The first time my youngest son headbanged, he was about 3 years old. He flung his head back so hard, I heard it thud from the other room. I panicked — rushed to him, felt the back of his head for a bump, and sure enough, found it. I grabbed a flashlight, checked his pupils for size and reaction to the light, and then got him into the car to go to the ER.
I’m the mother of two autistic boys with different support levels. I have experienced meltdowns in all their forms ― the heartbreaking ones, the dangerous ones, the ones that test your patience and your strength. But you know where I’ve never seen them? On my camera roll. And absolutely not posted on my social media.
Every time I open my explore page, I find a mom shoving a camera in her child’s red, tear-streaked face, repeating a phrase in an attempt to recreate a meltdown that just happened. While their child was in distress, the parent didn’t think, “How do I comfort my child? How do I help them? How do I reach them?” They thought, “How can I make this happen again to post it?”
One day on TikTok, I came across a woman who had set up her phone and hit record because her teenage son was having a violent outburst about wanting a preferred food. She calmly told him that they would eat it another day, and he attacked her. I opened the comment section, and what I saw was vile. Then I clicked on her page: five million views, the video pinned so everyone could see him like that.
Another creator’s entire page is dedicated to her child’s violent outbursts. She has montages of him hitting her, edited to a cute little viral sound. I know how she handles her son’s meltdowns because she records them: She calls him names, she locks him out of rooms when he’s begging for connection, and shares intimate issues for shock value. Her follower count? About 700,000.
Scroll further, and you’ll find videos of violent moments, bathroom accidents, overstimulation, panic and shutdowns.
These and other parents insist they’re “educating” or “spreading awareness.” How we need to see the “realities of having a child with autism #autismmomlife.” But the internet does not need to see that ― and I certainly don’t. Those creators are blocked the moment I find them. Children, especially the autistic ones, cannot consent to being exploited like this.
“You do not need to broadcast your preschooler’s potty-training struggles or meltdowns to ‘educate’ anyone. Awareness does not require humiliation.”
Posting any child online is dangerous. With the rise of AI and the ability to track personal information through photos and backgrounds, children face risks they cannot understand. Autistic children are especially vulnerable, as many of them cannot advocate for themselves, as in the case of my youngest son, who is nonverbal.
I protect my children from public scrutiny as much as I can. When my youngest has a meltdown in public — hitting, screaming, dropping to the ground and refusing to walk — I feel the stares and hear the whispers. But all my child sees is the same consistent mother he gets at home. Calm, steady, talking him through it, asking him questions. Even though I know he can’t answer, he knows I’m trying, that I’m there.
My job isn’t to make strangers comfortable; it’s to make him feel safe. That’s the part that so many of these content creators miss — the quiet moments of connection, of choosing empathy over performance.
Sharing autistic children’s hardest moments opens them up to peer bullying, future embarrassment and a permanent digital footprint they never agreed to. Even children deserve dignity.
My oldest is 16. He was diagnosed at 13, and he would’ve slipped through the cracks if I hadn’t trusted my instincts. When he was a toddler one summer, I set him down barefoot in the grass, and he screamed as if it were covered in razors. I didn’t fully understand neurodivergence then, but I remember thinking, “I think he’s on the spectrum.”
My youngest is 5 ― nonverbal, head-banging, sometimes aggressive — but he is also a brilliant problem-solver, affectionate and deeply loving. They both deserve privacy. When my teenager is spiraling with anxiety or pushing back emotionally, or when my youngest is self-injuring and I’m debating another emergency room visit, those moments are ours, not the internet’s.
You do not need to broadcast your preschooler’s potty-training struggles or meltdowns to “educate” anyone. Awareness does not require humiliation.
There are ways to uplift and support other parents, educate people who don’t have experience with autism and build community — without turning children into spectacles. Because those comment sections? They don’t help. They’re full of bullying, cruelty and armchair parenting that only teaches the world to dehumanize autistic kids even more.
One mother who posts her child’s nighttime disruptions recently showed a therapeutic bed with a lock to prevent him from eloping. I made the mistake of reading the comments. Someone asked, “What if there’s a fire?” Another replied, “God works in mysterious ways.”
What do parents really need? More support. More accessible respite. Affordable therapy. And more ways to earn an income — because so many of us can’t maintain traditional jobs when we’re constantly being called to the school for eloping, injuries, sensory overload or clothing refusal.
If you want to spread awareness, show your children’s joy, strengths, quirks and accomplishments. Show that autistic children are deeply worthy of love and respect. I’ve seen beautiful accounts celebrating people with autism. Their humor, intelligence and unique individuality. Those are the stories the world needs more of.
I truly hope that one day, autistic kids will be celebrated for these things, and not their suffering. Because awareness means seeing their full humanity, not just their hardest moments. That’s what I want for my boys ― and for every child like them.
Do you have a compelling personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we’re looking for here and send us a pitch at pitch@huffpost.com.