The Cost of Exclusion:
Autistic Students, Higher Education, & Unmet Needs

Jaime Hoerricks PhD & Aislinn Hoerricks

Navigating higher education as an autistic Gestalt Language Processor (GLP) comes with unique challenges, particularly when it comes to accessing appropriate support. In this article, I reflect on both my experience and that of my daughter, as we have approached higher education from different angles when it comes to accommodations.

Whilst I have sought accommodations later in my academic journey, my daughter has been unable to pursue them, not by choice, but due to the systemic barriers within a healthcare system that is more focused on exclusion than inclusion. This speaks to the broader issue faced by many autistic females, who often struggle to access proper care and services due to outdated and dismissive attitudes. Framing our experiences through the Power Threat Meaning Framework (PTMF),^[1]The Power Threat Meaning Framework: Towards the identification of patterns in emotional distress, unusual experiences and troubled or troubling behaviour, as an alternative to functional psychiatric diagnosis (Johnstone & Boyle, 2020) I will explore how these power dynamics within both healthcare and educational systems marginalise autistic individuals, and offer suggestions on how universities can better serve neurodivergent students, creating environments that genuinely accommodate their needs.

Early college experience:
pre-diagnosis & pre-accommodations

When I first entered college in 1988, I had no awareness of my autistic identity and no understanding of why I found the academic environment so overwhelming. As a student at a state school with outdated infrastructure, I was confronted with poorly lit, noisy, and crowded classrooms that triggered sensory overload—sensory triggers I couldn’t identify at the time. There was no expectation that the classroom should be inclusive, and professors had little awareness of students’ individual needs. As a student-athlete, I remained enrolled in football-related courses that lacked academic rigor, but every time I attempted traditional classes, the sensory chaos and social dynamics became too much to handle. I would drop classes after the first session, repeating this pattern and wasting time and money. I eventually transferred between schools, still unable to find a programme that could accommodate my needs, which neither I nor the system understood. I withdrew from school in 1992 and got on with my life.

In 2004, I returned to school with diagnoses for Sensory Processing Disorder and Asperger’s, but still without formal accommodations. I enrolled in a cohort programme, which offered some consistency with a structured schedule and the same classmates, but my sensory and language processing challenges persisted. In 2006, a professor bluntly told me to “shut my mouth and get my degree,” warning that seeking clarification, a direct need from my autism, would get me thrown out of the cohort. This harsh advice led to emotional disconnection, where I suppressed my need for understanding and simply went through the motions to complete my degree. This experience informed my later dissertation and my book ‘No Place for Autism?’,^[2]No place for autism? Exploring the solitary forager hypothesis of autism in light of place identity (Hoerricks, 2023) where I explored the systemic exclusion of autistic students in higher education.

In contrast, my daughter, who we knew was autistic from childhood, navigates her entirely online undergraduate programme without the same sensory challenges but remains unsupported by a system that refused her diagnosis. Her struggles, though different, remain invisible to her academic mentors, reflecting how both of us face exclusion in different forms within educational systems.

Consolidated autism diagnosis & stigma at work (2010–2016)

After receiving a consolidated autism diagnosis following the advent of the DSM-V, I faced a difficult decision. Despite the clarity the diagnosis brought, I chose not to request accommodations in my professional environment. The stigma around autism was palpable, and my employer’s view of difference felt like a direct threat to my job security.^[3]Dark clouds or silver linings? A stigma threat perspective on the implications of an autism diagnosis for workplace well-being (Johnson & Joshi, 2016) Within this power dynamic, I attached the meaning that it was safer for me to remain invisible—‘keep myself to myself’—rather than risk exposing my neurodivergence. The PTMF helps me now to understand how this dynamic operated: the power of my employer, and the threat that came with being perceived as different, led me to internalise that my best option was to remain silent and unaccommodated.^[4]The Power Threat Meaning Framework: Towards the identification of patterns in emotional distress, unusual experiences and troubled or troubling behaviour, as an alternative to functional psychiatric diagnosis (Johnstone & Boyle, 2020)

When I eventually did request accommodations at work, the response confirmed my fears. Instead of receiving support, I became the target of bullying and hostility. My request for accommodations was met with condescension, isolation, and pressure to leave.^[5]Disclosure and workplace accommodations for people with autism: a systematic review (Lindsay, Osten, Rezai, & Bui, 2019) The work environment, already bad, became toxic, and I was increasingly sidelined, a clear effort to push me out.^[6]Autism, attributions and accommodations. Personnel Review (Patton, 2019) The situation escalated to the point where, in 2016, I opted for early retirement when the city offered it as a cost-saving measure. Vested in the system, I took the opportunity, leaving behind a career that had become untenable.

