Families Like Mine Need Support, Not Scapegoats

When President Trump announced plans this week to come down hard on Tylenol, citing its supposed role in causing autism, I felt a familiar wave of dread.

As an autistic and ADHD mom raising two neurodivergent kids, I’ve seen this conversation before. It resurfaces frequently: a new study, a rebranded theory, vaccines, root causes, a politician’s soundbite, a viral post.

And every time, it pulls the spotlight away from what families like mine actually need: support, dignity, and community.

But honestly, I’ve also seen the views of many family members and loved ones of autistic individuals move away from “cure” conversations because we’re living more and more in the reality that it doesn’t matter what “caused” our autism. It doesn’t make us less human. It doesn’t erase the fierce love we have for our children, the sacrifices we make daily, or the dignity and worth of every autistic person.

What conversations like this week’s press conferences this do cause, however, is stigma, shame, and fear. And that is something our families cannot afford more of.

Families Like Mine Need Support, Not Scapegoats

In 2023, the U.S. Surgeon General declared loneliness an epidemic. The following year, another advisory was issued—this time highlighting the crushing stress faced by parents and caregivers. Those reports rang true for many families. They still do. And yet, nothing seems to have changed.

If anything, many parents are saying things feel worse.

And among the overlooked in these crises are neurodivergent adults raising neurodivergent children. For us, loneliness isn’t just an emotion—it’s the byproduct of structural failures. A lack of respite care and community support. Broken or unenforced policies that seem to create systems that fight against accommodations instead of providing them. Medical systems that dismiss our voices. Workplaces and educational systems that aren’t designed for us.

More than 15 years ago, studies were published indicating that mothers of autistic children experience stress levels comparable to combat soldiers. Add to that the elevated rates of anxiety, depression, and burnout that autistic adults themselves face, and the weight might just become almost unbearable.

When those realities overlap—when autistic adults are parenting autistic children—and we’re told to just “tough it out?” What do you think will happen?

And yet, here we are. Packing lunches. Sitting in waiting rooms for therapy appointments. Fighting with our children’s schools. Navigating meltdowns in grocery store aisles.

We love our children fiercely. But the way our world operates certainly doesn’t make it easy.

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What Fearmongering Costs Us

This is why the president’s announcement matters—not because I think Tylenol is actually to blame (it isn’t), but because scapegoating has consequences.

Autism is a complex neurodevelopmental difference. The best research out their suggests factors like genetics, prenatal health, parental age, and certain pregnancy-related complications may play a role in how autism presents. But decades of research have found no causal link to Tylenol, vaccines, or other scapegoats that resurface in headlines. I’ll let the experts explain statistics, but I can say with confidence that associations and correlations aren’t the same thing as causation.

And I’ve said this before, but I suspect these myths continue to persist is because fear is often louder than facts. When parents don’t know why their child’s brain works differently, they go looking for answers. But misplaced blame doesn’t relieve their burden—it only multiplies shame, skepticism, fear, and anxiety.

Every time leaders speculate about autism’s “cause,” it trickles down into everyday lives. Parents second-guess themselves: Was it something I did? Something I failed to do? Strangers look at our kids not as children, but as puzzles to be solved or tragedies to be prevented.

Meanwhile, the real questions are ignored:

• Where is the investment in respite care for burned-out families?

• Where are the programs supporting autistic adults with housing, employment, and healthcare?

• Where is the recognition that autistic children grow into autistic adults who still deserve dignity, community, and opportunity?

Scapegoating Tylenol will not ease caregiver stress. It won’t stop the epidemic of loneliness. It won’t help a single parent sleep better at night knowing their child’s future is secure. All it does is deepen shame and distraction.

What Scripture Teaches Us

As a Christian, I can’t help but contrast this culture of blame with what Scripture teaches.

The Bible tells us that every human being is made in the image of God (Genesis 1:27). That includes autistic children. That includes autistic adults. That includes allistic/non-autistic adults and children, too. That includes every difference in how our brains and bodies work.

We are fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14)—not mistakes, not tragedies, not problems to be solved.

