Ten years ago, I left my son’s 12-month check-up after hearing the words “autism spectrum disorder” for the first time. We were in shock. To us, he was perfect. After this diagnosis, our early days as parents were filled with grief, denial, and searches for information, therapies and cures.
But as we learned more about autism — and the lack of accessible support — I stopped asking: How can I make my child fit the world? And started asking: How can we help make the world fit all of our children?
This year, he started 6th grade. He’s non-speaking and uses an AAC device to communicate. He works so hard to build social and emotional regulation skills. As parents, we’ve had to confront ableism, seek support and services, educate family and friends, fight for inclusion in education, and spend countless hours navigating insurance and systems. When we had a second child, they were diagnosed with autism, too. Later, well into my thirties, I was also diagnosed.
We all have different needs. And we all thrive with inclusion and support. We have turned our home into a neurodivergent sanctuary of sorts. There is a small trampoline, hard floors, and sensory joys in every room.
But we have all had a hill to climb in the last ten years. In one of our early holidays together, my son became fixated on pulling down the tree and broke nearly every ornament we had. After the kids went to bed, I joined my first autism support group only to find tree after tree, felled on Facebook.
Support networks are a lifeline, but I have also seen threads of despair and resentment grow in the space where real resources are lacking. That desperation scares me — and I already know how easily it can be exploited, as it has been before, with devastating consequences.
We deserve hope and support for our futures. Instead, we’re getting a revival of stigma and superstitions about people with autism, their caregivers, and one of the only pain medications available for pregnant people to take safely.
The Trump Administration is making life harder for autistic people and families
While claiming to “search for a cure,” the Trump administration is dismantling the very supports our families rely on. First, they cut funds for research. The NIH slashed autism research by 26%, especially projects tied to diversity and inclusion.
That means fewer studies will include women and girls, people of color, and adults — groups who already face barriers to diagnosis and support. Research cuts will hurt the most vulnerable autistic people first, especially Black, brown, rural, and low-income families, and will hinder efforts to understand autism across different demographics.
Meanwhile, the administration is fueling dangerous myths. Trump called autism a “horror show,” while Health Secretary RFK, Jr. labeled it a “disease” that is “destroying families” and even proposed a national autism registry. These claims recycle debunked theories blaming vaccines, acetaminophen, or parenting — anything other than focus on the lack of support our families need.
Autism isn’t a disease to cure, it’s a developmental difference. By pushing pseudoscience and dehumanizing language, the administration shifts attention away from what actually helps: evidence-based supports, accommodations, and quality of life improvements.
They’re doing just the opposite by cutting funding for special education programs. For example, the administration has gutted the Department of Education’s ability to enforce disability rights, slashing staff in the Office of Special Education Programs and the Office for Civil Rights. Over 25 IDEA programs have already been eliminated, weakening state education departments and university training pipelines for special education teachers.
On top of that, Trump plans to move special education out of the Department of Education and into HHS under RFK, Jr. — a shift that risks reframing disability as a medical problem to be “fixed,” rather than an inclusion issue in schools.
And to make matters worse, they’re dismantling Medicaid. Trump’s “One Big Beautiful Bill” made the deepest cuts to Medicaid in history, gutting a program that autistic people and families depend on for therapies, in-home supports, assistive tech, and diagnostics. They’ve gone so far as to shut down the government rather than fund our healthcare.
With less federal funding, states are slashing benefits, tightening eligibility, and even cutting school-based services like speech, occupational, and mental health therapy that our individualized education plans (IEPs) are supposed to guarantee. Families are already feeling the fallout, and caregivers fear what these cuts mean for our future.
The danger goes beyond stigma and financial strain
Autism is still largely misunderstood as a disorder and that lack of understanding makes autistic people vulnerable to violence and stigmatization.
Knowing history helps us avoid repeating it. In just two years, Nazi Germany’s Aktion T4 program killed more than 70,000 disabled children and adults, after years of forced sterilizations that affected at least 300,000 people. Doctors, nurses, and midwives were required to report disabled children, who were sent to psychiatric wards under the pretense of “treatment” and then killed by starvation, poisoning, or neglect. Parents were later told they had died of illnesses like pneumonia.
This atrocity is extreme, but not isolated. Disabled people worldwide, including in the U.S., have been subjected to sterilization, lobotomies, abuse, and neglect in institutions.
Today, autistic people still face far higher rates of violence, abuse, and exploitation than their peers. That’s why it’s alarming to hear the Trump administration echo these patterns with talk of “eliminating autism,” reviving institutionalization, and cutting essential supports.
Instead of treating our children as problems to be solved, we need disability justice — a commitment to inclusion and equity, and a recognition that barriers come from society, not from autistic people.
What our families actually need
Autistic people deserve to live, to be loved, and to be included — not erased or “solved.” Our families don’t need a cure. We don’t need to “eliminate autism,” and we certainly don’t need more shame. What our families need is support.
As a parent, I know the desperation that comes when you’re expected to both work and care while systems give you so little to lean on. That longing is real. That’s why you might see some parents of children with autism clinging to scapegoats like vaccines or acetaminophen. It’s worth remembering that full inclusion of disabled children in schools is a practice younger than my own mother.
But there is another way through when we lean into our power and demand a livable future for our families.
Our families need Medicaid to fund therapies and to provide healthcare as our children grow older, respite care to give overwhelmed caregivers a break, and insurance coverage that includes the full range of therapies for children, parents, and autistic adults.
We need guaranteed income and SSI to break the link between autism and poverty. Our children deserve qualified teachers, healthcare providers and paraprofessionals. We need IDEA and special education fully funded so our schools can include every child, while also supporting teachers and families.
The good news is, you can help us win.
First, understand that autism is not a disease, but a developmental difference. Second, reject dehumanizing language and false “solutions” that sound more like control than care. And third, advocate by urging your representatives to restore IDEA, Medicaid, and research funding; by showing up at school boards and town halls to demand inclusion; and by mobilizing your own communities, online and in person.
Finally, remember: disability is a marginalized identity any of us can join at any time. The diversity of different ways of thinking, living, and being give society its strength. This is not just our fight as autistic families, it’s everyone’s fight. When people have what they need to thrive, we are all better for it.