Recently, a speech by Robert F. Kennedy Jr. made the rounds on the internet.

He spoke about autism as something we can “cure” or “prevent.”

As a mother of two children on the autism spectrum, I listened to those words…

and my

heart

sank.

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This kind of rhetoric isn’t new. But every time it resurfaces, it stings like a fresh wound - not just for parents like me, but for the vibrant, complex, extraordinary human beings we love.

Let me tell you about our eldest. He’s 24 now. When he was a toddler, doctors told us he wouldn’t read. They told us he wouldn’t speak. I remember my devastation, like the air had been taken from the room.

Was he ever going to call his sister by her name?

Would he ever laugh at my jokes?

Would he be able to tell me if he were sick or if something was bothering him?

The list of recommended therapies seemed endless.

But what we didn’t do was give up. We loved him, supported him, taught him. Most of all, we believed in him.

I vividly remember the short steps that led from our kitchen to the playroom.

I’d lift him off the bottom step

again and again,

gently saying the word "jump,"

because I had noticed that other children his age did it instinctively.

Today, he doesn’t just speak and read, he thrives. Not because someone found a "cure," but because we chose to build a world around him that would allow his strengths to shine.

Our other child on the spectrum is nothing short of a genius. He is deeply thoughtful, creative, and intellectually brilliant; he could play Bach and Beethoven at 5 years old, and still, he struggles to introduce himself to someone new or make small talk, because the world wasn’t built with his wiring in mind. He doesn't need fixing. He needs understanding.

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Autism is not a disease. It is a neurological difference. Yes, it presents challenges, but also beauty, insight, and depth. The idea of “curing” autism suggests that the people who have it are somehow broken or less than. That is not only wrong, it’s dangerous.

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Success, for our family, has never looked like conformity. It has looked like courage, resilience, and joy in the face of a world that doesn’t always see our children clearly. We’ve built community — true community — where our kids feel seen, valued, and celebrated.

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Speaking carelessly about “preventing” or “curing” autism strips people of their dignity.

They reduce a spectrum of human experience to a problem that needs solving. And they fail to ask the deeper questions:

What kind of world are we trying to build?

Who gets to decide what’s normal?

And why are we so uncomfortable with difference?

If I could “cure” anything, it wouldn’t be autism.

I’d cure greed, which robs families of resources and support.

I’d cure ignorance, which turns fear into stigma.

I’d cure hate, which tells people they don’t belong.

And I’d replace it all with compassion. With curiosity. With love.

I have sat with too many families in moments of pain, hearing about those first diagnoses, feeling their fear and hopelessness.

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I have also sat in awe, watching their children grow into themselves in the most astonishing ways.

I’m not interested in a future where we erase people like my children. I’m fighting for a future where they are embraced.

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So, to anyone who wants to talk about the autism community, I say this:

Don’t speak about us. Speak with us.

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Listen to the voices of autistic people. Listen to families who walk this path.

If you want to make the world better, start by changing the world, not the people who live in it.

Let’s not cure autism. Let’s cure the conditions of our environments that make it hard for people to thrive — wherever they are on the spectrum.

And let’s do it with love.

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