From Deficit to Dignity: Questioning the Foundations of 'Autism Guidance'
Autism Parenting Magazine is a well-known publication amongst a certain subset of parents—often the so-called “autism moms”—who are seeking guidance on supporting their autistic children. It regularly positions itself as an authoritative voice, offering supposedly expert tips and strategies. However, its approach consistently falls into the same narrow pattern: centring the parent’s perspective and framing autism itself as a deficit in need of fixing. The recent article on “emotional dysregulation” is a prime example, presenting what it calls “problematic behaviour” as an intrinsic flaw of the autistic child, one that must be mitigated or controlled. Rather than viewing intense emotional responses as natural and understandable reactions to overwhelming conditions—sensory overload, confusing social expectations, and a lack of meaningful communication support—the piece treats them as if they spring from nowhere, disconnected from the environment and the power imbalances shaping the child’s world.
By focusing solely on changing the child rather than the conditions in which they live, the article reinforces the idea that autism itself is the problem. This approach conveniently ignores the broader framework of disability, one in which social barriers, lack of accommodations, and ongoing prejudice contribute to autistic distress. It overlooks the fact that parents and professionals hold power and that their actions, attitudes, and decisions profoundly affect how an autistic child experiences their surroundings. Instead of acknowledging the complex interplay between the child, their environment, and the demands placed upon them, Autism Parenting Magazine persists in depicting autism as a pathology. It leaves readers with only one conclusion: that the solution lies in “managing” autistic ways of being, rather than addressing the systems and norms that continue to oppress autistic people.
Pathologising Language and Framing
A striking element of the article, and indeed many pieces featured in Autism Parenting Magazine, is its consistent reliance on pathologising language. The term “dysregulation” is just one example, implying that the autistic child’s emotional responses are inherently malfunctioning rather than understandable reactions to adversity. Such wording is rooted in the medical model of disability, which treats autism as a disorder lodged within the individual, rather than a valid neurotype shaped and impacted by social and environmental conditions. This perspective is further reinforced by the publication’s preference for person-first language—a linguistic choice that, whilst often intended to be respectful, subtly reinforces the notion that there is a “normal” person hidden behind the “problematic” autism.
Within this framework, the focus inevitably shifts to controlling, fixing, and managing the autistic child’s behaviour instead of seeking to understand their experiences. In the worldview promoted by the magazine and embraced by many of its readers, there seems to be little room for the authentic existence of the autistic neurotype itself. Instead, the emphasis is on shaping the child or young adult to fit preordained norms. By framing the issue in this way, the publication not only ignores the crucial role that environment, culture, and relationships play in shaping behaviour and wellbeing, but also reinforces the harmful assumption that the core “problem” lies within the autistic person themselves. In this narrative, autism becomes a malfunction, a deviation to be corrected, rather than a legitimate form of human diversity worthy of respect and accommodation.
The Social Model of Disability and the Power Threat Meaning Framework
In considering the behaviours that Autism Parenting Magazine so readily dismisses as “dysregulation,” it is crucial to approach them through more nuanced, socially informed lenses. The Social Model of Disability is one such perspective, positing that disability arises not solely from an individual’s body or mind, but from the interaction between that individual and a society that refuses to accommodate their differences. Within this understanding, what is often labelled as “problematic behaviour” can be reinterpreted as a reasonable response to sensory overload, confusion caused by unclear communication, or the stress of navigating environments that do not meet an autistic person’s needs.
Yet, beyond the Social Model lies the Power Threat Meaning Framework (PTMF), which delves deeper into how distress is not simply a personal failing or a symptom of individual pathology. Instead, the PTMF asks us to consider the structures of power that shape a person’s life, the threats and demands they face, and the meanings they derive from their experiences. When autistic individuals experience what is pejoratively called “dysregulation,” it may well be a perfectly logical response to feeling threatened, misunderstood, or coerced by those who hold more power—parents, professionals, or educational authorities—and by environments that disregard their sensory and communicative preferences.
This contrasts starkly with the narrative presented by Autism Parenting Magazine, which hinges on the assumption that autism itself is inherently flawed. Within their framework, “dysregulation” exists purely as a personal deficit to be corrected, never as an understandable reaction to systemic injustices, social exclusion, or relentless demands for compliance. By locating the “problem” wholly within the autistic individual, the magazine fails to acknowledge that what it deems “challenging” behaviour may in fact be a response to a deeply challenging world. In doing so, it dismisses the powerful role that context, meaning, and embedded structures of power play in shaping an individual’s actions. Where the Social Model and the PTMF advocate for understanding distress in relation to a broader context, Autism Parenting Magazine remains confined to a narrow, individualised perspective that pathologises autistic traits and leaves no room for authentic acceptance or systemic change.
