Misunderstandings happen in every human interaction, but for autistic people, they’re often a daily reality that can feel isolating and soul-crushing. What looks like rudeness might actually be honesty. What appears to be defiance could be a nervous system in overdrive. What seems like indifference might be the deepest form of care, just wrapped in unfamiliar packaging.
These misinterpretations don’t just create awkward moments. They can damage relationships, limit opportunities, and leave autistic people feeling like they’re constantly failing at being human. Yet most of these “problematic” behaviors serve important purposes and make perfect sense when you understand what’s really happening beneath the surface. Here are 13 such behaviors.
1. Engaging in repetitive movements or behaviors (stimming) that others find distracting or inappropriate.
When you see someone tapping their pen, twirling their hair, or bouncing their leg, you probably don’t think twice about it. Or if you do, it might register as mild irritation. But if that same person rocks back and forth or flaps their hands, suddenly it becomes “inappropriate.”
Stimming—short for self-stimulatory behavior—serves crucial functions for autistic people. For example, the gentle pressure of rubbing fabric between fingers can soothe a heightened nervous system. The rhythmic movement of rocking can help organize overwhelming thoughts.
We all have our stims, really. Neurotypical people just tend to engage in ones that blend into the background, and it doesn’t cause them great distress if they have to suppress them, because their nervous systems aren’t in such a heightened state.
But when autistic people suppress their natural stims to appear “normal,” the impact is huge. Anxiety skyrockets, focus scatters, and the exhaustion that follows can be debilitating.
Yes, these stims may look “odd” to you. But unless they are actually causing you or the individual any harm, and they’re serving an important purpose, then really, what’s the problem?
2. Having intense, passionate interests that others dismiss as obsessions.
If someone can recite every football statistic from the past decade, they’re considered a dedicated fan. But when an autistic person knows everything there is to know about Taylor Swift, medieval history, or the complete filmography of a particular director, suddenly it becomes a “weird obsession.” Loved ones and educators often become intent on broadening the autistic individuals “unhealthy focus.”
But these passionate interests are lifelines for autistic people. They provide emotional regulation when the world feels chaotic, offer predictable joy in unpredictable days, and often become wellsprings of genuine expertise. I’ve watched loved ones’ faces light up while monologuing about Pokémon and seen the depth of joy expressed as they show me the Octopus fact book they’ve created. Their pure enthusiasm is absolutely inspiring.
Yet too often, when autistic people share these passions, they’re met with polite tolerance at best and eye-rolls or dismissal at worst. The conversation gets steered away, their excitement gets dampened, and a piece of their joy dies a little death.
What if we approached these interests with genuine curiosity instead? What if we saw them as windows into brilliantly focused minds rather than “symptoms” to treat or manage? These passions could become bridges to connection, sources of mutual learning, and reminders that different minds create different kinds of beauty in this world.
3. Avoiding eye contact, which is misread as disrespect or dishonesty.
Society has an almost obsessive fixation on eye contact as a marker of trustworthiness, respect, and engagement. Why the idea of eye contact as the gold standard still perpetuates is beyond me. There are many reasons why people, autistic or otherwise, might avoid eye contact.
For many autistic people, forced eye contact doesn’t create a connection. It actually creates something that feels invasive, overwhelming, even physically painful.
Some describe it as feeling exposed, like someone is rifling through their most private thoughts. Others find that making eye contact actually hijacks their ability to listen. They have to choose between looking at you or truly hearing you, and most would rather give you their full attention than perform the theater of appropriate eye contact.
This creates a devastating catch-22. Look away, and you’re labeled rude, shifty, untrustworthy. Force eye contact, and you miss half the conversation because your brain is too busy managing this unnatural demand. And the irony is that an autistic person avoiding eye contact might be listening to you far more intently and respectfully than a neurotypical person who is maintaining that socially expected gaze. But still, we’ve built a world that values the appearance of attention over actual attention, and autistic people pay the price for this backwards priority every single day.
