MARCH 6, 2025 | OPINION | By Kole Petersen (Opinion Copy Editor)
I think everyone knows the phrase, “A picture is worth a thousand words.” It’s a simple adage stating that complex ideas and histories can often best be understood by seeing them. But in some cases, I believe a better saying is, “A word is worth a thousand pictures.” The etymology and context of a single word can often be invaluable in understanding people’s individual histories, nations’ cyclical existences and even the machinations of our broader society.
This characteristic is especially apt in understanding the weight of the words used to describe me and neurodevelopmentally disabled people. Like other minority groups, we have often been discriminated against due to the linguistic categorizations used to describe us, and many discriminatory acts have been instituted through the written word and perpetuated through oral communication. Although sticks and stones have been used to encroach our freedoms, words have historically been a powerful tool to silence and humiliate us.
However, many people today don’t seem to fully understand the power of words. Most people I encounter either never worry about what they say or worry too much about saying the wrong thing. Ironically, both of these tactics commonly lead to, let’s just say, unsavory descriptions. So, for y’all to better understand how to talk about neurodevelopmentally disabled people, I am going to rate the most commonly used words to refer to me, from the oldest slurs to the most recent slang.
Person with autism: 4/10
- I have been very straightforward over the years about the fact that I am neurodevelopmentally disabled, bluntly describing my experiences living as autistic. Because of this, you might think that I would like this to-the-point, accurate way to describe my disability. However, referring to me as someone with autism undermines the identity underneath the diagnosis. My disability is indeed a significant portion of my identity, but I am defined by much more than the diagnosis I received from my psychologist when I was 2 years old.
Autistic: 10/10
- Now this is more like it. Calling me “autistic” simultaneously emphasizes that autism is an inherent part of my identity while not confining me to the box of being “a person with autism.” Instead of implying that autism is a detrimental aspect of myself, saying “autistic” promotes acceptance of the disability and integration of the autistic community. This word avoids the misconception that autism is something that needs to be cured or removed from my life and highlights the pride that I have for my neurodiversity.
High-functioning: 3/10
- I understand the reasoning behind this term: in many clinical settings, cases of autism spectrum disorder have been — and continue to be — categorized by levels of functioning. However, high-functioning autism is not a recognized diagnosis by the American Psychiatric Association or the World Health Organization, nor do I believe it should be. Placing autistic people on a hierarchy of their “functioning” relative to neurotypical people reinforces the increased discrimination that non-verbal autistic people face. All autistic people are perfectly valid as they are, and calling me “high-functioning” because I can walk and talk is not the compliment that many people think it is.
Neurodivergent: 10/10
- This is the term that I personally prefer to describe myself. It encompasses the fact that I am autistic, recognizes the fact that my brain is fundamentally different from those that are neurodevelopmentally typical and includes me with the wider neurodevelopmentally disabled community. I also like how neurodivergent is neither a medical term nor a diagnosis, placing increased emphasis on the person rather than the disability. Just because I struggle with social situations, stimuli sensitivity and emotional expression does not mean that I am invalid; I process information differently, and that is a part of who I am.
Neurospicy: 0/10
- Although beginning with the same prefix as the previous word, “neurospicy” makes me cringe whenever I see it. This word is primarily used in online communities, and its suffix is intended to shed light on the savory aspects of the brain and describe neurodivergence in a less awkward manner. To me, the act of using a silly word to describe neurodiversity also infantilizes neurodivergency, buying into pre-existing stereotypes that have harmed disabled people for centuries. Furthermore, calling yourself “neurospicy” makes discussions about disability even more uncomfortable and further alienates disabled people. The word also minimizes the impact of being neurodevelopmentally disabled and implies that everyone can be a little “neurospicy,” taking agency away from the neurodivergent community.
Special/special needs: 2/10
- I have a “special” gripe with this “special” term. Similarly to the previous word, calling neurodevelopmentally disabled people “special” infantilizes and strips energy away from us. Additionally, using this term minimizes and skirts around acknowledging disability, further stigmatizing disability in common conversation. Also, calling us special suggests that we are not normal human beings and implies that we are courageous for simply existing. I have always felt a sense of shame when being told I was “special” by my teachers; it made me feel like being autistic was something I needed to hide from the world so I could have a chance at being considered “normal.” It resulted in me having low self-esteem for much of my childhood and made me feel like I did not deserve the same level of respect as my peers. However, I have saved the worst for last.
The r-slur: -100/10I really thought I wouldn’t have to explain why this term is horrible in the year 2025, but it has seen a rebound in popularity over the last few years. Although this word was previously used as a medical term for intellectually disabled people, its meaning has transformed over time to refer to someone perceived as stupid. The verb “to retard” means to delay or hold back, and this 19th century medical diagnosis has turned into a 21st century insult for those perceived to be delayed. In 2010, Rosa’s Law was passed, removing the term “mental retardation” from federal policy, but this word has arguably become more popular in the years following the law’s signing. When I hear people use this word, they are never casually describing a disabled person; they are actively making fun of someone whom they perceive to be intellectually inferior to them. This substantiates perceptions among the general public that intellectually disabled people are inferior to neurotypical people, harming the perception of the entire disabled community. I beg of you, if you take nothing else away from this article, please remove this word from your vocabulary. I sadly understand how this term became incredibly normalized, but it is harming more people than you could ever possibly imagine.