“Grace Tame, like me, is autistic, and seeing her publicly ridiculed for simply existing is frustrating.”

It’s been barely three days since photos of Grace Tame with Prime Minister Scott Morrison at The Lodge hit social media, and I can’t tear myself away from them. 

As an autistic woman, this is the first time I can remember seeing my facial expressions and body language mirrored in the front pages of Australian media. But it hasn’t been an empowering experience.  

Image source: News.com.au. Picture: NCA NewsWire / Gary Ramage.

I’ve seen countless memes, tweets, and headlines declaring Tame’s “behaviour” as “awkward” at best and “childish disobedience” at worst. Tame has been condemned for her “rudeness” and denounced for “scowling”, avoiding eye contact with the Prime Minister, and altogether being intentionally hostile.

Speculation around Tame’s composure in this scenario has pointed to her personal politics and opinion of Morrison, but I’d like to throw an alternative thought into the mix. 

Grace Tame, like me, is autistic, and seeing her publicly ridiculed for simply existing is a frustrating reminder of my own inability to conform to the societal expectation of how a young woman should look and act, especially in social and professional situations. 

Image: Elena says seeing the photos of Grace Tame "is the first time I can remember seeing my facial expressions...mirrored in the front pages of Australian media."

I have often seen photographs or video footage of myself at times I was sure I looked passive and neutral, only to be devastated to realise I look severely uncomfortable, upset, or angry. 

I vividly remember my friends and I meeting an artist whose music we adore: I was sure I looked engaged and approachable, and wondered why he spoke at length with my friends but not with me. Later, I saw some photos someone had taken: I was mortified to see that I looked annoyed, my body language closed-off and awkward. 

Just last year at a public event, I sat listening as various presenters spoke to an audience. I remember being interested and thoughtful, yet in a photo of the crowd, I looked ready to kill someone. Even in pictures with my own adored nephews, I look uncomfortable and uncertain. It's upsetting, but the harder I try to be "normal", the worse I come across. 

Yes, the photographs of Tame’s exit interview at the Prime Minister’s residence are awkward, but being autistic is inherently awkward. 

For autistic people, things like constant smiling and making eye contact is exhausting. To force yourself to do these things in the hope of coming across as neurotypical is called “masking”, and the ability many autistic women have to do this is a double-edged sword: it'll protect you at times, but it will eventually leave you burnt out and without the support you need (expert masking is one of the key reasons autism is so often missed in women compared to men). 

Masking is not only hard work, it's almost impossible in certain situations; like in large crowds, around people we may not like, and especially in the presence of cameras (let alone dozens of them).

Grace Tame was not scowling. She wasn’t acting childish. She wasn’t being rude to make a point. She was simply existing as an autistic woman in a socially charged, highly public situation. And yes, maybe her mask slipped a bit that day.

What’s most concerning is that even the satirical headlines and memes about those viral photos that apparently take Tame's side still expose the sexism, infantilism and ableism that autistic women face every day.  

Autistic women don’t owe the public toothpaste-commercial smiles and photogenic body language, yet if we show up as we are, without masking, we’re judged and mocked by those around us. We’re childish. We’re rude. We’re unprofessional. 

It says a lot about our society that a young autistic woman can do (literally) nothing and still be publicly ridiculed for it. I’m not sure what the solution is, but public awareness and having more autistic women’s voices in our public discourse is a start.

Again, we can’t know what influenced Tame’s demeanor on that day - but she did nothing wrong.

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"I don't have autism, I'm autistic".

Read why, for Elena Wewer, the distinction matters.