The intersection between child welfare involvement and autism is rarely discussed, yet deeply important. Families like mine, who live at this crossroads, often experience systems that misunderstand us, mislabel us, and misinterpret our realities. Being an autistic parent raising autistic children while navigating Child Protective Services (CPS) has taught me firsthand how much work still needs to be done to educate professionals, dismantle biases, and create a system that truly supports families instead of tearing them apart.
Intersectionality means recognizing how overlapping identities—such as race, disability, gender, and class—shape people’s experiences within systems of power. For me, being a Black autistic mother raising Black autistic children has created a unique set of challenges when dealing with CPS. Each identity carries stereotypes, and when those stereotypes combine, they often lead to increased surveillance, harsher judgments, and fewer supports. This is the reality that many neurodivergent families of color live through, though it is rarely acknowledged.
One of the most difficult aspects of child welfare is how autism is misunderstood. Too often, professionals are not trained to recognize what autism looks like in children of color or in adults. For example, my children’s sensory meltdowns or difficulty with transitions may be seen as “bad behavior” instead of what they really are: a communication of distress and a need for support. My own differences in communication, body language, or emotional expression as an autistic mother can also be misinterpreted as uncooperative, unfit, or disengaged. Instead of being asked, “What supports would help you and your children thrive?” the assumption becomes, “You are not doing enough.”
Documentation becomes another trap. When I honestly write about struggles in visitations, hoping to show my commitment to transparency and growth, those words are sometimes twisted into evidence that I cannot manage my children. Honesty is framed as negativity. Struggles are framed as failures. Yet no parenting handbook exists—there is no perfect parent, and there are no perfect children. Parenting autistic children requires patience, structure, flexibility, and community support. It also requires grace, something CPS rarely extends to parents who already sit at the intersection of disability and racial bias.
To educate readers, it is important to emphasize that neurodivergent families need to be seen in context, not comparison. Comparing an autistic child’s behaviors to those of a neurotypical child is unfair and harmful. Comparing an autistic parent’s communication style to an assumed “ideal” neurotypical parent is also unjust. Instead, professionals and community members must learn to meet families where they are and view challenges through a trauma-informed and neurodivergent-affirming lens.
So how can systems and individuals do better? First, education and training are essential. CPS workers, guardians ad litem, foster parents, and service providers need consistent training on autism and intersectionality. They must learn how autism presents differently across cultures, genders, and ages, and how to separate trauma responses from disability traits. For example, a Black autistic boy who shuts down in class may not be “defiant”—he may be overwhelmed by sensory input and trauma. A Black autistic mother who takes longer to process information is not “lying” or “unfit”—she may need time to regulate before responding.
Second, professionals must shift from judgment to collaboration. Instead of writing reports that only highlight negatives, there must be equal focus on progress, strengths, and resilience. Families like mine are resilient not because the system saved us, but because we learned how to survive it. We need caseworkers and guardians to see us as partners, not problems.
Third, language matters. Professionals must be mindful of how they speak to and about neurodivergent families. Asking questions with curiosity instead of accusation, offering resources instead of ultimatums, and recognizing cultural strengths can change the dynamic completely. For example, instead of saying, “You don’t discipline your children enough,” a better approach is, “What calming strategies work best for your children, and how can we support those at school or visits?” That small shift turns blame into support.
Finally, accountability must exist within child welfare. Too many families have been fractured due to misunderstandings, biases, and failures to provide appropriate accommodations. CPS must be held accountable to the laws that already exist under the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) and ensure that autistic parents and children receive accommodations and supports. My family’s story should not have to repeat itself for others.
At the heart of intersectionality between child welfare and autism is a simple truth: families are human. We are not case numbers, not stereotypes, and not deficits. We are people doing our best in a world that often misunderstands us. For me, being autistic does not make me a bad mother. It makes me a mother who loves differently, thinks differently, and parents differently—and that difference should be valued, not punished. My children are not broken, misbehaved, or too much. They are autistic boys full of energy, love, and potential.
To anyone reading this essay who works in child welfare, I ask you to pause before judgment. Ask questions with compassion. See families with nuance. And most of all, extend grace. Parenting is hard for everyone, but parenting while autistic, Black, and under CPS involvement comes with an extra weight. That weight does not need to be made heavier by the very systems that claim to help.
My lived expertise is not just a testimony of pain—it is also a testimony of resilience. Families like mine can thrive when given respect, support, and understanding. Intersectionality shows us that child welfare must evolve to meet the needs of diverse families, not force families into narrow molds. The future can be different if we choose to listen, learn, and act with empathy.