This experience profoundly shaped my decision-making process regarding accommodations in higher education. The bullying I experienced at work reinforced the idea that requesting accommodations could expose me to harm. As a result, I continued to navigate higher education without asking for the support I needed, further deepening the cycle of self-silencing that had begun in my professional life. Looking back, the PTMF helps me frame this as not a failure on my part, but as a response to a system that treated difference as a threat, further marginalising those of us who need accommodations.^[7]The Power Threat Meaning Framework: Towards the identification of patterns in emotional distress, unusual experiences and troubled or troubling behaviour, as an alternative to functional psychiatric diagnosis (Johnstone & Boyle, 2020)

My daughter’s experience:
navigating university without a diagnosis

My daughter’s decision not to pursue an autism diagnosis reflects a broader issue with how the system views autism, particularly when it comes to females. As a child, she had clear autistic traits, but the healthcare system dismissed her concerns, attributing her challenges to anxiety rather than considering autism. This was largely because she was homeschooled, living at home with the support of our family. Since she wasn’t encountering the traditional school environment where autistic students often face issues, the system effectively ignored her autism. The prevailing view of autism is still based on how it creates “problems” in structured settings like school or work, and because she was thriving in her home environment, her autistic identity was disregarded. This is a common issue, particularly for females, who often face much greater difficulty in obtaining a diagnosis compared to males.^[8]Girls and women with autism (Rynkiewicz, Janas-Kozik, & Słopień, 2019)^[9]Experiences of parents who homeschool their children with autism spectrum disorders (Hurlbutt, 2011)^[10]Parent-Reported Problems Accessing Mental Health Services Among a National Sample of Youth with Autism Spectrum Disorder and Anxiety (Conrad, Cerda, & Harstad, 2022)^[11]Anxiety in Children and Adolescents with Autism Spectrum Disorders (MacNeil, Lopes, & Minnes, 2009)

In university, this lack of a formal diagnosis has created significant challenges. Without accommodations, my daughter faces obstacles that a diagnosis would have helped address. For example, during tests, she is only given an hour to complete her work, with no option for extra time or the use of assistive tools like background music, which helps her concentrate. Additionally, webinars lack subtitles, making it harder for her to follow along, especially when information is presented verbally and quickly. Despite these challenges, she has developed her own strategies to navigate university life. She uses Google extensions like Speechify and Natural Reader to have e-textbooks read aloud to her during regular coursework, though these tools are not compatible with all text formats. To manage her test-taking challenges, she simplifies the wording of complex questions by using a whiteboard, helping her break down the information more clearly and stay on track within the limited time.^[12]Facilitators and Barriers of Autistic Students’ Experiences: An Exploratory Thematic Analysis (Rottier, 2020)^[13]Exploring the Transitions of Neurodivergent Access Students to Level One Study: Narratives of Study Skills and Support (Bhandari & Rainford, 2023)

Whilst these self-devised strategies help, they highlight a deeper problem with how the system fails to accommodate neurodivergent students like her. It expects students to either fit into a standardised mould or seek formal diagnoses to unlock basic supports. However, in her case, the barriers to obtaining a diagnosis were too high, as the system only acknowledges autism when it presents challenges in traditional settings. This leaves students like my daughter to fend for themselves in an academic system that has no place for autism as a neurotype or identity, viewing it only in terms of the problems it causes in predefined contexts like school or employment.

Challenges with accommodations & power dynamics in higher education

The power dynamics I encountered during my return to higher education as an older professional were central to the findings of my dissertation.^[14]Higher education support strategies: An evaluation of needs satisfaction on Autistic college student retention (Hoerricks, 2018 As an established forensic scientist with a wide array of expertise, my interactions with professors often became strained. My autistic need for clarification—driven by a desire to fully understand ambiguous material—was frequently seen as a challenge to their authority, a cross examination. This misinterpretation of my intentions led to tension with professors and a sense of social isolation from classmates, who were more traditional students. The rigid, one-size-fits-all structure of higher education left little room for neurodivergent students like me to engage meaningfully, resulting in a disconnection from the academic community.

Even now, in my current programme at the same institution, I continue to struggle with these dynamics. The learning management system (LMS) remains poorly designed for autistic students. The issue isn’t necessarily about power dynamics in the traditional sense, but rather a reflection of the fact that autistic students are such a small minority that the cost of creating accessible platforms is deemed unnecessary. The institution holds the power to make these accommodations but chooses not to, instead shifting the burden back onto the students. This lack of accessible design in the LMS places additional cognitive load on students like me, making it more difficult to navigate course content. As a result, I must work harder to overcome these barriers—something I addressed in my earlier articles. These ongoing challenges highlight a broader issue within higher education, where the needs of neurodivergent students are seen as an afterthought, reinforcing the power imbalance that leaves students like me struggling to fit into a system that was never designed with us in mind.

Weighing the benefits & limitations of accommodations for autistic students

For neurodivergent students who are uncertain about whether to pursue accommodations, it’s essential to weigh both the benefits and the potential challenges. Accommodations such as extended time on tests, access to sensory-friendly spaces, or permission to use assistive tools like text-to-speech software can provide much-needed relief, helping to reduce cognitive overload and manage sensory sensitivities. These supports can significantly enhance both academic performance and overall well-being by making the learning environment more accessible. For many, accommodations offer the opportunity to engage with coursework in a way that feels manageable, without constantly being overwhelmed by the physical and mental demands of the classroom.

