My name is Marissa Pangle and I am unapologetically autistic.
My journey with autism began long before I had any personal awareness of my own neurodivergence. I was born into a family of six children, two of whom had unique experiences shaped by blindness and autism. From a very young age, I felt deeply connected to my brothers.
One of them is non-speaking, but I learned to understand his needs through a language no one taught me: the quiet language of his posture, his hands, his eyebrows, his aura. I felt the pain of his silence and the weight of his unmet needs.
In the 1990s, there was a significant lack of understanding about autism, AAC (Augmentative and Alternative Communication), and disability supports, especially within the blind community. Professionals came and went, each with a clipboard full of goals and strategies- some helpful; many harmful. I watched as his joy transformed from frustration to rage, eventually leading to withdrawn, silent compliance.
We fought for him, and at times, against him-all in a desperate attempt to help him to succeed in a world not designed for him. I carry with me both pride and a deep, aching guilt for the ways we failed. The guilt is woven into me: an ache that has driven my path of advocacy.
Though the road was difficult, my brother’s journey has grown into one filled with autonomy, safety, and true happiness. Through changes in the evolution of services and growth in our understanding, he lives at home and is happy. He wakes on his own time, moves through routines he chooses, and lives life by a rhythm that finally fits him.
I have a second autistic brother who is legally blind. We’ve lived together for over a decade, and my admiration for him only continues to grow. Growing up, he was sharp, perceptive, and determined to blend into a world that didn’t understand neurodiversity. He was often infantilized and treated similarly to our brother with high support needs, despite having no intellectual disabilities himself.
This comparison led him to hide his autism and attempt to blend in, striving to overcome the constant misjudgment. Although he would have benefitted from accommodations, he consistently refused them, believing that accepting them would undermine his success. Despite this, he graduated from Indiana University with a bachelor’s degree and is now gainfully employed. His story is one of grit—one he shouldn’t have had to endure. Success should never require self-erasure.
Their stories live inside me. They were my mirror long before I ever understood I was looking at a reflection. In 2019, I gave birth to my son- a beautiful, neurodivergent child with the same spark I’d seen in my brothers. And when I recognized myself in him, everything shifted. It wasn’t just that I was skilled or passionate in my field, I was autistic. I received my formal diagnosis in my 30s.
Growing up, I always felt different. I had a constant internal narrative running through my mind, tracking the behaviors of my peers, trying to discern whether they liked me or not. I didn’t experience socialization naturally: I internally labeled cues, actions, and statements rather than being present in the moment. It was always, and continues to be, a balancing act between avoiding isolation and protecting myself from overstimulation. Even when I enjoyed a gathering, the intense rumination over every perceived social misstep afterward felt far more punishing than the social connection was rewarding.
Sometimes I feel trapped in a body that vibrates with a burning energy-like static electricity beneath my skin. Every nerve ending screams to move, to find rhythm in chaos. I live in a world that demands stillness. A world that says: make eye contact. Sit politely. Speak in practiced, conditioned verbal behavior and above all, smile. I am expected to move my body in a way that betrays my internal needs. I must engage in eye contact with all people, despite the raw, unfiltered intimacy that comes with it. I have to force my body to accept being touched, despite a handshake or unexpected hug feeling like blades on my skin, but rejection of such behavior is unacceptable and rude. Above all, I must not stim. Stimming isn’t a behavior; it is a language. It is the way my body speaks when words aren’t enough. It’s how I self-regulate in a world that is too bright, too loud, too sharp.
I am proud of my autism. I don’t believe autism needs “awareness” or “acceptance.” It’s a neurotype, one of many human variations. However, I acknowledge that autism, especially when combined with other diagnoses or challenges, can create significant barriers. That’s why I work in the field of behavior support. My role allows me to serve as a translator between autistic and neurotypical minds. I have a master’s degree in behavior analysis and have worked professionally in the disability field since 2006, and I’ve been a FSSA Medicaid Waiver Behavior Clinician since 2015. But my lived experience is where my true expertise lies.
Independent Pathways is a first-of-its-kind program created for the disabled community, designed to guide individuals through the complex and often overlooked transitions of adulthood. We offer a full spectrum of support—resources, education, social opportunities, and real-world tools—tailored to meet people exactly where they are and help them move toward where they want to be.
Independent Pathways was built by and for disabled adults, with a deep understanding that success should never require self-erasure. While our services are designed specifically for neurodivergent and disabled individuals, we also aim to challenge public assumptions, redefine support, and inspire a shift in how society views independence, community, and capability. Learn more at www.independentpathways.com
I recently graduated from the Modern Sex Institute as a certified sexual educator and will soon be one of just five Nationally Certified AASECT Sexual Educators in Indiana, the only one specializing in public sexual education for the diverse ability community. In the fall of 2025, I will be launching a revolutionary sexual education program available both online and in person at Elite Behavioral Services. The disabled community deserves access to information about pleasure, consent, safety, and identity without shame, infantilization, or apology.
Through a powerful partnership with The Village of Merici, I have been offering in-person classes supporting the diverse ability community to navigate through adulthood. Due to overwhelming demand, these classes will soon be offered at different locations, publicly and virtually accessible to individuals across the country.
I am thankful for HANDS in Autism for allowing me this opportunity because the autistic voice matters. My advocacy is focused on uplifting the disabled community, and if I must sacrifice my HIPAA rights to provide a path to allowing our voices to be heard, I will gladly do it. I am thankful for the practitioners who are stepping back and re-evaluating their expertise in order to understand the autistic mind. My advocacy has been on helping the neurotypical community to understand us, rather than changing and fixing what was never broken to begin with.
I’m not here to blend in, I’m here to change the conversation.
I don’t want awareness-I want equity.
I don’t want to be accommodated-I want to be heard.
I don’t want to reshape myself to fit into systems.
I want to reshape systems, so they understand and accommodate neurodivergent lives.
I am proudly autistic.
I’m not asking for space—I’m claiming it.