In the semi-basement of his parents’ house, Pierre shows me the small music studio he set up. The drum set is placed against a large window opening towards the backyard. I ask if he could play something for me. He sits silently for a moment, drum sticks in hand, headphones on ears, trying to decide. He tweaks a few settings on his soundboard. Then he launches into a brief solo, perfectly focused and self-contained.

This Pierre seems to be miles away from the Pierre I first met one year ago at Eole, a local initiative to facilitate the socialization and inclusion of autistic adults. That Pierre seemed shy and reserved, almost blending in the background.

As I got to know him better, I discovered a curious young man with lots of hobbies, dreams, projects, and things to say.

Pierre was diagnosed with autism when he was 9. This diagnosis, he tells me, provided him with a word for his difference, allowing him to understand himself better and move forward with a sense of confirmation. Until then, he did not know how to call his difference, how to explain it to himself or to others.

Pierre embraces his identity. He doesn’t camouflage his autism. His mother describes him as “very authentic, very straightforward,” and he readily informs people he is autistic. “It’s what makes him comfortable in his own skin,” she tells me. But the kind of awareness and acceptance of autism he has now did not come easily.

For six years, Pierre’s parents consulted several doctors, but none mentioned autism. His mother was told that Pierre was “delayed” but that it was “nothing, he would eventually get started.” His mother eventually realized he had behaviors similar to those of autistic people after watching a documentary. She moved past the reassurances of doctors and requested a formal evaluation and diagnosis.

His early school years were difficult. His first school, close to home, became a site of relentless bullying, and the teaching staff seemed to overlook it. His mother, witnessing the toll it took, eventually pulled him out. “I just couldn’t watch him suffer like that.” But even if the new school provided a more understanding environment, Pierre could not ignore that he was different, and neither could those around him.

As a pre-adolescent, Pierre became more and more active in the scout movement. One day, during a Cub Scout camp, Pierre chose to tell the group about his autism. The response was unexpected: applause and cheering. This moment not only liberated him but also resonated deeply with others. One scout leader, who was then studying autism, later told Pierre’s mother that his openness significantly influenced her career choices going forward.

As a young adult, Pierre started exploring employment options. Just as in school, he found an environment in which autism was poorly understood and barely accepted. An internship at a shoe store, for instance, ended abruptly after three days. Pierre had to deal with an ignorant manager who criticized him for crying and judged him for his “difference.” Instead of trying to accommodate these differences through changes in the work environment and flexibility in the work schedule, the manager invited Pierre to follow the example of her son, who was neurotypical.

Pierre also undertook a professional adaptation contract at a computer repair company. He expected to be able to learn in an flexible environment, but the manager expected him to buy his own tools and considered it a work contract rather than a training one. “What are you good for?” This was what the manager asked him when Pierre tried to discuss some workplace adjustments. This time, the experience was cut short after one month.

Socially, unstructured interactions remain a challenge for Pierre. “Hanging out” without a clear purpose can feel bewildering. His social life thrives within groups formed around clearly-defined activities: scout camps, videography, playing in a band. These activities provide a clear framework for connection. Initiating social plans can be, as he puts it, “super difficult.” His mother often organizes his birthday celebrations, as he struggles with the initiative required for social planning. His closest friends are often other autistic individuals.

Observing the significant lack of support for parents of autistic children post-diagnosis, Pierre’s mother took action, founding Auti Proche. Through this organization, she provided support groups and arranged weekend trips, trying to offer the kind of community she would have wanted to have. “There was just nothing at all” for parents, she says. From early schooling to employment and social support, services were scarce or nonexistent. This is why she and a handful of other parents have started creating the support structures that should have been provided publicly. Some of these structures have lasted a few years. Others have endured developed and are now subsidized by the municipal authorities.

It doesn’t take long to realize the extent of Pierre’s interests and activities: IT, music, graphic design, and audiovisual production. He is the drummer for a band called The Smileys. During one of my visits, I watch them practice and play together. They are preparing for an open air concert and, in today’s practice, they need to rehearse the whole set list. The band is seeking new members, especially a pianist, who are “open to difference.”

But it’s not only about the present. Pierre’s eyes start sparkling when he talks about his projects. For instance, he dreams about creating a creative space dedicated to music, graphic design, video production, and even instrument crafting. This hub would include both a physical shop and an online store, designed to serve as a sort of one-stop shop for creative people.

He also plans to establish a community center offering cultural activities, co-working spaces, and self-learning opportunities. The aim would be to create a space where people can share, connect, and learn at their own pace.

Moreover, Pierre wants to develop an extensive narrative universe, a “Magic World” blending steampunk, fantasy, and adventure. This project serves as a deeply personal avenue for him to express his lived experience and present his perspective on the world, akin to “putting myself in the painter’s shoes of these characters.”

Pierre now lives independently on the third floor of his family’s house, a plan his parents had envisioned for 20 years. He receives support from three different people: one for budget management and planning, another for cooking, and a third for hygiene (cleaning his studio and personal hygiene).

Pierre’s mother noticed his differences early on and sought to integrate him into various activities and therapies, believing it was crucial to open him up to the world. She also mediated the relation the different schools and communicated his needs to educators, being met in general with understanding and empathy.

It is a sad reality that autistic people develop, over time, a host of mechanisms for fitting in rather than for expressing who they are. They grow up in a culture that encourages, indeed often forces them to mask, comply, and conform. They do so at the expense of their liveliness and authenticity. But other ways are possible. Pierre’s story isn’t so much about fitting in; it’s about finding his own rhythm.

From the relief of his diagnosis at nine, which gave him a “word for his difference,” to pursuing his passions in music, art, and IT, Pierre tried to create spaces.

Spaces in which he can be himself but at the same time connect with others through shared interests. These spaces can then be gradually expanded to include even more interests, even more people.

Maybe the whole world.