A Reflection on Working with People with Autism

Tatenda Abby Nhundu

Within my limited exposure, this appeared to be a comprehensive representation of autism, and I believed I had a solid grasp of what it entailed.In retrospect, this was a theoretical and highly structured understanding—one that did not fully prepare me for the realities of working with autistic individuals in more complex, real‑world settings.

 

Growing up in a middle‑class family in a small town just outside Harare, autism was not commonly recognised or discussed. Conceptually, there was no distinction between different neurodevelopmental or mental health conditions; they were broadly categorised under the single label of “mental disabilities.” Educational provision for children with disabilities was largely limited to segregated schools, often catering to specific physical impairments, such as schools for the blind or those with severe physical disabilities. Children whose disabilities were not immediately visible, or who could “pass” as neurotypical, were expected to progress through the mainstream education system until they reached an age where support was no longer available. At that point, many were kept at home indefinitely, effectively excluded from meaningful participation in society.

My first direct encounter with an individual with autism occurred during my final year of university, when I volunteered with the Autism Association of Namibia. The individual I worked with was a man in his early thirties who was nonverbal and did not present with any overtly challenging behaviours. He spent much of his time on his iPad or completing puzzles independently. At the organisation, I had access to a well‑resourced library on autism and was occasionally invited by the organisation’s president to accompany them on outreach trips across Namibia to educate professionals and parents, particularly in rural areas. At the time, this experience shaped my understanding of autism in a very narrow way. Within my limited exposure, this appeared to be a comprehensive representation of autism, and I believed I had a solid grasp of what it entailed. In retrospect, this was a theoretical and highly structured understanding—one that did not fully prepare me for the realities of working with autistic individuals in more complex, real‑world settings.

Over the past three years, my professional role has involved working closely with children and young people with autism, as well as those with a wide range of additional needs, including Pathological Demand Avoidance (PDA), ADHD, epilepsy, Angelman Syndrome, Foetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD), traumatic brain injuries, sensory processing disorders, and anxiety disorders. This experience significantly reshaped both my expectations and my approach. One of the most important lessons I learned early on was the necessity of patience. Being nonverbal or living with a neurodevelopmental disorder does not diminish an individual’s capacity for understanding, communication, or agency. These young people consistently demonstrate remarkable adaptability, finding effective ways to communicate their needs, preferences, and emotions. At times, this communication may take the form of behaviours such as hitting, crying, or screeching—not as acts of defiance, but as meaningful attempts to elicit a response. I came to understand that behaviour is, fundamentally, communication. Once a child recognises that a particular action produces a response, that behaviour is likely to be repeated. Many are highly attuned to body language, facial expressions, and emotional shifts, allowing them to adjust their strategies accordingly. For example, displays of affection may be used to elicit warmth and engagement, which can then lead to meeting a specific need or desire. This heightened sensitivity to emotional cues reinforced the importance of emotional regulation, consistency, and intentional responses in my practice.

This role demands the ability to identify the underlying causes of distress and to support young people in navigating their emotions, regardless of the time required or the environment in which the dysregulation occurs. Developing this level of responsiveness and attunement has significantly strengthened my mental resilience, as the intensity and demands of the work require sustained emotional awareness, adaptability, and perseverance. Ultimately, this role has reinforced the understanding that emotional regulation, patience, and consistency are fundamental to effective and ethical practice in this field. Through this work, I have developed a deeper respect for the intelligence, resilience, and individuality of people with autism and related conditions. These experiences have challenged my preconceived notions and fundamentally changed my understanding of what it means to support, communicate with, and advocate for neurodivergent individuals.

More than anything, this role has exposed how narrowly minded I had been raised in regards to Autism and other developmental disorders. There is a wide and harrowing gap in information, frameworks, teachings and understanding, and support between my African culture and the Western culture in which I now work and how in my culture we are mostly guided by stigma and fear. And by embracing this experience, the blinkers fell off; I see and recognise parts of myself in these young people, maybe not to the detriment of my day to day but realising that other traits I exhibit are not me being bewitched or just naughty but just a neurodivergent individual, just depends on which part of the spectrum you are.