptance, and the space to be themselves.