Content Warning: My latest blog post delves into deeply personal reflections and may be emotionally intense for some readers. It discusses challenges within the ABA therapy industry, feelings of hurt, and the importance of compassionate care. Please read with care.
I had a conversation today that shook me to my core. [not literally "today"].
For the past few years, I've been working with small to mid-sized ABA companies. My heart has always been in helping independent BCBAs and startups in the ABA therapy industry. Why? Because I love ABA. I love autistic people. My daughter is autistic—Level 3, severe and profound autism—and she's non-verbal. I've been a BCBA since 2012, but my journey started long before that.
Before becoming a BCBA, I worked as an RBT for seven years. Before that, I was a special education teacher, a special recreation director, and even a respite worker for the first child I ever met with autism when I was 17. My senior research paper in 1997-98 was on "inclusion," a term that was scarcely understood back then. I observed a special education teacher in another district's self-contained classroom and interviewed the mother of the child I provided respite care for. It was as if a fire was lit in my soul.
I have always loved the I/DD population—the disabled, the neurodivergent, the autistic community. Over the years, I've learned to embrace differences, to be empathetic, to advocate, and to be an ally. It wasn't until my late 30s that I discovered I am neurodivergent, well after my daughter had been diagnosed. This backstory is important because it shows just how much I care. I care deeply about autism and the future of autistic individuals.
I've done the hard work. I've deconstructed the "ABA" I was taught and learned how to be a better clinician. I practice compassionate, trauma-informed care and always honor consent and assent-based practices.
Today, as I sit here with tears streaming down my cheeks, I feel hurt by a conversation I had earlier. It took me a while to realize why I was so upset after the call ended. In today's world, it's all too easy to talk about autistics and their therapy providers as if they are just numbers—that we're too sensitive or too emotional. I think it's been building up over the years for me.
I no longer practice as a behavioral clinician providing ABA therapy. However, I continue to provide remote fieldwork supervision, and the majority of my clients are BCBA-owned businesses. I network almost daily to help build up this community. At the same time, I have one foot in the world of mergers, acquisitions, financing, and investing in the ABA industry. This is typically where I make the most money to support myself and my business. I usually enjoy doing consultations or discovery calls with parties looking to invest in ABA therapy companies or related technology. I'm quite good at it. I practice code-switching depending on who I'm speaking with.
But today was different. The person I spoke with wasn't overtly rude, but there was a lack of compassion and mission in their words. They talked down about the BCBA business owners I work with daily. When they did mention "mission," it revolved around scaling to meet the needs of autistics due to the increasing rate of diagnoses. On the surface, that doesn't sound wrong, but they continued to speak about small business owners as if they were ignorant and wasting time.
Don't get me wrong—any ABA business, whether PE-backed or independently owned, can be run without compassion and focused on the wrong mission. But this felt different. It was almost spiteful. When I got off the call, I honestly felt like crawling under a blanket and wanting my mom.
This isn't an informative piece, so if you were hoping to learn something new, I apologize. But maybe you'll learn something about me. That call ignited a fire in my belly. Enough! I want to yell, scream, fight!
Very rarely do I meet an independent business owner in the ABA therapy space who doesn't talk about their mission without referencing the difference they want to make—not just in the world, but in their communities. We've all heard phrases like "change lives" or some variation thereof. But when you really talk to these owners and ask more probing questions, you'll hear it—the fire that's in their belly too. It's not ignited by money, success, or recognition. It's the people we love and to whom we want to give our time and energy. We genuinely want to make the world a better place, even if it's just for that one child, that one family, that one staff member.
Any small business owner knows that the bottom line is so razor-thin that money can't be the sole reason they're in this. Eventually, some sell out, but usually it's when they're so burnt out and tired that they can't find that flame inside anymore. Their "mission" gets weakened by all the operational struggles small business owners face. Or maybe they move on because they've put in their time and now have a new passion, whether that's advocacy, jewelry making, or baking cakes. Don't judge them. They've put in their time. They've done the hard work. Few do. Few succeed.
Today reminded me why I started this journey and why I continue to fight. I refuse to let those who lack compassion overshadow the genuine mission so many of us carry in our hearts. To all the independent BCBAs and small business owners out there: keep your fire burning. You're making a difference, one life at a time.
If this post resonated with you, at all. I am here to talk. Contact me at suzanne@innovationmoon.com, connect with me on LinkedIn, if you prefer a face-to-face book a meeting with me, or join Launchpad: an ABA business owner community to stay connected and get personal support from a larger community of ABA business owners, who actually get it!
I leave you with this call to action: Don't give up. Make a plan. Get support. Stay connected. You are not alone.
Launchpad
At Launchpad, we are dedicated to empowering independent BCBAs and small to mid-sized ABA businesses. Our mission is to provide the support, resources, and community needed to help you ignite and maintain that fire in your belly. We believe in compassionate, trauma-informed care and strive to make a meaningful difference in the lives of autistic individuals and their families. Together, we can build a brighter future—one child, one family, one community at a time.
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