Erasure of Autistic Perspectives
One of the most striking omissions in the article—and indeed in much of the magazine’s coverage—is the absence of autistic voices. It is not as if autistic adults who can share their expertise, lived experience, and informed perspectives are in short supply. There are countless autistic self-advocates who have spent years articulating their experiences, developing supportive strategies, and championing the rights and needs of younger generations. Yet none of these voices are given space or recognition. The implicit message is that autistic adults are irrelevant to discussions about autistic children’s wellbeing, a stance that stifles valuable insights and perpetuates harmful stereotypes.
Instead, the publication aligns itself with a parent-centric narrative that casts parents—particularly the archetypal “autism mom”—as heroes engaged in a lonely battle against an uncooperative child’s behaviour. Within this narrative, the child’s feelings, no matter how intense or distressed, must be managed, controlled, or minimised, rather than understood, accommodated, or empathised with. The unspoken belief is that autism has cheated these parents out of the “proper” parenting experience they imagined for themselves, as if their child’s unique neurotype is an unwelcome detour from a once-cherished dream of a “normal” family life.
By ignoring autistic insights and focusing solely on the parent’s point of view, the publication reinforces entrenched power imbalances. It encourages readers to believe that a “cure” or a “fix” is possible if only they persist, thereby feeding the illusion that they can reclaim the normative parenting journey they feel autism has stolen. This approach is as cruel as it is counterproductive, silencing those who could meaningfully contribute to a more compassionate understanding of autistic experience. In clinging to the myth that there is a “normal” child trapped inside, waiting to be rescued, the magazine entrenches harmful attitudes and denies readers the far richer, more constructive guidance that autistic advocates could provide.
Failing to Address the Environment and Relationships
In reading the article, what stands out almost as much as its lack of autistic perspectives is the complete disregard for the environments in which autistic individuals find themselves. Distress does not emerge in a vacuum. Sensory overload—too-bright lighting, overwhelming noise levels, unpleasant textures, and overpowering smells—can push any autistic person towards the brink of meltdown. Similarly, when communication is one-sided or confusing, when our preferences and agency are persistently overlooked, or when the attitudes around us bristle with ableism, what the article labels “dysregulation” is often a logical reaction to intolerable circumstances. By failing to acknowledge these pressing factors, the piece reduces distress to a personal failing rather than a response to adversity.
This is a significant omission, because without recognising how severely environmental and relational aspects shape our experiences, parents are encouraged to locate the problem within the autistic person alone. The message to parents is that if they can just “manage” their child’s behaviour, all will be well. It conveniently sidesteps the inconvenient truth that no amount of behavioural management can compensate for a refusal to meet basic human needs. If a child is constantly overwhelmed because their sensory environment is chaotic, or if they are never consulted about their own preferences and boundaries, who truly bears responsibility for the ensuing distress?
In my own experience, managing dysregulation or overload only really became possible when I gained a certain level of autonomy and economic stability as an adult. Once I had the ability to choose my living conditions, ensure proper accommodations, and set clear boundaries with the people around me, my so-called “dysregulation” dramatically decreased (though it’s never quite gone away). This was not because I had found a way to rid myself of my “autistic traits,” but because I was finally able to craft an environment in which those “traits” could flourish rather than flounder.
The article, however, refuses to concede that environmental and relational contexts are integral. Instead, it keeps readers fixated on “fixing” the autistic individual, as though that were the only possible avenue for relief. By ignoring the interplay between person, environment, and power dynamics, the publication encourages a shortsighted, parent-centric logic that cannot lead to any genuine or sustainable improvement in autistic wellbeing. It perpetuates the harmful myth that autism itself is the root of all struggle, rather than acknowledging that unmet needs and barriers to understanding lie at the heart of so much distress.
Missed Opportunities for True Support
Where the article could have fostered genuine understanding and offered practical help, it instead shores up the same old narrative of fixing the autistic child rather than changing the world around them. True support begins with acknowledging that autistic individuals often thrive when their environments are adjusted to meet their sensory and communication needs, and when adults engage in co-regulation rather than expecting the young person to manage distress entirely on their own. Empathy-based strategies—such as those discussed in my own book, No Place for Autism?—shift the focus from control and compliance to understanding, validation, and building trust.