And I’ve written and said this before, too, but “fearfully and wonderfully made” doesn’t mean “perfect by human standards.” It means intentionally created by a God whose wisdom is greater than ours. If God is infinite and His design is bigger than human comprehension, why do we assume His capacity is limited to what looks “normal” to us?

The temptation to search for blame is, at its root, a temptation to deny God’s sovereignty. It’s a way of saying, This shouldn’t have happened. This child shouldn’t be this way. Someone messed up. But what if instead we said, This child is exactly who God made them to be. And my role is not to erase or fix them—it’s to love, support, and celebrate them, to see them the way God sees them.

Medicine as a Gift, Not a Threat

Especially lately, I see many of my Christian peers hesitating around “modern” medicine, especially when politics overlap with wellness and stir the pot.

But historically, Christians have been at the forefront of medical care.

The Church played a significant role in establishing, funding, and maintaining hospitals, offering healthcare to the sick, and bringing healing to communities that others ignored.

Scripture itself points to the value of medicine:

• When King Hezekiah was gravely ill, Isaiah instructed that a poultice of figs be applied to his infection—and “he recovered” (Isaiah 38:21). God’s healing came through a physical remedy.

• Jeremiah grieves for his people with the cry, “Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there?” (Jeremiah 8:22). The question assumes the importance of both medicine and doctors.

• Paul reminds the church of Luke, “the beloved physician” (Colossians 4:14), showing that a medical doctor was not only welcomed but beloved in the early Christian community.

• And in the final chapter of Revelation, we see a vision of the tree of life, whose leaves are “for the healing of the nations” (Revelation 22:2). God’s design for creation has always included healing.

I can think of so many other examples where we see doctors and medicine mentioned in Scripture. Medicine is not in opposition to faith. It is part of God’s common grace—a tool He has given us to care for one another.

It makes sense to me that Christians may wrestle with ethical questions about medicine. That’s part of being thoughtful stewards. But rejecting modern medicine outright risks rejecting one of the very ways God provides healing.

What Families Really Need

As both an autistic mother and someone who coaches other parents of neurodivergent kids, I see firsthand what the headlines miss: families don’t need fearmongering. We need support. We need respite. We need communities that show up for us.

That means creating spaces where difference is not only tolerated but embraced. It means workplaces, schools, and churches that design with accessibility in mind. It means remembering that disabled children grow into disabled adults who still need housing, healthcare, friendship, and dignity.

Autism is not a tragedy. It is not something to be cured. It is not a magical superpower either. It is a disability—and because the autistic experience is so broad, it looks different for every person. That means we don’t need pity or fear,. we need accommodation, understanding, and belonging.

And it means speaking hope to weary parents, too. It means reminding the friend who is watching the news that her worth is not defined by whether she took Tylenol, vaccinated her children, or otherwise made a loving decision to provide healthcare. It means looking at your neighbors and reminding them that their worth is not erased by what their child can or cannot do.

Your worth is rooted in the God who made you, sees you, and calls you beloved.

I didn’t get my autism diagnosis until I was 36, but God knew me all along. I was autistic my whole life.

I will say this until the words no longer come out: Autism, ADHD, all forms of neurodivergence—these are not things that make us less human or less deserving of dignity. We are not mistakes to be “fixed” or erased.

A Call to the Church

Loneliness and caregiver stress are tearing at the fabric of families. The government may be slow to respond on these fronts, but the Church doesn’t need to be.

We are called to bear one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2). To create communities where no one is left out. To reflect the early church, where “there were no needy persons among them” (Acts 4:34). That is our mandate. That is our opportunity.

Imagine if churches became known as the safest places for neurodiverse families or families with disabled lovde ones. Imagine if instead of parents withdrawing because of frustration, shame, or anger, they found rest, encouragement, and practical support. Imagine if Christians reclaimed and leaned into our historic role as advocates for the vulnerable—not by chasing blame, but by building belonging.

When the world chases fear, may the church choose faith. When the culture offers blame, may we offer belonging. When others search for causes, may we commit ourselves to care.

Because autism is not the problem. Loneliness, stigma, and neglect are.

And by God’s grace, the church has everything it needs to be part of the solution.

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