4. Communicating directly without social cushioning, which is seen as rude.
It’s worth mentioning that amongst autistic people, the ability to use spoken words varies massively. Some autistic individuals are non-speaking or minimally speaking. Many can use spoken words, but they may experience involuntary periods of mutism related to anxiety (known as selective mutism) or overwhelm (reactive mutism).
For those who do use spoken words, direct communication is a common trait. For example, imagine you’re in a work meeting and someone proposes an idea that simply won’t work. The neurotypical response might sound something like: “I absolutely love your creative thinking here, and I’m wondering if we might explore some alternative approaches that could build on these great insights…” The autistic response cuts straight to the point: “That won’t work.”
Same message, completely different packaging. And guess which one gets labeled as rude, harsh, or “lacking emotional intelligence”? This double standard means autistic people often spend precious mental energy translating their natural honesty into socially palatable versions that feel fake but sound appropriately cushioned.
What many people fail to see is that when someone gives you direct, honest feedback, you’re receiving something incredibly valuable. No hidden agendas, no sugar-coating that obscures the real message, just clear, authentic communication.
But instead of appreciating this refreshing honesty, we punish it. We force autistic people to learn elaborate social scripts that drain their energy and mask their authentic selves. The person saying “that won’t work” probably cares enough to give you real feedback instead of polite lies, yet they’re made to feel bad about it.
Of course, it’s worth noting that not every honest thought that pops into our heads needs to be voiced. Especially if an opinion wasn’t asked for. Some things simply don’t need to be said out loud. This is something that autistic people, particularly those who also have ADHD and the impulsivity that comes along with it, can struggle with.
5. Struggling with unwritten social rules, leading to perceived boundary violations.
Imagine trying to navigate a world where everyone else has a secret rulebook that they refuse to share with you. That’s what social interaction can feel like for autistic people: a complex dance where the steps are invisible and the music keeps changing.
You’re at someone’s house, conversation flowing, when suddenly the energy shifts. Your host starts tidying up, mentions tomorrow’s early meeting, and begins stifling yawns. These signals scream “time to go” to neurotypical brains, but for many autistic people, they’re like words spoken in a language they were never taught to speak.
This has nothing to do with intelligence or respect. Autistic brains simply process social information through different pathways. While others absorb these patterns unconsciously, like background music they don’t realize they’re hearing, autistic people might need these invisible rules made visible and explicit.
Most people don’t realize that the exhaustion of constantly trying to decode these hidden messages is staggering. Every social interaction becomes detective work, every conversation is a mystery to solve. And when autistic people guess wrong, by standing too close, talking too long, or missing the subtle cues, they’re left feeling awkward and misunderstood, wondering what invisible rule they’ve broken this time.
6. Experiencing sensory overwhelm that gets mistaken for attention-seeking or defiant behavior.
Close your eyes and imagine every sound in your environment amplified by ten. The hum of fluorescent lights that you’ve barely registered before becomes a drill boring into your skull, fabric textures feel like sandpaper against your skin, and the cacophony of a busy restaurant turns into an assault on your nervous system.
This is the daily reality for many autistic people navigating a world designed for neurotypical sensory systems. What feels comfortably stimulating to one person can feel like torture to another. Some are hypersensitive, experiencing everything more intensely than their nervous systems can comfortably process. Others are hyposensitive, constantly seeking additional input to feel regulated and present.
And when this sensory overwhelm triggers meltdowns, shutdowns, or desperate escape attempts, the response is often judgment rather than compassion. That child covering their ears and melting down in the grocery store isn’t being naughty; they’re experiencing genuine neurological distress from the sensory assault of beeping scanners, fluorescent lights, and echoing announcements.
And we give even less compassion to autistic adults who struggle to regulate their emotions and overwhelm. Yet this “bad behavior” is actually a nervous system crying out for relief.
Of course, it’s hard to be on the receiving end of a meltdown (believe me, I know), but the best way to help someone’s behavior “improve” isn’t to shame them for it, but to understand what unmet need is driving it.
