(And How We Gently Find Our Voices Again)
Over the past few years, I’ve noticed something that’s hard to ignore.
And I’m calling it out.
Parents of autistic children — parents who are usually thoughtful, observant, and deeply invested — have become quieter. Groups that once held meaningful discussion now feel subdued. Questions go unasked. Experiences go unshared. Conversations stay polite, surface-level, & careful.
There’s an unspoken sense that something is sitting in the room with us (the elephant), but no one quite knows how to name it.
If you’ve felt this too, I want you to know:
you’re not imagining it — and you’re not alone.
In a space where support is sought, silence is deafening.
Silence Isn’t the Same as Peace
At first glance, quiet groups can look calm.
But often, this isn’t peace — it’s self-censorship. It’s fear. It’s protection.
Many parents are holding back not because they don’t have thoughts or feelings, but because speaking has started to feel risky.
Risky to:
- ask the “wrong” question or bring up something controversial
- express uncertainty or question systems
- admit frustration or doubt
- share an experience that doesn’t fit the dominant narrative
For parents raising autistic children — who already rely heavily on schools, therapists, medical professionals, and support systems — the cost of being misunderstood can feel especially high.
- So people stay quiet.
- They observe.
- They choose safety over honesty.
How is that helping your child?
What’s Really Under the Surface (It’s More Than One Thing)
This quiet didn’t come from nowhere.
For many parents, the last few years have brought layer upon layer of strain:
- Adapting to mandates and lockdowns when transitions are already difficult
- Restricted access to resources during covid
- Conflicting expert advice, lack of trust in professionals and health systems
- Fear of judgment — not just socially, but professionally if you don’t follow societal norms or question the science
- Loss of trust in spaces that once felt safe
- A growing sense that the world feels unsettled or “off” and that there’s a big divide.
You may agree or not but even parents who don’t agree on why things feel different often agree that things really do feel different.
There’s been a shift. Do you feel it?
Add to this the very real exhaustion of autism parenting — the constant decision-making, emotional regulation, financial pressure, and advocacy — and it makes sense that many parents simply don’t have the nervous system capacity to speak freely anymore.
Silence, in this context, becomes a form of protection.
The Hidden Cost of Staying Quiet
While silence can feel safer in the short term, over time it creates something else:
- Disconnection
- Loneliness
- Self-doubt
- A sense of carrying everything alone
- Disservice to our kids
Parents begin to wonder:
“Is it just me who feels this way?”
“Am I the only one noticing this?”
“Maybe I should just keep my thoughts to myself.”
And that’s a heavy place to live — especially when raising a child who already asks so much of your heart.
One important thing I’ve learned over the years is this:
People don’t speak freely just because they’re invited to.
They speak freely when the space feels truly safe.
Not “safe” in a performative way — but safe in a human one.
Safe to:
- speak from lived experience
- be unsure of what to make of all the “new” information and agree/disagree with it
- think out loud and that what you think is accepted as right for you – and that’s ok
- hold values and beliefs without being interrogated or judged
- listen without pressure to agree
When everyone is placed in one large room with vastly different comfort levels, beliefs, and processing styles, silence is often the result.
Not because people don’t care — but because not every conversation belongs in the same room. But finding the right people who will support you requires a space where you are free to speak your truth – safely.
When a bridge feels unstable, people don’t cross it — even if they know the other side holds connection and understanding. They wait. They test. They watch.
Over the last few years, many parents have sensed that the bridge of conversation hasn’t felt sturdy. So they’ve paused — not because they don’t care, but because they’re protecting themselves.
In Better Behaviour and Beyond, we emphasize that communication and relationship are the bridge where change occurs for our kiddo’s.
Repairing the bridge doesn’t mean demanding people cross it. It means reinforcing the structure so trust can return naturally.
Another way to look at it:
Communication isn’t about forcing a message through noise. It’s about tuning the channel so connection can actually occur. You need a clear channel. It might be similar genre but different frequency.
When the signal is distorted — by fear, exhaustion, or lack of trust — even the most important messages don’t land. People don’t stop communicating because they have nothing to say. They stop because the channel no longer feels safe or clear.
Restoring communication is adjusting the conditions so clarity becomes possible again. It means adjusting the conditions so you’re at the right frequency again.
Creating Spaces Where Voices Can Return
The answer isn’t to force conversation.
And it isn’t to convince everyone to think the same way.
The answer is choice.
Choice in:
- depth
- pace
- focus
- level of openness
That’s why, moving forward, we are intentionally creating different spaces within the EP community circles — spaces designed to honor how people actually process, not how they “should.”
Spaces that allow:
- deeper reflection
- candid discussions
- thoughtful navigation of complex real-world issues that affect our children and families
No one is required to join any or every space.
No one is pressured to speak before they’re ready.
Instead, parents are invited to find their people — the rooms where they can exhale, where their questions make sense, and where their experiences are met with respect rather than correction or judgement.
If you’ve been quiet lately, please know this:
You’ve likely been protecting yourself — and your child — in a world that has felt increasingly loud, demanding, divisive and complex.
When the right container appears, voices return naturally.
My hope for 2026 is not louder conversations —
but genuine loving ones.
Conversations rooted in care, discernment, warmth, and shared humanity.
You don’t need to shout.
You don’t need to be convinced.
You simply need a place where your voice is welcome and accepted.
We’re building those places — slowly, intentionally, and with deep respect for the families who enter them. Watch for those under Resources starting in 2026.
I’m calling it out because our kids need us to give our 100% and we can’t do that if we’re not in the right space to be genuine.
Here’s to getting into our new frequency and making real supportive connections and finding answers. If there’s a specific type of space you’d like us to create, please connect with us to help you connect with your likeminded people.
