​My Autism Is My Superpower – And I Mean That Literally

How the traits that made me “different” became the ones that define my best work.

My grandmother once asked my father if he thought there would someday be a cure for autism. He told her that even if he had a magic wand that could change me, he wouldn’t use it. He didn’t think of autism as something wrong with me — just that I was a little different, and that was okay with him.

For a long time, I wasn’t sure I agreed. When you grow up struggling to communicate, flinching at sounds other people don’t even notice, and memorizing social rules the way other kids memorize multiplication tables, it’s hard to see any of it as a gift. But I’m 34 now, and I’ve had time to take stock. The traits that made my childhood difficult are, in many cases, the same traits that make my adult life rich. I wouldn’t undo my autism. And I don’t say that lightly.

Let me start with the one that surprises people most: intense focus. Many people on the spectrum develop consuming interests in particular subjects. In my case, the list has been long and varied — elephants, horses, Dr. Seuss, and above all, game shows. I could disappear into a topic for hours, thinking only sixty minutes had passed when it was actually four. As a kid, this looked like obsession. As an adult, it looks like a professional asset. The ability to lock onto a subject, absorb it completely, and retain what I’ve learned has helped me in every job I’ve held, every new skill I’ve acquired, and every conversation where someone assumed I wouldn’t be able to keep up.

In third grade, my dad helped me channel this trait into a school assignment. I had to give a presentation about how seeds become plants, and I was stuck — until he suggested I turn it into a game show. We glued seeds to answer cards, built a poster board with name and score spaces, and turned my classroom into a studio audience. My teacher gave me an A with three pluses. My classmates had a blast. And I learned something I carry to this day: when you build around the way your brain actually works instead of fighting it, the results can be extraordinary.

Then there’s what I think of as the third-party perspective. Because I had to learn social interaction through direct instruction rather than instinct — through social stories, coaching, and deliberate practice — I developed an unusual ability to observe human behavior almost like a scientist, even while participating in it. I watch how people communicate, what they really mean versus what they say, how group dynamics shift when someone enters or leaves a room. This isn’t detachment. It’s a different kind of engagement. It has made me open-minded, analytical, and genuinely curious about people in a way I don’t think I would be if social interaction had always come naturally.

Climate activist Greta Thunberg, who is also on the spectrum, has called her autism a “superpower.” I couldn’t agree more. Her ability to look at the gap between what world leaders say and what they do — and to say so, directly, to their faces — comes from the same trait that makes many of us uncomfortable at cocktail parties. We don’t instinctively soften hard truths for social comfort. That can be awkward at a dinner table, but it can be invaluable when the stakes are high and everyone else is tiptoeing around a problem.

This connects to something I’ve observed in myself and in many others on the spectrum: a deep, almost visceral intolerance for injustice. I think all humans have some innate sense of fairness, but for people on the spectrum, it can be profound. If I see someone being treated unfairly, my reaction is immediate and strong. I’ve joined organizations, volunteered for causes, and spoken out in situations where staying quiet would have been easier — not because I’m unusually brave, but because looking away genuinely isn’t an option for me. My brain won’t let me file it under “not my problem.”

I know that none of this erases the hard parts. I still get nervous in conversations. I still over-explain what I mean because I’m terrified of being misunderstood. I have a kind of social antivirus software running in the back of my head at all times, scanning for errors. Some days that’s exhausting. But I’ve come to see even that hypervigilance as a form of caring — about people, about getting it right, about not causing harm. There are worse things to be wired for.

I work in radio now. If you’d told the specialists who evaluated me as a toddler that the kid who couldn’t translate his thoughts into spoken words would spend his career behind a microphone, I doubt they would have believed you. I co-host a podcast with my mother called Mother’s Guide Through Autism, where I get to use everything my brain does well — focus, analysis, a love of deep conversation — in a format that suits me perfectly. I also advocate for autism awareness, because I know that the support I received growing up is not available to everyone, and it should be.

If you’re a parent reading this and wondering whether your child’s intense interests, unusual perspective, or stubborn sense of right and wrong will ever amount to anything — I’m here to tell you they already do. Those traits aren’t obstacles to be managed. They’re raw material. Here’s how to help your child use them:

Don’t pathologize the passion. When your child disappears into a subject for hours, resist the urge to redirect them toward something more “normal.” That focus is a cognitive gift. Help them channel it. My game-show obsession became a school presentation that earned three pluses. Your child’s fixation on dinosaurs, trains, or weather patterns could become the seed of a career, a talent, or simply a deep well of confidence that says: my brain does something well.

Let them be the observer. If your child seems to be watching the world from a slight distance rather than diving into the social scrum, that’s not necessarily withdrawal — it may be analysis. Encourage them to talk about what they notice. Ask what they think is really going on in a situation. You may be surprised by the sophistication of their observations. That third-party perspective is a strength in fields from science to journalism to advocacy, and it starts with someone saying: “I see you noticing things. Tell me what you see.”

Nurture the sense of justice. Many kids on the spectrum feel unfairness acutely and react strongly when they witness it. This can look like rigidity or defiance if you’re not paying attention to what’s driving it. But underneath it is something powerful: a moral compass that doesn’t bend for social convenience. Help your child find constructive outlets — a cause to support, a club to join, a letter to write. The conviction that the world should be fair is not a behavior problem. It’s a leadership quality.

Model the long view. Your child is watching how you respond to their differences. If you treat autism as a catastrophe, they will internalize that. If you treat it as one part of who they are — with real challenges and real strengths — they will internalize that instead. My father’s answer to my grandmother wasn’t just a nice thing to say. It shaped how I came to see myself. No magic wand. No need for one.

I’m not going to pretend that every person on the spectrum will have my experience. Autism is vast, and when you’ve met one person on the spectrum, you’ve met exactly one. But I do believe that in every case, the goal should be the same: help the person become their most authentic self, not a passable imitation of someone else. The world doesn’t need more people who think alike. It needs people who see what others miss, care when others look away, and focus when others move on. A lot of us on the spectrum are already wired for exactly that.

Joseph D. Shipman

Joseph D. Shipman, despite grim predictions by some following his autism diagnosis, gained recognition working for numerous radio stations, and currently gives time to various political and social causes, including autism advocacy. He enjoys playing video games, spending time with friends and family, and studying and talking about various topics consisting of, but not limited to, art, history, and philosophy. A Mother’s Guide Through Autism, Part II: Through the Eyes of the Guided is Joseph’s debut as an author. Learn more at mothersguidetoautism.