Am I autistic enough?

If you think you're autistic but a professional said you're not, this is for you

Jul 29, 2025

What happens when you believe you’re autistic—but a professional says you’re not? This essay explores the fallout of diagnostic denial, the slippery criteria for adult autism diagnosis, and the emotional toll of feeling like you don’t fit in… again.

Read on…

Diagnosis changed my life because it changed how I see myself.

Formerly, I saw myself as a broken human. Now, I see myself as a different human—a critical distinction.

I have unusual social instincts and needs and reactions, and now I can trace them to specific autistic traits.

Autism doesn’t relate to everything about me, but it relates to a lot. Diagnosis helped me realize my deck is stacked a certain way. I don’t need to beat myself up over it. It’s just the way I am.

But it was only through diagnosis that I came to this self-acceptance. I didn’t earn it through a meditative journey or deep journaling; it didn’t come from the five years of therapy I did in my early thirties. It was the flip of a switch, a post-intermission Act 3, a reopening after change in ownership.

This makes my shift to self-acceptance seem binary: no, and then yes. It’s not quite that simple, but it’s close. About as close to simple as the messy headspace of self-regard can get.

If diagnosis allowed me to accept myself, what would denial of diagnosis have done? I fear it would have deepened my feeling of defectiveness. That I couldn’t even fit with the misfits.

That’s the problem when self-acceptance rests on an external trigger. The person with the authority to diagnose holds a lot of power.

Within the autism community, there’s significant backlash to the idea that “everyone is a little autistic.”

But I believed a version of that statement long before I seriously considered I might be (fully) autistic. I used those exact words, “a little autistic,” in self-deprecating jokes to my husband as I groaned over social obligation and became insensibly annoyed over minor transgressions by colleagues or neighbors.

It was only when I better understood what autism really is that I saw how much it fit me.

By the time I booked my assessment, I was convinced. In my case, the idea that you can be a “little autistic” was a stepping stone to self-realization.

As it happened, my psychologist agreed with me. But it could have gone differently.

Because in the end, the question of diagnosis is an examination of how autistic you are. Are you a little, or are you a lot? Only if you cross an impossibly slippery line—a line calibrated differently depending on the psychologist—will you receive a diagnosis.

Some people sail over that line. Others may tip just over it, or fall a hair short. The diagnostic assessment is a binary: yes, or no. Either you are or you aren’t.

Mine came back yes, and where exactly I landed on the other side of that line should be irrelevant. But I do wonder.

Now that I’m a regular on the autism forums, I see adults, often women, post about being denied a diagnosis. A handful of examples:

“I’m crushed. The psych told me she can’t offer me a diagnosis because I am able to maintain relationships despite fulfilling literally every other requirement for a diagnosis. I told her throughout […] that maintaining relationships and making friends is and always has been difficult for me, but I’ve learned the steps and I know that relationships are important. I force myself to maintain relationships, it doesn’t come naturally. I’m just so frustrated.” (link)

And:

“No autism because I have friends? The lady [...] said she wouldn’t assume I have autism because I have friends and can feel empathy for my sister. [...] She also said that it doesn't really make sense to diagnose people ‘like me’ anyway, because it wouldn’t change anything for me. [...] I keep finding more symptoms in my research and I have scores in the clinical range on each of the tests that is available. [...] I don't think they are even open to other forms of autism other than the ‘classic’ picture or don’t have the capacity to diagnose everyone of their clients properly. I am so frustrated because I waited so long and then I didn’t feel I was being taken seriously.” (link)

And:

“It basically took me two years to find a psychiatrist whos even willing to write a referral to an ASD clinic and then another year on the waiting list and waiting for the results. This wednesday I finally got my results […] and they basically diagnosed me with everything under the sun except for autism. I knew this could happen so I was prepared to challenge them instantly on all the criterion/symptoms that can only be fully (and best) explained by an ASD diagnosis and they literally shrugged and said I was a highly sensitive person LOL. I am still processing since I cannot believe the ignorance and lack of information (and interest) in how autism presents in AFAB people. They even told me I cant be autistic because I can make eye contact. Are you clowns or doctors lol what is happening?” (link)

The reasons for denial concentrate around themes: you can’t be autistic if you have friends or a romantic relationship, if you graduated college, if you’re a teacher or nurse or other professional, if you’re smart. If you have empathy.

The official term for that is bullshit.

Although it’s true that self-diagnosis is accepted within the autistic community (as part of a general “no gatekeeping” principle, one of many reasons I have immense pride in and respect for this community), self-diagnosis and diagnosis are different things.

Autistic people generally have a low threshold for uncertainty. Gray areas and ambiguities are not just regrettable, they can cause distress. We’re also uncomfortable with things that feel like deception. We strive, compulsively, for truth.

So when I see responses to the forum posts above saying: just self-diagnose, that’s perfectly valid, I agree in theory, but I also see it as an imperfect solution.

Because even if people accept your self-diagnosis, you still remember the denial. And that creates a disconnect, an internal tension, that can grate at you and fester over time.

Perhaps, given that a professional denied you a diagnosis, calling yourself autistic makes you feel like a fraud. Like you’re pretending, or you don’t belong. Maybe not completely, but a little bit. Which is enough to reprise the lifelong cycle of self-rejection you’re trying to break free from.

Sometimes, the forum posters who were denied diagnosis are asked why they’re seeking a diagnosis in the first place, as if that sorts it out.

That question always confuses me. It’s my nature to want to know as much as possible, especially about myself. To resolve uncertainty. So why wouldn’t I seek a diagnosis from a professional if I thought I was autistic? Not all autistic people feel this way. But many of us do.

To top it off, a vocal Autism Purity Army has emerged to complain that people like me are misdiagnosed. Their vitriol especially targets women who think they’re autistic but are not deemed to meet diagnostic criteria.

There’s one really offensive person calling herself the “Antifeminist Psychiatrist” (she’s apparently licensed!) who argues that adults seeking diagnosis are just narcissists who want to bypass accountability for their offensive behavior—and, horror of horrors—to celebrate their “quirks.”

I try not to give her airtime, but Substack keeps feeding me her “antifeminist,” pseudoscientific garbage. And rather than mute her, I’m magnetically pulled to the comments, where I correct misinformation as calmly as I can (calmly, so as not to fuel this narcissism fever dream).

I also comment for the women who wrote those forum posts, and the ones who could have. The ones who recognize their struggles as autistic but are denied the label, with the implicit message that no, you’re just bad at this.

If they see her post and the derisive comments piling on, I want them to also see my pushback.

I want to tell them: I see you. I know you’re struggling. You’re not broken.

You are the only expert on what it is to be you.

And you deserve the same permission and acceptance that diagnosis has given me. I hope more than anything that you find it.

If you have a diagnosis journey you’d like to share, or a question about diagnosis, please drop a comment or send me a DM. You’re very welcome here.

Strange Clarity

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