When My Daughter Asked If Her Autism Was “Good Weird” or “Bad Weird”

Some questions stay with you.

They follow you into quiet moments. They come back when you are driving, cooking, writing, working, or trying to fall asleep after everyone else is finally settled.

One day, my daughter asked me if her autism was “good weird” or “bad weird.”

I still think about that question.

Not because it was cute, although children do have a way of saying things so honestly that adults are left speechless. And not because it completely surprised me. Children notice difference. They notice how adults respond to them. They notice what gets praised, what gets corrected, and what makes people uncomfortable.

What stayed with me was what the question carried.

Underneath her words, I heard something much deeper.

Is this part of me okay?

Is my difference something people like?

Is it something I should hide?

Am I good different, or bad different?

As a mother, that question went straight to my heart....

In that moment, I was not thinking first as a professional or a scholar. I was her mom. And I wanted her to know that there was nothing bad about the way her brain and body experience the world.

I wanted her to know that autism is not something shameful. It is not something broken. It is not something that makes her less lovable, less capable, or less worthy of being understood.

So I told her, in the simplest way I could, that her autism was not bad weird. It was part of who she is. One way of thinking, feeling, noticing, communicating, and moving through the world.

But even after I answered her, the question stayed with me.

Because children are not born wondering whether their difference is good or bad. Somewhere along the way, the world starts teaching them what difference means.

Children Are Always Listening

Children listen to more than our words.

They listen to our tone.

They notice when adults tense up around certain children.

They notice who gets redirected again and again.

They notice whose needs are treated as ordinary and whose needs are treated as extra.

They notice when a child’s movement, communication, emotions, or sensory needs are received with patience — and when they are received with frustration.

Children may not always understand the adult systems around them, but they feel the messages those systems send.

They feel when they are welcomed.

They also feel when they are merely being managed.

This is why early childhood spaces matter so much. For many children, child care and early learning settings are among the first communities outside of home where they begin to understand who they are in relation to others.

They learn whether their voice matters.

They learn whether adults will help them participate.

They learn whether their body belongs in the room.

They learn whether needing support makes them a burden.

They learn whether difference is something to be curious about, or something to control.

Belonging begins in those everyday moments.

Not only in policies.Not only in care plans.Not only in beautiful words on a website or parent handbook.

Belonging begins in how a child is greeted after a hard morning.

It begins in whether an educator notices the child’s strengths before naming concerns.

It begins in whether the child is given another way to communicate.

It begins in whether adults make room for movement, silence, repetition, sensory needs, or extra time.

It begins in whether the child feels that adults are not waiting for them to become easier before they are loved.

Inclusion Is Not the Same as Feeling Wanted

In early childhood education, we often use the word inclusion.

It is an important word. I use it often too.

But I keep coming back to this: inclusion and belonging are connected, but they are not exactly the same.

A child can be included and still feel unwanted.

A child can have a space in a program and still feel like everyone is waiting for them to change.

A child can be present in the classroom and still feel like their needs are too much.

A child can be surrounded by other children and still feel alone.

This is why belonging matters.

Belonging is more than access. It is more than physical presence. It is more than being allowed to attend.

Belonging is the feeling of being wanted there.

It is the feeling that adults are not doing a child a favour by including them.

It is the feeling that support needs do not make a child a burden.

It is the feeling that one hard day will not erase a child’s place.

For children with disabilities, neurodivergent children, and children whose communication or behaviour does not fit neatly into adult expectations, this distinction matters deeply.

Because sometimes exclusion is not loud.

Sometimes it sounds polite.

Sometimes it sounds like, “We are trying our best, but…”

Sometimes it sounds like, “She can stay, but only during certain parts of the day.”

Sometimes it sounds like, “He is welcome, but the behaviour needs to improve first.”

Sometimes it sounds like, “This may not be the right fit.”

And sometimes, even when no one says those words directly, children still feel the condition.

