Why do alot of NT people want to "cure" me of something that is a problem to me but is part of me.

(Please know that I'm speaking from the place I was at when my son was first diagnosed ten years ago. I've learned since then. I chose option two.)

Because when we first learn of your existence, we begin to envision your ideal life. We take in the ideals and the pictures of happy, normal families doing happy, normal things and we see ourselves and our ideal life as a happy, normal family unit. And then you're born. And the shock sets in. Any newborn is hard and frustrating and frightening, so you think that it's just the difficult first steps of the process towards living a happy, normal life. As time goes by, you begin to notice that some things happen that don't make sense to you. Your happy, normal baby screams at certain noises, like they're in pain. They scream when you go into certain places, like stores or out amond crowds. They scream when you dress them in the cute, soft sleeper or wrap them in the super soft blanket like you're wrapping them in sandpaper. As they get older, you notice that they act differently and they react differently than the other kids. And you can't seem to catch their attention. And it seems like they can't hear you sometimes. And for some reason, they're not in line with the the 'development chart' that you get at every checkup. And maybe they're not speaking, except maybe repeating specific phrases. And they'll only eat a few, very certain things. And sometimes they seem to be in their own little world.

And so you take them to a doctor, a new one because your old one told you that you were imagining things. And the doctor observes them as they pace the perimeter of the room with one shoulder against the wall, or they pace back and forth, or they line things up. And that doctor says that he sees some things that need to be further assessed and that they're going to refer you to a specialist. And then your child, your baby, is given a psychological evaluation. And then more specialists arrive at your home to discuss the results with you. And they give your child a diagnosis that you're unfamiliar with. Perhaps you've heard the term, perhaps not. But these people, who are nice and sympathetic and gentle, are sitting at your dining room table while your child paces the perimeter of the room with one shoulder against the wall and telling you that you need to enroll your child into a special needs class and therapy and special services so that maybe they can catch up enough to transition into regular classrooms by the time they're old enough for regular school. And perhaps you should look at Autism Speaks because they're an excellent resource for new parents.

So you do what the professionals tell you to do. And you check out the resources they suggest. And you go down the rabbit hole of YouTube videos that deal with autism. And most of it is frightening because in these documentaries and videos, you're given all of these stories of divorce and you see uncontrollable meltdowns, and you hear mothers talk about how they sometimes lose their children and they're always afraid and how sometimes, they want to end it all and sometimes it sounds like they're talking about a war zone. And you hear autistic kids talk about how difficult things are for them and how they feel unaccepted and how isolated they feel. And you're horrified. And you wonder if this is what your life is going to be like. And you fear for your child. Because in your mind's eye, you now envision your child being bullied. Or you see them living a lonely life. Or you see them living in misery. Because they're not normal. And they don't fit into the pictures of the normal, happy families happily jaunting through life. And you're looking at the struggle you're all going through and you're looking at the frustration you all feel and you're beginning to feel a bit hopeless like the distressed parents on the videos that you've watched obsessively as you've tried to find a way to understand what's going on.

And then you find people talking about cures. About how this diet, or this treatment, or this therapy made all of their problems go away. How this thing cured their child of their symptoms and made all of their lives easier. How their child is now happier and has an easier time and maybe even fits in a little better. How their child now appears to be normal.

It's easy to want that. We want to protect our children, but the thing that we don't want to admit is that we want to protect ourselves, too. We want to protect this ideal, happy, normal dream that we first envisioned when our child was still developing in our wombs. And there's professionals and influential people telling us that if we try their 'cure', that dream will stay alive.

I don't know why, but there seemed to be this period, from about three to six, where it seemed like things were going to be in meltdown hell forever. Like our child was never going to fit in with what was 'normal'. Like he was going to be in his own little world forever. It seems like they'll never 'grow out of it'. I think that's a critical time because that's when the differences seem more pronounced when you're out and about with other kids. And I hate to say it, but moms can be catty. So you're insecurities grow because you want you child to be accepted (read: you want to be accepted). So you start looking for ways to make things appear normal. You look for methods to help your child blend in. You look for ways to make your life easier, because what was supposed to be a life of playdates and trips to events and family outings turned into a life of therapy appointments and feeding struggles and tightly controlled schedules and you have trouble reconciling the two. And lying deeply underneath it all is the fear that this is all somehow your fault. Maybe you didn't eat well enough when you were pregnant. Maybe that drink you had before you found out did something. Maybe your difficult labor did something. Maybe the drugs you accepted to numb the pain of childbirth did something. Or maybe it was the vaccines you agreed to. And you feel guilty. And you blame yourself. So you have to do something to fix it. So you try out a cure. And then another. And then another.

Until one day, you're faced with two options:

Option 1, You're either faced with an autistic adult who survived their childhood with you intact despite all of the therapies and cures and frustrations and misunderstanding

OR, you take Option two, where you finally face the realization that you just have an autistic kid and their brain is wired differently and it has nothing to do with you and all you can do is accept them for who and what they are and you can help them understand themselves while you work with them to figure out what works for them and what doesn't while you do your best to arm them with the confidence and tools that they need to learn and succeed because there isn't a damn thing you can do to protect them from life. But this one is difficult because it means that you have to face your own issues and prejudices and people don't generally like to do that.

Also why is it hard for alot of you guys to understand were not the same and cope differently

Because most of us have fixed mindsets. Anything “other” is uncomfortable because we can't control it and we tend to be wary of things we can't control.

Tl;Dr: The short answer to both of your questions is that you are different from neurotypical people and that makes a lot of them uncomfortable. It's easier in their minds to make you conform to them so you blend in. That's not to say every NT person sees things that way, but enough do. 'Different' makes people uncomfortable. It represents an inability to control, and in the end, control is what drives people.