There is no shortage of resources from autistic writers, educators, and professionals who have developed constructive, inclusive methods grounded in lived experience. By engaging with the works of autistic authors, parents and practitioners can learn how to create spaces where non-verbal communication is respected, sensory supports are readily available, and an individual’s autonomy and preferences are central considerations. Such guidance can also be found in the growing body of research and literature that embrace neurodiversity and the social model of disability, acknowledging that it is not the autistic person who needs to be “fixed” but the systems and attitudes around them.
In embracing these perspectives, parents have the opportunity to genuinely support their children and foster lasting well-being, rather than chasing after elusive “solutions” that do nothing to address the true sources of distress. The tragedy is that Autism Parenting Magazine fails to point readers towards these richer, more compassionate approaches, missing a vital chance to promote meaningful change.
Argumentum ad Verecundiam
One notable aspect of the article is its strategic use of references at the end, seemingly added to bolster credibility and convey the impression of a “research-based” stance. However, a closer look at these sources reveals that they are neither directly relevant to the notion of autism as a valid and natural neurotype, nor do they meaningfully engage with the core ideas of neurodiversity. Instead, most reflect older, more traditional frameworks focused on remediation, management, and early intervention for “challenging” behaviours.
For instance, works like Bailey & Wolery (1992) and Baumgart, Jeanne, & Helmstetter (1990) revolve around education and communication approaches for those labelled as having “moderate” or “severe” disabilities, centring on strategies to mitigate perceived deficits rather than celebrating neurodivergent traits. Emerson et al. (1987) and Gresham (1985) come from an era that conceived disabilities almost exclusively as individual pathologies needing correction. Koegel, Koegel, & Dunlap (1996), whilst promoting “positive behavioural support and inclusion,” remain largely steeped in the notion that certain behaviours must be modified to better fit normative standards, rather than interrogating why those standards are so inflexible.
Even the more recent references, such as Bhargava (2023a, 2023b), which may address emotional regulation and self-management, are not explicitly framed through the lens of neurodiversity. Without this essential reframing, their relevance to viewing autism as a normal variation in human neurology is limited. Similarly, Stremel et al. (2002) focuses on communication strategies for children who are deaf-blind, a context which, while valuable, does not address autism’s unique cultural and societal dimensions - nor is it relevant to an article about autism.
In short, these references function more as an appeal to authority than as substantive engagement with progressive or autistic-led scholarship. They serve to give the appearance of thoroughness and evidence-based guidance, whilst ultimately reinforcing the same medicalised, deficit-focused assumptions the article itself embodies. For readers genuinely interested in a more current, respectful, and nuanced understanding of autism, these references offer little insight. Instead, they underscore how the publication is more concerned with seeming authoritative than with genuinely reflecting the richness and validity of autistic experience.
Final thoughts …
Receiving articles like this one from my employer is not just disheartening, it’s deeply personal. As a special education teacher who is also autistic, these pieces do far more than inform my professional practice; they speak volumes about how those in power may perceive my very identity. When I open my inbox and see another “expert” take from Autism Parenting Magazine on how best to “manage” autistic behaviour, I am reminded that the systems overseeing my work often view autism as a flaw to correct rather than a valued facet of human diversity. The subtle (and not so subtle) messages contained within these resources reflect back on me, too. I can’t help but wonder: what meanings am I expected to derive from receiving such content? Am I to understand that this is how they see me—someone who needs handling and adjustment, rather than support and respect?
This is not merely an intellectual exercise. The sense of threat and disempowerment I feel when encountering these articles is real. It is the same feeling that propelled me to write my own books: No Place for Autism?, Holistic Language Instruction, and Decolonising Language Education. Through these works, I set out to challenge the very narratives that reduce autistic children—and autistic educators—to deficits and problems. The frameworks I advocate for emphasise understanding, co-regulation, social and linguistic justice, and the dismantling of colonial perspectives that confine us to an outdated, medicalised model of difference.
If we are ever to move beyond these limiting, top-down takes, we must reimagine what it means to educate, teach, and truly see each other. We must make space for empathy-based strategies, socially informed models, and a recognition that the power wielded over teachers and learners alike must be grounded in mutual respect and recognition of our shared humanity.