It’s Autism Awareness Month, and It’s Time Hollywood Becomes Aware

Being autistic in the entertainment industry can make life more challenging, especially when you add the fact that I am also a Chinese, Jewish, transracial adoptee. On top of that, I grew up with a single mom in Columbus, Ohio. But, back to autism and Hollywood. It’s Autism Awareness Month and it’s time we all become aware.

I belong to the less than one percent of all employed disabled TV writers. The statistics for disabled characters, actors, and those behind the scenes aren’t much better. Just five percent of disabled characters are played by actors with disabilities, and less than one percent of characters in children’s TV have a disability. It’s clear that more needs to be done, both in front of and behind the camera.

Part of the problem is a lack of understanding. We also didn’t understand. For years, my mom and I had concerns that were unaddressed. It wasn’t until my senior year of high school that an acting professor at a Brown University summer program identified my neurodivergence. He suggested to my mom that I might be on the autism spectrum. For her, this was an “aha” moment. And I finally had a word to explain why I felt like everyone read a social skills rule book except me, yet I was still expected to take the test. From there, we worked towards an official diagnosis. 

Prior to that point, my life was filled with confusion, loneliness and frustration. In middle school, I was a perpetual outcast. Like an alien that no one knew how to talk to, my classmates gradually stopped interacting with me. But at home, my mom, creative and quirky in her own right, embraced my idiosyncrasies. Nevertheless, it still felt like there was an impenetrable gap in our communication.

My diagnosis answered our questions and forced me to re-examine a lot of what I thought I knew about myself. Heading off to Sarah Lawrence, I wasn’t sure I wanted to fully embrace this autism thing. Would I tell my roommate? Professors? Would they understand? Freshman year was tough.

Luckily, the summer after my sophomore year, I landed an internship with Trinity Rep, Rhode Island’s Tony Award-winning theatre. There, I worked on sensory-friendly performances and established relationships with local autistic artists. This experience led to a leap of faith and an unexpected gap year enhancing their accessibility initiatives. While scary (autistic people typically don’t like change), this was a formative year — my first foray into accessible theatre. It was also the first time I had autistic friends. Our group broke stigmas, culminating in a professional performance at the Provincetown Tennessee Williams Theater Festival. And perhaps, more importantly, it was the first time I felt fully accepted and supported in theatre. 

I graduated virtually during the pandemic. Stuck at home, I applied to Disability Belongs’ (fka: RespectAbility) virtual Summer Entertainment Lab for Professionals with Disabilities, another big leap. And I got in! Through this program, I was introduced to other disabled professionals and learned how they found their place in a tough-to-break-into business. I could now see myself working in the same industry that had provided me with childhood “friends” like Hannah Montana, Zack and Cody and Sharpay Evans when I didn’t have many real ones. The potential of creating “friends” for future audiences tugged even harder.

At Disability Belongs, I consulted on more than 80 indie and major studio projects featuring autism-related storylines. Through a general meeting with Blue’s Clues & You, I got my first TV writing job! This led to more work with 9 Story Media Group — writing for all the characters, not just the disabled ones. Through Disability Belongs, I began to carve out a niche at the intersection of entertainment, accessibility, and disability.

I never could have imagined my next step would be Broadway! — as an Autistic Creative Consultant. The musical How to Dance in Ohio is a coming of age story that follows seven autistic young adults at a social skills center in Columbus, Ohio (ironically, where I grew up) as they prepare for a spring formal. My job was to ensure authentic autistic representation and accessibility in all aspects of production, both internal and external. What does that mean? It means working with the writer and composer to ensure the script has authentic characters and proper disability language, to having unscented soap in the bathrooms. It means creating a space where everyone is welcome, acknowledged, celebrated and can thrive. Our work was so groundbreaking, the Drama Desk committee gave us a special award for Authentic Autistic Representation. Another gift was seeing the standing ovations and long lines at the stage door with autistic fans, their families, and friends — thrilled and overwhelmed to finally see themselves on a Broadway stage. 

While working on the musical, a colleague told me that PBS Kids was looking for writers for their new show Carl the Collector, featuring an autistic raccoon who collects things and lives with his friends and family in Fuzzytown. I submitted. Many emails and months later, it was greenlit! The series creator, Zachariah OHora, asked me to join the writing team, which was committed to an authentic, fun show with autistic voice actors as well as production staff. Head writer, Adam Rudman, encouraged me, helped me when I was stuck and genuinely wanted my nuanced experiences on the page. 

I am especially proud of an episode named “The Fall,” where things get so hairy, Carl decides to tell his friends (and the audience) about his autism. In the story, based on a personal experience with my mom, Carl’s friend, Nico, falls and hurts herself while playing. Carl freezes. He wants to help but doesn’t know how. Nico misinterprets Carl’s inaction as not caring. With help from his mom, Carl explains to his friends that his “brain works differently” and sometimes it takes him longer to process new situations. This episode, and the series as a whole, is also important because it will hopefully help both autistic and neurotypical kids communicate and better understand and empathize with each other — and isn’t that all that really matters?!

This is what representation should look like. So, let’s continue to build awareness for meaningful change. With today marking the end of Autism Acceptance Month, my hope is that autistic people and allies will continue advocating and advancing opportunities for communities like mine, especially in light of all the misinformation that is out there right now.

Ava Xiao-Lin Rigelhaupt is a writer, consultant, public speaker and actress.