If you consume content by creators with ADHD, then you’ve likely heard of the “ADHD tax.” What you might not have heard of is the “autistic tax” (though I’ve seen it gaining traction). This is a common topic within the neurodivergent community.

However, when I try to talk to people outside the community about the extra costs I face due to my disabilities, they often respond as though I should (and could) try harder to avoid them. It is frequently implied that I should “struggle through” rather than adapt my life to make these struggles more bearable. People don’t understand how hard this struggle really is.

Grocery Stores

The most apt example of this is grocery shopping. Grocery stores are and always have been a HUGE source of anxiety for me. After a trip to the grocery store, I often struggle to function properly for the rest of the day. They’re too loud, too bright, too crowded, and the superabundance of food choices and variety (information, colors, smells, etc.) are overwhelming. Usually, if I grocery shop in person, I forget half of what I came for in the first place. I often go into fight/flight mode, focused on escaping rather than finding the food I need. And that’s if I manage to prepare and bring a list.

I first started ordering groceries around the time that Covid hit, when it became more popular and accessible enough to be implemented broadly in my city. Making this one small change in my life, cutting out the stress of grocery trips, made considerable changes in my life. I was less stressed and less fatigued. I suddenly had the energy to do more around the house after work.

It also has advantages beyond simply not having to set foot in a grocery store. I can add things to my cart as I run out of them throughout the week and place my order later, thus eliminating the mental stress of combating my ADHD long enough to purchase the correct groceries. I have time to properly configure how much of something I need (and time to figure out which brand or type I want), so I waste less. Best of all, I have time to look at how much I’m spending before placing my order and can adjust it if needed.

But when I try to talk to neurotypical people about how much of a game changer this is for me, they usually focus on the $4-5 “convenience fee” put on the order and how ridiculous that is to pay. They’ll tell me all about how they wouldn’t pay that fee, completely with judgemental undertones that I do. I’ve even had some people tell me I should just go in and get my groceries because it’s not that big of a deal and, “It only takes, like, half an hour.” They see it as a waste of money.

What they don’t see is what that $4-5 saves me. They don’t see the time I get back, the motivation, the energy, and the ability to function. What they don’t see is everything I lost over the years because of all the time I spent unable to do anything after getting overwhelmed just running errands. They certainly don’t see all the things I bought by mistake because I was too frazzled to think clearly when I was deciding what to get.

Safe Foods

Groceries are also more expensive because of my texture and taste sensitivity. Much of what I buy are “safe foods.” These are foods you like that are reliably the same every time you eat them (in taste, texture, etc.). Autistic people are much more sensitive to minute changes in foods, and our struggles with emotional regulation mean that an unexpectedly unpleasant experience with food could ruin our whole day.

However, to be reliably the same, safe foods are usually name-brand and pre-prepared, heavily processed foods. After all, a box of macaroni and cheese tastes the same every time, while things like fruits and vegetables can vary widely due to differences in ripeness, the soil they were grown in, or where they came from. You never know precisely what you might get until you bite into it.

I love fruit, especially berries, but the shelf life is so short that it’s rarely worth it to buy them. And vegetables usually have a longer shelf life, but my body isn’t very good at digesting them raw, while the cooked texture makes my stomach turn. So, I end up paying more for name-brand items that are prepackaged or precooked that I know I can eat without ruining the rest of my day.

Other Costs

The autistic tax is more than monetary, though. Many of the costs come in much less tangible forms.

Sticking with the topic of safe foods, there is a hidden cost to consuming primarily safe foods in addition to the strain on my wallet. Because safe foods tend to be highly processed foods while unsafe foods tend to be fruits and vegetables, there’s also a health cost. Autistic people often struggle to get the nutrition we need. Processed foods are so full of unhealthy chemicals and additives and so not full of nutritious ingredients we need to be healthy.

Outside of food, there are plenty of other hidden costs in my life. I think a lot about the opportunities that I missed or was simply not given as a consequence of my being autistic.

How many times have I been overlooked for a job or promotion because they wanted someone better at schmoozing? Someone not so awkward? Someone who can click easily with anyone?

How many times has my need for accommodation overshadowed my hard work and productivity?

How many opportunities have I opted out of it because it (or the location) was too overwhelming? How many times have I left early because I got overwhelmed? Or not gone at all because I was scared of being overwhelmed?

Now, don’t get me wrong, it sucks that it costs me more to exist comfortably. I wish life weren’t that way. I wish the items and services I need to function weren’t considered “conveniences.” Just like I wish I didn’t have to spend thousands upon thousands of dollars in therapy throughout my life, undoing all of the lessons I’ve been taught that were detrimental to my mental health. The time and money I’ve spent relearning how to do things in a way that doesn’t cause me harm could’ve been much better spent on hobbies, friends, skills, and, literally, anything else.

But since that’s not the world we live in, I wish more than anything that people who don’t have to find adaptations to exist comfortably would stop pretending that when other people can’t do the same, it’s some sort of moral failing or laziness. I want neurotypical people, non-disabled people, to take the time to learn about experiences other than their own and to greet their struggling peers with compassion instead of judgment. I want the knee-jerk reaction to be listening and learning instead of flippant dismissal.

I want people to do better.