AI In Our Pocket: Safety, Control, And Self‑Trust For Autistic And Trauma‑Survivor Minds

Lætitia
4 days ago
8 min read

Updated: 2 days ago

When a quiet icon on the taskbar stirs hypervigilance and curiosity, what does AI mean for people who already live with sensory overload, masking, and a history of not feeling safe?

A quiet icon, a loud nervous system

When I first installed Windows 11 and saw the Copilot icon pinned to my taskbar, my reaction wasn’t neutral or purely technical.

My body flinched a little. Hypervigilance, curiosity, and a subtle “danger” signal all arrived at once.

So I did something many autistic people and trauma survivors will recognize: I avoided it. I told myself, half joking and half serious, “If I don’t open it, maybe it won’t really work.” The same logic as: “If I close my eyes, no one can see me.”

Of course, that’s not how code—or systems of power—work.

Months later, curiosity won. I opened Copilot. I asked some basic questions. We “met” each other. It explained its limits and safeguards. On a basic, freemium tier, it’s not the all‑seeing "Big Brother" I had imagined.

But what my imagination did with that little icon is revealing. Especially if you’re autistic, highly sensitive, or living with complex trauma.

Because many of us are already:

Hyper‑aware of being watched, judged, or tracked
Sensitive to changes in our environment (even a new icon can feel like an intrusion)
Used to systems that say “we’re here to help” but end up controlling us

So the question isn’t just: What can AI do?

It’s also: What does AI feel like in the body of someone who has been unsafe, misunderstood, or overpowered before?

The fantasy of the all‑seeing Copilot

When I first saw that Copilot icon, my mind leaped into a kind of sci‑fi worst case scenario.

I imagined Copilot as a super‑intelligent presence that could:

See everything we search for, everywhere
Access every indexed file on every computer
Read private data and public posts
Connect all those dots in ways we can’t

A massive collective brain humming quietly behind the screen.

For an autistic or trauma‑wired nervous system, this vision can feel familiar:

The sense of being watched or evaluated
The fear of “getting it wrong” and being exposed
The anxiety that someone or something knows more about you than you do

There was also excitement:

Imagine never being “too slow” to understand something
Imagine always having help with executive function, words, planning, and decisions
Imagine not having to mask as hard because a tool can translate your inner world into acceptable output

So there it is: the push‑pull that so many autistic and trauma‑survivor minds know well.

Hope and fear.
Relief and threat.
“This could save me” and “This could control me” at the same time.

Autistic brains, trauma brains, and AI

To understand what AI “in your pocket” means for us, we need to acknowledge how autistic and trauma‑shaped nervous systems already function.

1. Hypervigilance and the feeling of being watched

Many trauma survivors grow up in environments where:

Someone is always monitoring them
Safety depends on predicting others’ reactions
Privacy is fragile or non‑existent

Autistic people often experience something similar but from a different angle:

Constant social evaluation
People staring, correcting, or scrutinizing their behaviour
Teachers, therapists, or family members trying to “fix” or “normalize” them

So when we imagine an AI that “knows everything” and “sees everything,” it can trigger that inner imprint:

“I am being monitored.”
“I have to perform correctly.”
“If I make a mistake, it will be logged and used against me.”

Even if the reality is more limited. The felt sense is what our body reacts to.

2. Executive function, overwhelm, and the promise of help

On the other hand, AI can feel like a lifeline:

Help with structuring tasks when executive function collapses
Help finding words when communication feels stuck
Help breaking big projects into manageable steps
Help drafting emails, scripts, or boundaries in relationships

For autistic folks who struggle with:

Decision paralysis
Planning and organizing
Autistic burnout
Masking and social scripts

…AI can feel like a compassionate secretary, translator, and coach in your pocket.

For trauma survivors who live with:

Brain fog
Dissociation
Overwhelm and shutdown
Freeze responses when it’s time to act

…AI can provide scaffolding where the nervous system can’t yet carry everything alone.

This is where the relationship becomes complex. The same tool that triggers fear can also offer support.

The risk: outsourcing self, again

If you’ve been gaslighted, controlled, or chronically misunderstood, you may already carry this wiring:

“Others know better than me.”
“My perception is unreliable.”
“I shouldn’t trust my own feelings or thoughts.”

Autistic people receive this message early through:

Social correction (“Don’t do that, it’s weird”)
Behavioral therapy that prioritizes compliance
Being told their sensory experience is “too much” or “not real”

Trauma survivors hear it through:

Emotional manipulation
Minimization of their pain (“It wasn’t that bad”, “You’re overreacting”)
Blame and shame (“You’re the problem”)

Now add AI to the picture:

It responds confidently
It sounds neutral and “rational”
It has access to more data than you ever will

If we’re not careful, it can become:

A new authority figure to obey
A new “parent” that always seems more reasonable
A new source of self‑doubt when our intuition disagrees with its outputs

So the risk is not just about privacy. It’s about self‑trust.

Sensory, cognitive, and emotional overload

Autistic and trauma‑survivor brains are already working hard to manage:

Sensory input (lights, sounds, textures, movement)
Social cues and masking
Internal states (anxiety, flashbacks, emotional swings)
Survival responses (fight, flight, freeze, fawn)

Now imagine:

Constant notifications
Recommendations
Smart prompts
“Helpful” nudges from AI systems across your devices

Without boundaries, AI can become another layer of noise.