However, the process of obtaining accommodations can be a hurdle in itself. The bureaucratic requirements—such as providing extensive documentation, undergoing assessments, or waiting for approval—can feel burdensome. Moreover, for students who are undiagnosed or navigating a healthcare system that dismisses their needs (like my daughter experienced), accessing accommodations may seem like an impossible task. Stigma is also a major factor: many autistic students feel reluctant to disclose their needs, worried about being labelled or treated differently by professors and peers.^[15]Dark clouds or silver linings? A stigma threat perspective on the implications of an autism diagnosis for workplace well-being (Johnson & Joshi, 2016) Even when accommodations are granted, they may not fully address the complex, individual challenges that many autistic students face. For example, extended test time might help with processing speed but may not alleviate sensory overload in a noisy exam room.

For those who are unsure about pursuing formal accommodations, it can be helpful to start by experimenting with informal supports. Simple strategies like using background music to aid concentration, employing text-to-speech extensions, or breaking down assignments into smaller, more manageable tasks can make a significant difference. Online communities, such as Reddit groups or YouTube channels, can also provide invaluable tips and resources for coping with academic demands in ways that resonate with your specific needs. These communities often offer real-world advice from others who have faced similar challenges, allowing you to trial different strategies without the formalities of institutional processes.

When you feel ready, advocating for yourself within your institution is a crucial step. Whilst the system may not be designed with neurodivergent students in mind, you have the right to seek the support you need to thrive. Start by identifying which accommodations might benefit you the most and approach your school’s disability services with a clear understanding of your needs. It may be a challenging process, but advocating for yourself can lead to lasting change, both in your personal academic journey and in pushing institutions toward greater inclusivity. Your needs are valid, and while the system may not always make it easy, pursuing accommodations can provide you with the support necessary to succeed on your own terms.

Conclusion

Framing my current work through the PTMF, it’s clear that the power imbalances in higher education disproportionately affect autistic students, leaving them unsupported and marginalised. The system often views neurodivergent students as burdens, where accommodations are seen as optional rather than necessary. This dynamic forces autistic students to justify their needs within institutions designed for the neurotypical majority. To shift this imbalance, universities must take deliberate steps to foster inclusion and equity for students like me and my daughter.

My dissertation offers several research-backed recommendations for improving retention and success rates for autistic students. First, universities must train staff to understand autism and neurodivergence, equipping them to support students more effectively.^[16]Neurodiversity and (Semantic) Space for the Academic Inclusion of People on the Autism Spectrum (Cierzniewska & Podgórska-Jachnik, 2021)) Without this training, staff often misinterpret the needs of autistic students, contributing to their isolation and disengagement. Additionally, providing sensory-friendly spaces and more flexible curricula is critical,^[17]Compassionate pedagogy for neurodiversity in higher education: A conceptual analysis (Hamilton & Petty, 2023) particularly for GLPs and students with Specific Learning Disabilities (SLDs), whose needs are not met by rigid, traditional academic structures. Finally, clear and accessible messaging about available supports must be prioritised. Many autistic students, especially those entering college later in life, may not be aware of what accommodations they are entitled to or how to access them, leading to unnecessary barriers.^[18]Higher education support strategies: An evaluation of needs satisfaction on Autistic college student retention (Hoerricks, 2018

In conclusion, both my daughter and I have navigated higher education without the accommodations we need, albeit for different reasons. Our experiences reflect two paths: mine marked by attempts to suppress my needs out of fear of stigma and retaliation, and hers shaped by a healthcare system that refused to see her autism because it didn’t fit neatly into their diagnostic framework. Despite these challenges, we both see the value in seeking a diagnosis—not because we need a label, but because it opens the door to the supports we should already be entitled to. We both long for a day when people are simply accepted and accommodated upon request, without having to justify ourselves to an oppressive system not designed with us in mind.

For autistic students navigating higher education without a formal diagnosis or accommodations, the advice is clear: do what you can to advocate for yourself, but also know that the system’s failures are not a reflection of your worth or ability. Whether it’s using alternative strategies, like my daughter’s use of Google extensions for text-to-speech, or pushing through the ambiguity and isolation, as I did in my earlier years, the journey is undeniably difficult. I encourage students to seek out supportive communities and resources, and to keep pushing for the accommodations and respect they deserve.

To aid in this reflection, here are some key questions to consider: What led you to seek or not seek a diagnosis? What challenges have you faced in higher education, and what strategies have you developed to cope with them? How have power dynamics affected your ability to advocate for yourself? These are the questions my daughter and I have had to grapple with, and they offer important insights for anyone questioning whether accommodations might be beneficial for their own journey through higher education.

^[19]Holistic language instruction: Addressing literacy in standard and non-standard populations (Hoerricks, 2024)