Dedicated Mother
The intersection between child welfare involvement and autism is rarely discussed, yet deeply important. Families like mine, who live at this crossroads, often experience systems that misunderstand us, mislabel us, and misinterpret our realities. Being an autistic parent raising autistic children while navigating Child Protective Services (CPS) has taught me firsthand how much work still needs to be done to educate professionals, dismantle biases, and create a system that truly supports families instead of tearing them apart.
Intersectionality means recognizing how overlapping identities—such as race, disability, gender, and class—shape people’s experiences within systems of power. For me, being a Black autistic mother raising Black autistic children has created a unique set of challenges when dealing with CPS. Each identity carries stereotypes, and when those stereotypes combine, they often lead to increased surveillance, harsher judgments, and fewer supports. This is the reality that many neurodivergent families of color live through, though it is rarely acknowledged.
One of the most difficult aspects of child welfare is how autism is misunderstood. Too often, professionals are not trained to recognize what autism looks like in children of color or in adults. For example, my children’s sensory meltdowns or difficulty with transitions may be seen as “bad behavior” instead of what they really are: a communication of distress and a need for support. My own differences in communication, body language, or emotional expression as an autistic mother can also be misinterpreted as uncooperative, unfit, or disengaged. Instead of being asked, “What supports would help you and your children thrive?” the assumption becomes, “You are not doing enough.”
Documentation becomes another trap. When I honestly write about struggles in visitations, hoping to show my commitment to transparency and growth, those words are sometimes twisted into evidence that I cannot manage my children. Honesty is framed as negativity. Struggles are framed as failures. Yet no parenting handbook exists—there is no perfect parent, and there are no perfect children. Parenting autistic children requires patience, structure, flexibility, and community support. It also requires grace, something CPS rarely extends to parents who already sit at the intersection of disability and racial bias.
To educate readers, it is important to emphasize that neurodivergent families need to be seen in context, not comparison. Comparing an autistic child’s behaviors to those of a neurotypical child is unfair and harmful. Comparing an autistic parent’s communication style to an assumed “ideal” neurotypical parent is also unjust. Instead, professionals and community members must learn to meet families where they are and view challenges through a trauma-informed and neurodivergent-affirming lens.
So how can systems and individuals do better? First, education and training are essential. CPS workers, guardians ad litem, foster parents, and service providers need consistent training on autism and intersectionality. They must learn how autism presents differently across cultures, genders, and ages, and how to separate trauma responses from disability traits. For example, a Black autistic boy who shuts down in class may not be “defiant”—he may be overwhelmed by sensory input and trauma. A Black autistic mother who takes longer to process information is not “lying” or “unfit”—she may need time to regulate before responding.
Second, professionals must shift from judgment to collaboration. Instead of writing reports that only highlight negatives, there must be equal focus on progress, strengths, and resilience. Families like mine are resilient not because the system saved us, but because we learned how to survive it. We need caseworkers and guardians to see us as partners, not problems.
Third, language matters. Professionals must be mindful of how they speak to and about neurodivergent families. Asking questions with curiosity instead of accusation, offering resources instead of ultimatums, and recognizing cultural strengths can change the dynamic completely. For example, instead of saying, “You don’t discipline your children enough,” a better approach is, “What calming strategies work best for your children, and how can we support those at school or visits?” That small shift turns blame into support.
Finally, accountability must exist within child welfare. Too many families have been fractured due to misunderstandings, biases, and failures to provide appropriate accommodations. CPS must be held accountable to the laws that already exist under the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) and ensure that autistic parents and children receive accommodations and supports. My family’s story should not have to repeat itself for others.
At the heart of intersectionality between child welfare and autism is a simple truth: families are human. We are not case numbers, not stereotypes, and not deficits. We are people doing our best in a world that often misunderstands us. For me, being autistic does not make me a bad mother. It makes me a mother who loves differently, thinks differently, and parents differently—and that difference should be valued, not punished. My children are not broken, misbehaved, or too much. They are autistic boys full of energy, love, and potential.
To anyone reading this essay who works in child welfare, I ask you to pause before judgment. Ask questions with compassion. See families with nuance. And most of all, extend grace. Parenting is hard for everyone, but parenting while autistic, Black, and under CPS involvement comes with an extra weight. That weight does not need to be made heavier by the very systems that claim to help.
My lived expertise is not just a testimony of pain—it is also a testimony of resilience. Families like mine can thrive when given respect, support, and understanding. Intersectionality shows us that child welfare must evolve to meet the needs of diverse families, not force families into narrow molds. The future can be different if we choose to listen, learn, and act with empathy.
1 month ago | [YT] | 0