7. Interpreting language literally, which can look like deliberate misunderstanding.
Most neurotypical people don’t realize just how ambiguous most language is. There’s a great example in autism advocate and expert Dr Luke Beardon’s book, “Avoiding Anxiety in Autistic Children.”
In the book, he describes how a (presumably) neurotypical teacher instructs their class to read chapter 9 in a book. The autistic child takes that literally, assuming they need to read the whole chapter. When the teacher then tells the child the bell has rung and they should be packing up for lunch, the child gets old off for “back chat” when in reality they are just genuinely confused as they haven’t yet finished chapter 9.
Even a simple question like “How are you?” can create confusion. An autistic person may respond with genuine detail about their day if they haven’t been explicitly taught that the expected neurotypical response is “fine, thanks.” They answered your question honestly, but somehow that’s the wrong response.
This literal thinking represents a mind that values precision, clarity, and honest meaning, which can be a positive in many ways. Yet it gets misinterpreted as deliberate defiance or social manipulation. Instead of expecting people to read between the (often very confusing) lines, we could all do better at communicating a bit more clearly and giving people the benefit of the doubt when misunderstandings happen.
8. Needing routine and predictability, which appears controlling or inflexible.
For autistic people who are already expending an enormous energy decoding social cues and managing sensory input, routines create precious islands of calm in an unpredictable ocean. When you know what comes next, your brain doesn’t have to work overtime processing and responding to constant unknowns. The autistic person’s nervous system depends on predictability for basic regulation.
Unexpected changes, whether seemingly minor, like a different breakfast cereal, or major, like workplace restructuring, can trigger genuine fight-or-flight responses. The distress isn’t proportional to the change itself but to the neurological effort required to recalibrate everything, to build new pathways when the familiar ones have been blocked.
Yes, flexibility can be learned and practiced, but it costs energy—sometimes enormous amounts of it. And autistic people are often already operating at an energy deficit just by having to survive in a world that’s not built for them. What looks like stubbornness is often someone trying desperately to maintain the structures that keep them functional in a world that already feels chaotic and overwhelming. That’s not rigidity; that’s self-preservation.
9. Expressing empathy and care in ways that don’t match neurotypical expectations.
The myth that autistic people lack empathy is one of the cruelest misconceptions out there, and it reveals more about our limited understanding of the different ways people can express themselves than any actual emotional deficit.
When your friend shares a devastating problem, your instinct might be to offer a hug, murmur comforting words, and provide that warm emotional blanket we’ve been taught equals caring.
On the other hand, an autistic person might immediately start researching solutions, share similar experiences they had, or offer practical assistance that could actually solve the problem. Or they might be so deeply affected by your struggles that they are temporarily overwhelmed and unable to respond at all.
Both responses spring from genuine care, but only one gets recognized as “empathetic.” This is what researcher Dr. Damian Milton calls the “double empathy problem.” When a neurotypical and autistic person interact, communication breaks down, but typically only the autistic person gets blamed for the misunderstanding. Yet two autistic people together typically don’t experience this communication or empathy breakdown.
Of course, there will be some autistic individuals who lack empathy, just like there will be some neurotypical individuals who do. But it’s not that a lack of empathy is inherent in autism; it just often presents differently.
10. Masking their authentic selves so effectively that others dismiss their struggles.
Masking has a lot to answer for. Many autistic people, especially women and those diagnosed later in life, become masters at masking. That is, performing neurotypicality so convincingly that their struggles become (almost) invisible. It’s not even a conscious decision most of the time. But rather, a survival mechanism unconsciously learned from a very early age.
From the outside, masking looks like a successful adaptation. These individuals seem charming, socially skilled, maybe even exceptionally accommodating. But behind that performance is someone scripting conversations beforehand, copying other people’s mannerisms like an actor studying for a role, and suppressing every natural response that might reveal their authentic self.
The energy required for this constant performance is staggering. Imagine spending every social interaction translating your thoughts into acceptable versions, monitoring your body language, and suppressing the stims and responses that would help you self-regulate. It’s exhausting beyond measure.
