A Pandemic of Perception: Autism, Diagnosis, and the Crisis Within

This year, the CDC released its latest report on Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), and the numbers shook the ground beneath many of us in the autism community. In California, 1 in 12 boys is now diagnosed with Autism. Nationally, 1 in 31 children carry the diagnosis.

To some, these numbers evoke fear, even panic—phrases like "epidemic" and "pandemic" are tossed around with the same energy they once used for contagious disease. To others, the data validates what we’ve seen quietly playing out for decades: we’re finally getting better at recognizing neurodivergence, even if we’re still terrible at understanding it.

As someone who has walked both sides of this story—as a late-diagnosed autistic adult and the father of an autistic son—this data is more than just a statistic to me. It’s personal. It's also complicated.

The Quiet Crisis Behind the Numbers

Every week, I meet people who are clearly neurodivergent—many in recovery circles, others in boardrooms or on community wellness calls. Some struggle with drinking and can’t seem to stop. So many have very personal mental health challenges. Many are diagnosed with ADHD. More and more are starting to whisper their fears out loud: “What if this is something more?”

What they mean, but can’t quite bring themselves to say, is: “What if I have Autism?”

There is still fear around the A-word. Stigma. Misunderstanding. Stereotypes. For a long time, I carried those fears too. My own diagnosis came later in life and, honestly, it shook everything. Some friends and family—people who have known me my whole life—raised their eyebrows. You? Really?

Yes. Me.

I have Autism.

Not "quirks."

Not “just ADHD.”

Not “burnout.”

Not “anxiety.”

Autism.

 A Life of Masking

My diagnosis, in the specialist’s own words, was for “significant Autism.” I’m what they call ASD Level One—Autistic, but without intellectual disability—and I also have ADHD. Together, that’s called AuDHD in many circles. It's not a badge or an identity for me—it's a blueprint. A blueprint for understanding how my brain has navigated the world and why it often felt like the world was navigating me.

Like so many Autistics diagnosed later in life, I spent my entire life “masking.” Masking is a psychological survival mechanism—it's when you pretend to be neurotypical, even when every cell in your body is screaming for relief. It's high alert, 24/7. It’s scanning every room, every face, every tone of voice. It’s scripting conversations and abandoning those scripts mid-sentence. It’s trying to find safety by fitting into a world that was never designed with you in mind.

My brain craves certainty. It also craves novelty. Autism pulls me toward order and routine; ADHD yanks me toward chaos and change. This constant inner tug-of-war is exhausting—and invisible. So many of us carry it quietly, never knowing it has a name.

The Next Generation

My son, now 21, shows more traditional signs of Autism. He was diagnosed earlier than I was and hasn’t lived his life in a mask the way I did. But he’s still had to face the same overwhelming world, the same dietary minefields, the same flickering fluorescent lights and toxic overload of our modern environment.

I want to say this loud and clear: my heart goes out to families with profoundly Autistic children. Especially those who are non-verbal, or who require full-time care. Autism is a spectrum, and it is vast. The support systems, therapies, and resources required for one family may look entirely different from another. But we are all, in some way, navigating very challenging choppy waters.

The Genetic Truth—and the Environmental Question

I am currently participating in two separate genetic studies. I have studied so much about the genetic aspects of my neurology. The results aren't in yet—but I already know what I’ll see.

Autism is genetic. That’s not up for debate anymore. The science is in. We inherit these sensitive, high-powered brains. What’s changing—and what’s driving the surge in diagnoses—is the environment these brains are being asked to survive in.

Our food. Our water. Our air. The overuse of antibiotics and pesticides. The sensory assault of artificial light and screen time. The microbiome-disrupting, neuro-inflammatory additives in what we feed our children. It’s not a single cause. It’s not a single fix. It’s a system-wide overload for highly sensitive brains.

I am not saying that any of these things cause Autism – but they make things much worse for those of us who have a highly sensitive system. That is what I coach people on every day. Someone who is trying to lose weight, we tell them to eat differently. I have my brain on a diet because it needs better food and environment to function.

What We Did—and What I Do Now

Over the past two years, my son and I have completely changed our diets. We’ve eliminated gluten, casein, and glutamates. We’ve embraced targeted supplementation based on our genetics and current scientific understanding. I now coach others to do the same—not because it’s trendy or alternative, but because it works.

Our brains were starving, literally, for proper fuel. For the first time in my life, I feel like my brain is starting to love me back.

This is why I do what I do.

I am dedicating my life to this work. To helping others with neurointense brains. To walking alongside them as they unmask, regulate, heal, and thrive.

But—and this part is important—I wish this work wasn’t needed.

I wish we lived in a world that didn’t break down neurodivergent people and then ask them to fix themselves.

I wish we didn’t lose so many of us to addiction, homelessness, suicide, and despair—because they were never given the map to their own nervous system.

Internal Climate Change

If I had to name what I see happening, I’d call it this: Internal Climate Change.

Just like our planet, we are experiencing a crisis of regulation and overstimulation. The sensitive systems—ecological and neurological—are in chaos. And just like our planet, we can’t afford to keep ignoring the signs.

I coach people through their personal climate crisis. I help them restore balance in their inner ecosystems. But my deepest prayer is that one day, science, medicine, and society will align to such a degree that my kind of coaching won’t be needed anymore.

That’s the dream. That’s the calling. That’s the invitation I’m extending to all of us.

We are at a precipice. The numbers are only the beginning. Behind every 1 in 12, every 1 in 31, there is a real child. A real family. A real future.

And if we dare to look past the fear, the stigma, and the headlines, we might find something extraordinary on the other side: not a pandemic, but an awakening.

Let’s not be afraid of Autism. Let’s understand it. Let’s support it. Let’s love the people who live it.

And maybe, just maybe, let’s put me out of my coaching job.

David Wetherelt is the founder of Like Minds Alliance, a nonprofit dedicated to helping neurodivergent individuals find balance through peer coaching, nutrition, and systems innovation. He also works on Special Projects for Autism Society of San Diego. He lives and works in California alongside his two sons.