When Fear Mongering Finds a New Target: Autism and the Tylenol Claim

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The burden we carry, again

It’s happening again. Another headline, another theory, another attempt to trace our existence back to some moment of failure.

This time, the claim comes from the White House: that Tylenol taken during pregnancy can increase the risk of autism.

For most people, it’s just a news story - something to glance at over coffee. But for those of us who are autistic, or love someone who is, it’s something else entirely. It’s personal. It’s weight. It’s the familiar ache of being framed as someone’s regrettable outcome.

Blame in the language of caution

These claims rarely arrive as direct accusations. They show up wrapped in the polite language of “risk” and “concern.” They wear the mask of science. They posture as precaution.

But we know what they mean.

We know the message beneath the headlines. It says our lives are less-than. That we are the result of something that went wrong. That we could have - should have - been prevented.

That message doesn’t stay in the abstract. It sinks into our skin. It fills our inboxes and doctor’s visits and family dinners with questions that never should have been asked. It tells autistic adults we are the embodiment of medical failure. It tells parents they are to blame. It tells the world that our existence is a risk factor.

The emotional cost of suspicion

Autism fear mongering leaves a mark. It doesn’t just pass through the news cycle and disappear. It lingers. It builds. It tightens the lens through which we’re seen - and through which we sometimes start to see ourselves.

For those of us who are both neurodivergent and queer, the harm is compounded even more. We already live outside the lines of social ease. We already navigate a world that often misunderstands or mistrusts us. To have our identities politicized, reduced to cautionary tales, is to live in a state of constant, low-grade dehumanization.

It’s not just tiring. It’s eroding. Every wave of fear mongering chips away at the scaffolding we’ve built trying so desperately to hold our worth intact.

This is political - and personal

Make no mistake: this is political.

All unchecked, society-sanctioned dehumanization eventually becomes policy. These claims don’t stay contained in research papers or press briefings. They bleed into courtrooms and classrooms. They influence how doctors advise patients, how parents make choices, how schools support - or fail to support - neurodivergent children. Children I was so sure would have it better than we did.

These claims shape how people see us. How we are treated. How we are judged.

And too often, they also shape how safe we get to feel - just quietly living our lives.

We are not the cautionary tale

Autistic lives are not tragedies. We are not side effects. We are not what happens when someone chooses wrong. We are not the danger Tylenol failed to prevent.

We are full human beings. We are sensory, emotional, complex. We deserve lives shaped by care, not suspicion. By truth, not scapegoating. By community, not control.

Fear has never made the world more just. Fear has never made care more compassionate. Fear has never made science more sound.

It's dignity that does those things.

Let’s talk about real support

None of this is to deny that autism expresses itself in many forms. Some autistic people need intensive, lifelong care. That is real. Those needs are real. Those families and support workers carry daily labor that should be seen, honored, and resourced.

But recognizing profound care needs is not the same as pathologizing autistic existence. Support is about infrastructure, equity, and collective responsibility. Pathology is about shame. About erasure. About searching for a cause when the cause is just a person being born different.

One approach builds care. The other builds fear.

We know which one helps us breathe.

What dignity demands of us now

Autistic people are not waiting to be fixed. We are not tragedies in need of prevention. We are already here. We're living full, complicated, extraordinary lives in a world that too often insists we should not exist.

The idea that something “went wrong” doesn’t just miss the mark. It wounds. It drains. It makes our presence feel like a problem.

But we are not problems. We are the proof that there is more than one way to be human. We are the ones building lives in bodies and minds the world still struggles to understand.

So when the next wave of panic comes or when the next headline blames us for existing, we will remember this:

Our worth is not conditional.

Our lives are not up for prevention.

We are not the warning.

We are the story.

And we are still here.

-Elle

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Want to keep exploring beyond autism fear mongering?

This space is still new, but it’s already full of big questions, half-formed truths, and stories about neurodivergent survival or others that might sound a little like yours.

If you’re curious where to go next, here are a few places to wander:

• Safety Nets I've Stitched for Myself: Why Autistic Safety Systems Matter

  For me, safety is about understanding how easily the world can misread me, how quickly my own brain can work against me if I push too hard, and how I’ve had to become both my own advocate and my own accommodation just to navigate the supposedly “ordinary” parts of life.

  
  

• When Narcissists Target Neurodivergent People

  Being tangled up with someone who twists your words, rewrites your memories, and makes you doubt what’s real is a hallmark of narcissistic abuse of neurodivergent people - and you are not imagining it.

  
  

• The Queer Neurodivergent Life Map Quickstart (free download)

  A gentle, self-paced journal for autistic, ADHD, AuDHD, queer or otherwise neurodivergent women who are ready to unmask, unlearn, and rewrite their story from the inside out.

Or, if you just want to be here quietly, you can join the list and I’ll send new things your way when they’re ready. No pressure. No performance.

I love that you’re here.