And then to add insult to injury, when undiagnosed autistic individuals finally reach out for support or seek assessment, their years of masking mean they are met with responses such as, “But you seem so normal!” or “You don’t look autistic!”
Years of skillful camouflage mean their autism gets questioned, their needs minimized, and their burnout attributed to other causes. And when they finally unmask, often after reaching complete exhaustion, they might face rejection from people who preferred the performed version to their authentic self.
11. Processing emotions differently, leading to assumptions about emotional intelligence.
Have you ever felt completely fine immediately after something upsetting, only to find yourself crying in your car hours later, seemingly out of nowhere? That delayed emotional processing is a regular experience for many autistic people, and it gets consistently misunderstood as lacking “appropriate” emotional responses.
Experts advise that alexithymia—the difficulty identifying and describing emotions—adds another layer of complexity. It’s not that the feelings aren’t there; they just might arrive as physical sensations, overwhelming waves, or confusing internal storms that resist neat emotional labels. Someone might know their chest feels tight and their thoughts are racing, but struggle to name that collection of sensations as “anxiety.”
What’s more, an autistic individual’s emotional expressions might not match neurotypical expectations either. Distress might show up as behavioral changes rather than tears, joy might manifest as quiet contentment rather than visible excitement, and grief might look like hyperfocusing on work rather than traditional mourning behaviors.
These differences create devastating misunderstandings about autistic people’s emotional intelligence. Someone processing intense emotions internally gets labeled as unfeeling or inappropriate. Their delayed reactions get dismissed as fake or manipulative. Their intense responses to seemingly small triggers get called disproportionate, when really they’re experiencing emotions with a raw intensity that others can barely imagine.
The truth is, many autistic people feel emotions more deeply, not less. They just experience and express them through different channels than society expects or recognizes.
12. An intense sense of justice that others find excessive or troublemaking.
When workplace policies get applied inconsistently, most people might grumble privately or let it slide to avoid conflict. But when an autistic person points out these inconsistencies or becomes visibly distressed by unfairness, they’re quickly labeled as difficult, inflexible, or troublemakers.
Yet this commitment to fairness and consistency is actually a tremendous strength—these are the people who notice when systems aren’t working equitably and have the courage to speak truth to power. When they witness rule-breaking or hypocrisy, it can cause genuine distress that feels almost physical.
But for some reason, our society often seems to value keeping the peace over keeping things fair, and autistic people (amongst others) pay the price.
13. Struggling with executive function in ways that appear lazy or unmotivated.
The gap between knowing and doing can feel like a chasm for many autistic people, and it’s one of the most misunderstood aspects of autism. You might see someone’s cluttered room, their tendency to procrastinate on crucial tasks while hyperfocusing on seemingly random projects, and assume they don’t care or aren’t trying hard enough.
This assumption is not only wrong—it’s harmful to people who are often trying twice as hard as everyone else just to manage basic daily tasks.
Executive function involves the mental coordination needed to plan, organize, initiate, and follow through on tasks. For many autistic people, these skills don’t come naturally or reliably. They might desperately want a clean living space but feel paralyzed by where to start, how to break it into steps, or which task to prioritize first.
This isn’t about intelligence, motivation, or character. It’s a neurological difference in how autistic brains organize and sequence information. Executive function can also fluctuate wildly based on stress, sensory overload, social demands, and the energy spent masking. Someone might be incredibly organized and productive one day, then completely unable to tackle basic tasks the next.
The shame that builds around these struggles is heartbreaking. People internalize messages about laziness and lack of willpower when really they’re dealing with invisible neurological challenges that deserve understanding and accommodation, not judgment.
Final thoughts…
These misunderstood behaviors are manifestations of complex minds navigating a world designed for different neurological systems. When we shift from judgment to curiosity, from trying to fix to trying to understand, we create a more inclusive society where people can thrive on their own terms.
Autistic people aren’t broken versions of neurotypical people; they’re individuals with different strengths, challenges, and ways of experiencing the world. The goal shouldn’t be to make autistic people seem “normal,” but to create a world where everyone’s needs can be met and where different ways of being human are valued and understood.