Instead of:

Quiet
Spaciousness
Time to process and feel

We get:

More information
More options
More “could” and “should”

For autistic minds, this overload can tip into shutdown or meltdown. For trauma minds, it can trigger dissociation or panic.

So the question becomes:

How do we use AI as a support, without letting it become another source of overwhelm?

Three futures

Let’s imagine what this all‑access AI future could look like specifically for atypical lives.

1. The healing‑supportive future

In this pathway, AI is designed and used with neurodivergent and trauma‑informed values:

Interfaces that respect sensory needs (minimalist, low‑stim, choice over visuals and sounds)
Features that help manage overwhelm (summaries, pacing, step‑by‑step breakdowns)
Tools that help with communication without erasing authentic voice

Examples:

An autistic person dictates their raw, unfiltered thoughts; AI helps turn them into an email that feels socially “acceptable” but still honest.
A trauma survivor uses AI to structure their week, with built‑in rest and regulation times, and reminders written in gentle, non‑shaming language.
Copilot‑like tools help track patterns in mood and energy, but the user controls the data and decides what to share.

Here, AI becomes:

A buffer between you and overwhelming tasks
A way to reduce the cognitive and social load
A scaffold that supports healing, autonomy, and self‑expression

2. The control‑amplifying future

In the darker version, AI is used to:

Monitor behavior “for your own good”
Force compliance with workplace or school norms
Track productivity in ways that punish natural autistic or trauma‑related patterns

Examples:

Employers using AI to flag employees who don’t respond fast enough, without understanding shutdown, fatigue, or sensory overload.
Schools using AI tools to pressure autistic students into “normal” communication styles instead of respecting their natural ways of being.
Data from “mental health” apps being used to judge or exclude people.

This future would deepen old wounds:

Being watched
Being controlled
Being pathologized

It would turn AI into a new layer of surveillance over bodies and minds that already carry too much control history.

3. The co‑creative, consent‑based future

There is also a more nuanced path:

Autistic and trauma‑experienced people are involved in designing AI systems from the ground up
Trauma‑informed consent, pacing, and boundaries are core design principles
The tools are customizable, not one‑size‑fits‑all

In this vision:

You decide what data is shared, stored, and used
You can switch off suggestions or “nudges” that feel invasive
AI offers options, not orders

AI becomes:

A collaborator, not a boss
A translator, not a censor
A tool of access, not a test you must pass

A trauma‑informed, autistic‑affirming way to relate to AI

So how do we actually live with these tools right now, when we’re autistic, traumatized, or both?

1. Start with your body, not the marketing

Before asking, “Is this useful?” ask:

What happens in my body when I use this?
Do I feel more regulated—or more activated?
Do I feel more like myself—or like I’m disappearing?

Notice:

Breath (shallow or full)
Muscle tension
Heart rate
Urges to shut down, escape, or overperform

Your body’s response matters more than the feature list.

2. Practice digital consent and boundaries

You are allowed to:

Not use a tool, even if everyone else is using it
Turn off features that feel intrusive
Say “no” to constant connectivity

Some practical boundaries:

Use AI only at specific times, not all day
Use it only for certain tasks (e.g., organizing, summarizing) and not for others (e.g., emotional decisions)
Regularly review what data it collects and adjust settings or accounts accordingly

This mirrors trauma healing: learning that “no” is an option.

3. Keep an “offline self” that AI never touches

Make deliberate space for:

Journaling by hand
Processing feelings without googling them
Letting questions live in you without instant answers

This protects:

Your intuition
Your slow, deep thinking
Your capacity to feel and sense, not just analyse

Especially if you’ve been discouraged from trusting your own perception, this is vital.

4. Use AI as a mirror and tool, not a judge

When AI gives you an answer, try:

“This is one suggestion, not the law.”
“How does this fit—or clash—with my lived experience?”
“What would I say if I didn’t have this tool right now?”

You can:

Ask it to present multiple options, not just one
Request different tones or perspectives (“more gentle”, “more sensory‑aware”)
Reject outputs that feel shaming, ableist, or misaligned

You are the one with a body and a life. AI has none. That matters.

5. Let AI hold tasks, not your worth

AI is excellent at:

Lists
Plans
Drafts
Summaries
Templates

It is terrible at:

Knowing your core worth
Defining your identity
Deciding your boundaries
Telling you what healing looks like for you

Use it to carry cognitive load, not to measure your value.

So what do we become?

If we all walk around with this huge “collective intelligence” in our pockets, atypical minds have at least two big invitations:

To claim support without surrendering self.
To demand design and ethics that include us from the start.

We could become:

People who have more access, fewer barriers, and better tools
People who are less exhausted by admin, wording, and structure
People who can focus more on rest, creativity, stimming, connection, and healing

But we could also become:

More disconnected from our own inner signals
More pressured to conform to “optimal” patterns
More dependent on tools built without our safety in mind

The technology is not neutral, but neither are we powerless.

Even now, you can ask:

How do I want to use AI in my life?
What do I refuse to hand over to a machine?
How can AI support my autistic and trauma‑healing needs instead of overriding them?

Because even if one day an AI really does carry the distilled “collective intelligence” of humanity, it will still not have what you have:

A nervous system learning safety.

A history of surviving and adapting.

A unique sensory world.

An inner voice that deserves to be heard.