They feel when adults are anxious around them.

They feel when their family is being treated as difficult.

They feel when routines ask them to shrink.

They feel when the environment says, quietly, “You can belong here only if you become easier.”

The Pressure to Become Easier

One of the hardest things about watching children navigate difference is seeing how quickly some children learn to make themselves smaller.

Some children learn to hide distress.

They copy others.They stop asking for help.They hold in their discomfort.They try to look okay because being okay seems to make adults more comfortable.

Sometimes adults mistake this for success.

We say, “She is doing so much better.”

But sometimes “better” means quieter.

Sometimes “better” means less visible.

Sometimes “better” means the child has learned which parts of themselves are acceptable and which parts need to be hidden.

Of course, children need support to learn skills. They need guidance. They need boundaries. They need help participating safely and respectfully in community with others.

But support should not require a child to disconnect from themselves.

The goal is not to make children less autistic, less sensitive, less emotional, less active, less intense, or less different.

The goal is to create environments where children can participate with dignity.

That means asking different questions.

Not: How do we make this child fit?

But: What is this child telling us?

Not: How do we stop this quickly?

But: What support, skill, relationship, or environmental change might be missing?

Not: Why is this child so difficult?

But: What is difficult for this child right now?

Not: Can this child handle our program?

But: How can our program become more responsive, flexible, and humane?

These are not small shifts. They change the way we see children.

And once we see children differently, we respond differently.

What I Want My Daughter to Know

When I think about my daughter’s question now, I think about all the children who may be carrying their own version of it.

Maybe they are not asking, “Is my autism good weird or bad weird?”

Maybe they are asking:

Am I bad because I need more time?

Am I bad because loud rooms hurt my body?

Am I bad because I cry easily?

Am I bad because I do not like group time?

Am I bad because I cannot always use words?

Am I bad because transitions feel too hard?

Am I bad because adults keep saying my name in that voice?

Children may not always have the language for shame, but they can feel it.

They may not be able to explain belonging, but they know when they do not feel it.

That is why our responses matter so much.

Every time we respond to a child, we are helping them build a story about who they are.

When we respond with frustration, shame, or labels, the story may become: I am too much.

When we respond with curiosity, steadiness, and respect, the story may become: I am having a hard moment, but I am still worthy of care.

That does not mean we will always get it right.

I certainly do not.

As a mother, I have moments when I wish I had responded more calmly. As a professional, I know how complex inclusion can be in real programs with real pressures. As a scholar, I understand that systems, training, staffing, leadership, and policy all shape what becomes possible in practice.

But I also believe this:

Children should not have to earn belonging by becoming easier for adults.

They should not have to hide their difference to be loved.

They should not have to perform typical development to be seen as capable.

They should not have to wonder whether the truest parts of themselves are “good weird” or “bad weird.”

Choosing Belonging

Choosing belonging is not always dramatic.

Sometimes it is slowing down before we label a child.

Sometimes it is changing the environment instead of blaming the behaviour.

Sometimes it is listening to a family without becoming defensive.

Sometimes it is making room for silence, movement, sensory needs, repetition, or another way of communicating.

Sometimes it is saying to a child, through our words and actions:

You are not a problem to solve.

You are a person to understand.

You belong here, not because you are easy, but because you are you.

That is the message I want my daughter to carry.

That is the message I want more children to hear in their homes, classrooms, playgrounds, child care programs, and communities.

Because children are always listening.

And the way we respond to difference teaches them what difference means.

Maybe the question is not whether children notice difference.

They do.

The real question is whether we are teaching them that difference belongs.

References

Division for Early Childhood. (2014). DEC recommended practices in early intervention/early childhood special education 2014. Division for Early Childhood. https://www.dec-sped.org/dec-recommended-practices

Government of British Columbia. (2023). British Columbia early learning framework. https://www2.gov.bc.ca/gov/content/education-training/early-learning/teach/early-learning-framework