The inspiration for this post comes from:We need to talk about “support.”

Learning about Toxic Support

I read blogs, articles, forums, leaflets, and books. Lots of them. When I have something to contribute, I leave comments or join discussions. More often than not, I share my favorite reads through my different social media accounts and groups.

Today, I am writing about and sharing someone else’s post here [see link at the top and bottom of this post]. I do not know if the writer coined the phrase “toxic support” or if I have not come across it before. Either way, it resonated with me. I knew that I not only wanted to share the post, but I wanted to talk about it.

I am a member of many autism and neurodiversity groups and know exactly the type of conversation the writer talks about. The kind of conversation where a parent reaches out for support and receives understanding and empathy from other parents. Unfortunately, too often, these discussions reduce neurodivergent children (and adults) to little more than burdens while elevating parents and carers to levels of sainthood. It is not intentional, it is habitual.

I do not doubt that these parents are struggling or are in a tough place. Support is lacking, children are suffering, and it is exhausting to be lost in the chaos of fighting to be heard by councils, educators, and medical professionals. But, the conversations in these groups are not about our society, nor are they about the neverending fight for accommodations or therapies. Instead, parents talk about how the behaviors or struggles of a neurodivergent child are causing pain for the parents and carers.

These conversations are harmful. In a microaggressive, yet BIG way.

There is support for me but not my son

While my son waits for referrals and appointments I go to weekly workshops and have access to therapy. In my quest to find the right help for my son, I am sent to parent training workshops. Yes, I am grateful to have access to these resources, but it seems as though my son is the “backstory.” The social norm is to support parents first and neurodivergent children as little as possible. It is such a back-to-front system.

Why are my son’s needs considered secondary to mine? Why are his struggles an inconvenience but mine are considered worthy of time and money?  Every day, he has to struggle against a system, society, and culture that denies his needs and his capabilities. With the right support, my son would develop strategies and mechanisms to navigate his social communication challenges in a way that protects his emotional well-being. He would thrive.

Instead, he gets a diagnosis and I receive training about how to play. He continues to “cope” at school but, when he cannot, we are warned about his attendance rates. Somehow, the attendance statistics have more value than emotional health.*

It’s Time for Change

Do I sound like I am raging? I am. It is one thing to have a system that needs to change, it is another when parents and carers complain more about their children than the system that is failing us all.

Many years ago, while still in my ableist bubble, my cousin was telling me about her son’s struggles. I commented, “That must be so hard for you.” She replied, “It is harder for him.” Never have truer words been spoken. On that day, long before I became a parent, my eyes were opened.

When parents or carers transform autistic people into anecdotes about the hardships of knowing them, we reduce their value and minimize their worth. We place our needs above theirs and we reinforce a system that prioritizes parent workshops over actual support for our children. Our complaints about autism create and feed into a culture of toxic support. It is time for change.

My son is awesome. The system is not. To change the system we have to look at what is broken. Hint: it isn’t our kids.

*Attendance regulations are a government policy – I do not hold my son’s school responsible. The teachers have gone out of their way to support my son.

Read the original post here: We need to talk about “support.”