04/25/2026
Let’s talk about communicating with those with autism either verbal or non-verbal.
In my experience, communication is one of the most misunderstood parts of autism because many people still define communication only by speech.
If someone can speak, they are often assumed to be understood. If someone cannot speak, they are often assumed to have less to say.
Over the years, I’ve learned that communication is much broader than words. It includes body language, eye contact, movement, muscle tension, tone, pacing, avoidance, repetition, silence, and the way someone responds to their environment.
Some individuals communicate clearly with language but still struggle to express internal needs in the moment. Others may not use spoken words at all, yet communicate constantly through cues that become obvious once you know how to observe them.
With verbal clients, communication may look more familiar on the surface, but it still requires deeper listening. In my observations, some verbal clients can tell you they are frustrated, uncomfortable, overstimulated, or anxious.
Others may have language but struggle to identify what they are feeling in real time. They may say they are “fine” while their body is showing something very different such as tight shoulders, shallow breathing, rapid movement, irritability, withdrawal, or difficulty settling.
Before a session, this can look like restlessness, difficulty focusing, talking rapidly, needing control over details, or becoming upset by changes in routine.
After an effective session, I’ve seen communication become calmer and clearer. Speech may slow down, posture may soften, eye contact may improve, and the person may be better able to explain what they need because the body is no longer working as hard to manage internal stress.
With non-verbal clients, communication often requires a different kind of attention. In my experience, some of the clearest communication I’ve ever received came without a single spoken word.
I’ve learned to watch for facial expression, gaze, breathing changes, muscle guarding, repetitive movement, shifting away from touch, leaning in, stillness, hand movements, and overall energy.
A client may not say “that’s too much,” but their body will. They may not say “this feels safe,” but you can see it in how the shoulders drop, the breathing deepens, or how they remain present instead of pulling away.
Before sessions, non-verbal clients may present with visible guarding, difficulty tolerating contact, pacing, agitation, shutting down, or heightened sensitivity to transitions. Over time, with consistency and trust, I have observed longer tolerance to touch, calmer body language, reduced guarding, smoother transitions, and a more settled nervous system.
Those changes improve quality of life not only for the individual, but for caregivers who often carry the stress of trying to interpret needs without clear feedback.
Massage can play an important role in that process when it is adapted to the person. In my experience, no single technique works for everyone, and the technique matters just as much as the timing, pace, and delivery.
For clients who need predictability and grounding, slow effleurage can help calm the nervous system because it provides steady, rhythmic input.
For those carrying deeper tension or postural guarding, petrissage or soft tissue work may help reduce chronic tightness and improve circulation when tolerated.
For clients with limited mobility, range of motion and stretching can support flexibility, joint comfort, and body awareness.
For those who become overstimulated easily, simple sustained compression or still contact may be more effective than continuous movement because it gives the body input without adding more stimulation.
Myofascial techniques can also be helpful for clients holding long-term tension patterns, especially when movement has become restricted.
What works for one client may not work for another, which is why observation and adjustment are essential.
One of the biggest misunderstandings I continue to see is the difference between a “temper tantrum” and dysregulation. In my experience, these terms are often used interchangeably when they should not be. A tantrum is generally goal-directed behavior used to obtain something or avoid something, while dysregulation is the nervous system reaching a point where it can no longer manage incoming stress.
The outside behavior may look similar (crying, yelling, dropping to the floor, hitting, refusal, or shutting down), but what is happening internally can be very different.
When someone is dysregulated, the body is in defense mode.
Logic, reasoning, and demands usually become less effective because the system is overwhelmed. That is why understanding the cause matters more than reacting to the appearance of the behavior.
For non-verbal individuals especially, dysregulation may be the only visible way the body can communicate that something is wrong. In my observations, what people call “behavior” may actually be pain, fatigue, sensory overload, confusion, hunger, fear, discomfort, or an inability to process what is being asked.
The question shifts from “How do I stop this?” to “What is this person trying to communicate through their body right now?”
That shift changes everything. It creates more compassion, more effective support, and less unnecessary conflict.
My background and experience with ABA principles also shaped how I understand these moments. I learned the importance of observation, patterns, reinforcement, antecedents, consequences, and the fact that behavior usually has a function. I use that understanding every day, not to control people, but to understand what is maintaining stress or what helps create success.
In practice, that means noticing what happened before the escalation, what the environment is contributing, what the body is signaling, and what response is most likely to help rather than intensify the moment. It also means recognizing that many adults, not just children, struggle with self-regulation and communication.
Some people were never taught how to identify emotions, ask for space, set boundaries, or calm their own nervous system. That is not a character flaw. It is a skill gap.
Society often judges what it does not understand. People may see a public outburst, shutdown, repetitive behavior, or communication difference and assume poor parenting, defiance, or lack of discipline. In my experience, that kind of judgment usually comes from not understanding regulation, sensory processing, or the amount of effort some individuals use just to get through ordinary moments.
We cannot control every trigger, every environment, or every reaction. What we can do is become more informed, more patient, and more supportive.
As a massage therapist, I help by offering a space where the body does not have to perform. I slow things down. I reduce demand. I observe before I act. I adjust touch, pressure, pacing, and environment based on what the individual is showing me.
I respect boundaries, including the need for space. I support caregivers by helping them recognize cues, understand body language, and see that progress is often subtle before it becomes obvious.
Sometimes progress looks like longer tolerance to touch. Sometimes it looks like easier transitions, calmer breathing, improved sleep, less guarding, better posture, or a quicker return to baseline after stress. Sometimes it simply looks like a person feeling safe enough to let their body rest.
What I’ve learned most is that communication is always happening. Some people use words. Some use behavior. Some use silence. Some use their body.
When we learn to listen in more than one language, support becomes more effective, relationships become stronger, and the person in front of us feels more understood.
That understanding can improve quality of life in very real ways: fewer escalations, smoother daily routines, better sleep, reduced physical tension, stronger trust between caregiver and loved one, clearer ways to express needs, less frustration on both sides, and more moments where the individual feels safe, successful, and connected instead of misunderstood.
Over time, those moments build confidence, independence, emotional security, and a home environment that feels less like survival and more like support
