Why Is It So Important to Talk to Autistic People About Emotions?

A Mentalizing and Empathic Perspective

Talking to an autistic person about emotions isn’t just a therapeutic strategy or a developmental goal — it’s a way of building connection at the deepest level. Emotions are a kind of language, one that many of us learn simply by growing up in a world where emotional expression is modeled and expected. But for many autistic children and adults, this language feels foreign, inconsistent, and at times overwhelming. It’s not that they don’t feel — in fact, many autistic individuals feel with incredible depth — but they often struggle to recognize, name, and communicate what’s happening inside them.

For a neurotypical person, a frown or a sigh might naturally evoke empathy or concern. For an autistic child, the meaning of that expression may be unclear or even threatening. Without the instinctive grasp of social-emotional cues, they can become confused not only by others’ emotions but also by their own. Their bodies may react with intensity — their heart races, their hands tremble, their stomach churns — yet they may not know how to interpret these sensations. Over time, when these feelings go unrecognized or misunderstood, the child may begin to withdraw, shut down, or express their emotions through behavior that others label as “challenging.”

What’s most heartbreaking is that in many cases, the emotion is present — fully alive in their body — but it remains silent. They want to be understood, but they don’t know how to make the internal visible. And when their attempts to express themselves are ignored, dismissed, or misinterpreted, the pain deepens. They may stop trying altogether, not because they don’t care, but because the cost of trying feels too high.

This is where the role of the adult — parent, therapist, teacher — becomes so crucial. Our job is not to force them to talk or to "fix" their feelings. It is to stand beside them and gently offer language, presence, and validation. When we say, “It seems like you’re frustrated,” or “I wonder if that made you feel left out,” we’re not guessing — we’re offering a mirror. We’re giving them a chance to see their inner world reflected back in a way that is safe and non-judgmental. Slowly, the child begins to connect sensation with meaning, behavior with emotion. And little by little, they begin to recognize that what they feel is real, valid, and worthy of being shared.

This process doesn’t have to be formal. In fact, it works best when it’s woven into everyday moments. It can be as simple as a quiet check-in at bedtime — “What was the best feeling you had today?” — or a gentle observation during play: “It looks like that didn’t go the way you wanted.” Through these small, repeated interactions, the child learns that emotions aren’t dangerous or shameful; they are understandable, survivable, and, most importantly, shareable.

When we consistently make space for emotional reflection, we give the child something much more important than words: we give them access to their own inner world. They begin to develop self-awareness — the ability to say, “I’m angry,” or “That made me nervous” — and from there, they can begin to self-regulate. A child who can say, “I need a break,” instead of throwing a toy or running out of the room, is a child who is learning not just communication, but confidence in their ability to navigate overwhelming moments.

This also lays the foundation for empathy. When I understand what sadness or frustration feels like in me, I can begin to imagine what someone else might be feeling. Emotional language becomes a bridge — not only to others, but also to the self.

But perhaps most crucially, helping a child speak about their feelings protects something sacred: their sense of self-worth. When a child feels accepted in their full emotional range — not only when they are calm or cheerful, but also when they are overwhelmed, angry, or afraid — they begin to trust that who they are is enough. They don’t need to hide. They don’t need to perform. They don’t need to disappear in order to belong.

For children on the spectrum, this emotional attunement is often life-changing. It tells them: You don’t have to carry your emotions alone. You don’t have to pretend you’re okay when you’re not. I’m here, and I care. In a world that can often feel confusing and loud, this message becomes an anchor.

Even in moments when the child goes quiet, or shuts down completely — the feelings are still there. They haven’t vanished. They’re waiting for a safe space to emerge. Talking about emotions, gently and without pressure, creates that space. It’s not just “emotional work” — it’s a form of love, of presence, of deep respect for the complexity of their experience.

The goal is never for the child to fit a mold. The goal is for them to feel whole — to feel known, held, and seen. Not only for what they do or say, but for who they are. Emotionally rich, beautifully complex, and absolutely worthy of connection