The UX of Autism

My 4 year old son is on the autism spectrum. He was diagnosed on the severe end of the spectrum. He is non-verbal, and has a myriad of sensory nuances which has him behave sometimes in strange and awkward (yet always adorably cute) ways.

Over the last few weeks, my husband and I have been prompting him to verbalize close approximations to words in exchange for something he wanted, be it food, his favorite toy, or hugs and tickles.

One word he has almost mastered is: “momma”. I would hold up his favorite snack and ask him if he wanted it. His eyes would light up and he would reach out as if trying to grab the snack. I would then pull away and say to him: “Say ‘Momma, I want to eat!’ ” He would almost immediately say: “Ma……… Mmmmmmmah.” That was enough for a small celebration. After a round of hugs, kisses and praises, he would be rewarded with his snack. And then we would do it again… and again.

Today was a little different. He didn’t verbalize anything. His vital needs were already met, and he didn’t appear sick or distraught, so I got curious as to why he wasn’t repeating his routine echoed “Ma…. Mmmmmmah” like he normally would. We sat at the table for what seemed like an hour, snack in my hand, and frustration beginning to set in. By now, my son was also frustrated. He just wanted his snack, and just absolutely refused to be verbal to get it. I realized at that moment that I had no access to him. He had shut down for no obvious reason.

As a user experience designer, I am always thinking of ways to gain access to my users. By access, I mean authentically leading my users to click an intended button, or follow a specific path or routine that would eventually lead them to something that they didn’t realize they want but would benefit from tremendously.

With my son, having the gift of speech and language was the thing he doesn’t realize he wants. And that thing is his access to freely getting everything he wants.

So at the kitchen table, I proceeded to UX him. I had zero access to my son, so I allowed him to leave the table. He still stuck around, hovering around me because he wanted the snack, but he was still unwilling to speak for it. So I swung him around (children with autism love vestibular movement) and we shared a moment of laughter. Then I sat him down again. By this time, his mood was absent of frustration. He was smiling, and he took my hand and placed it on his knee. This was his way of saying ‘Please tickle my knees!”. So instead of tickling him at that moment, I took my hands away and said: “Say ‘Momma, will you tickle me please?’ ” At this point, he immediately said “Ma-mmmmaaah!” And I tickled him. Access regained!

I proceeded to dangle his snack beneath his eyes, and requested him to say “Momma, I want to eat” yet again. He immediately said “Ma-Mahhh!” and took the snack. We were back in business.

Who knows why I lost access to my son’s co-operation at that moment. On the same token, who knows why some of my users don’t click the intended buttons on the web site or the mobile app I designed. All I know is that access is often lost and access is needed for success. And that access can come in many forms…. a user expressing their need for something that you can use as bait so that they follow a specific path, just like my son’s desire to be tickled brought him back into the game of using his voice to get the snack he wanted.

Effective UX is the key to access. And access is the key to success.

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