Out of My Head, Into the Field

Autistic Eyes on Power Could Save Our Movements

It’s been strange to be done with school.

For two years, my nervous system has been running on fumes—living on a very limited budget, carrying more responsibility than I ever thought was possible, and pushing through a burnout so deep it felt like my entire body had collapsed.

Now, there’s space. Things are changing. Which sounds like it should be easier, but here’s the truth: transitions are hard as hell, especially when you’re autistic.

School kept me in my head. There was always a paper to write, a theory to map, a deadline to survive. That structure can be a double-edged sword—it keeps you moving, but it can also disconnect you from your body, from the subtle textures of life.

Lately, I’ve been feeling through life again, not just thinking it. It’s disorienting. Slow. Quiet. My nervous system isn’t sure what to do with this space, but I can feel myself landing in a deeper kind of clarity. I’m watching how things move—how power moves—in the field around me.

And what I keep seeing makes me think:

If organizations were truly committed to dismantling fascism, they’d be hiring autistic people to evaluate their power structures.

Because when you’ve lived your life at the edges of systems, you notice the invisible things—the unspoken rules, the contradictions, the places where “anti-authoritarian” groups unconsciously replicate the very control they claim to resist.

Why Autistic People See Power Differently

Autistic people are often described as “literal” or “rigid,” but here’s the thing: that same trait makes us incredibly precise when it comes to noticing patterns. We catch the micro-shifts in tone, the contradictions between stated values and actual behavior, the unspoken rules that everyone else seems to just… accept.

We can’t not see it.

That’s why so many of us struggle in systems that thrive on hierarchy, politics, and unspoken power games. We notice when “community” is really just code for conformity. We feel when safety is conditional—based on how well we mask or play the part. We sense when organizations say one thing and do another, even if they’re using all the right language.

The reality is: most institutions, even the ones claiming to dismantle authoritarianism, end up replicating it.

Not because they want to, but because power-over is the default mode of our culture. It’s in the air we breathe.

And here’s the part that makes people uncomfortable: autistic people tend to have a lower tolerance for that. We name what we see. We question the unquestionable. We ask the inconvenient “why?” over and over again.

That makes us exhausting to systems invested in preserving themselves. But it also makes us invaluable to any group that actually wants to change.

Power-With vs. Power-Over

If there’s one thing I’ve learned through my own transitions, it’s that you can’t dismantle authoritarianism with authoritarian tools.

Power-over is the pipeline. Power-with is the antidote.

But here’s the problem: most organizations, even the well-meaning ones, are structured around power-over. Decisions are made by a few, enforced through unspoken rules, and policed by those who fear losing their standing. This is the same nervous system of control that fascism thrives on.

Autistic people know what it’s like to be crushed by those dynamics because we live it every day. We feel the cost in our bodies. We see the invisible rules that hold systems together—and we’re unwilling to pretend they’re okay.

That’s why I believe we should be trusted to audit power. Not as a token gesture or another box to check, but because we’ve been refining this skill our entire lives. We are exquisitely sensitive to when an environment is unsafe, extractive, or manipulative.

What would it look like if autistic people were empowered to evaluate organizational power structures?

• To point out where “inclusion” is performative?

• To name the subtle coercion built into policies?

• To map where power is hoarded and where it needs to be shared?

It would be uncomfortable. It would force change. But it could also save movements from collapsing under the weight of their own hypocrisy.

Because liberation can’t be built on the bones of the same systems we’re trying to leave behind.

It’s time we stop asking autistic people to mask and contort for the sake of belonging, and instead start asking:

What do you see that we’re not seeing?

That question alone could change everything.

Landing in the Next Chapter

This moment feels tender. I’m still recalibrating after years of survival mode, and I’m trying to trust my nervous system as it learns a new rhythm.

Transitions are messy, and they’re rarely linear. But I know this: I’m done bending myself to fit systems that were never built for me. I’m done pretending that power-over dynamics are just “how things work.”

For the first time in a long time, I feel possibility. It’s not loud or flashy. It’s quiet, steady, and rooted in the clarity that’s come from living at the edges.

I want my work—and my life—to be an invitation for others to see what’s possible, too.

And maybe, just maybe, if we let the ones who notice the fractures guide us, we won’t just dismantle authoritarianism. We’ll build something entirely different in its place.