May 29, 2025 • 24 mins
In Episode 4 of The Spectrum, we explore the often-unspoken reality of violence involving individuals with autism, from homes and hospitals to schools and group homes. Through the lens of the Sadler and Martin families, this powerful episode sheds light on the emotional and systemic toll of caregiver burnout, institutional neglect, and media silence. But in the midst of the pain, a movement begins. This is a story of truth-telling, advocacy, and the first steps toward lasting change
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Episode Transcript
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(00:03):
Welcome back to Take Care Time,the Tales and Exhales of
Caregivers.
I'm your host, Beverly Nance,and this is episode four of our
series The Spectrum, a podcastseries that doesn't just talk
about autism, but digs into thefull, complicated and often
uncomfortable reality behind thespectrum.
(00:26):
If you are joining us for thefirst time, this story is about
two families, the Martins andthe Saddlers, who live on the
same street, just houses apart.
Both families have sons withautism born in the same year,
but where one boy, Sean, isarticulate and attends
mainstream classes.
(00:47):
The other Greg is profoundlyautistic, non-verbal, and
requires full-time care.
Now, when I say non-verbal,verbal, his family can
understand some of theutterances that he makes, but
mostly the world does not sofar.
We've talked about diagnosis,sibling dynamics, and media
(01:09):
portrayal, but today, today's alittle harder.
This episode is about somethingwe rarely talk about, something
we're often too scared or tooashamed to name, and that is
violence.
Violence against those withautism.
Sometimes it happens in placesthat were meant to protect them.
(01:29):
Group homes, hospitals, schools.
Sometimes it happens at homebehind closed doors where
exhausted caregivers break down.
Sometimes it's subtlerestraints, seclusion, silence.
Sometimes it's loud, but alwaysit's devastating and almost
always is hidden.
(01:50):
This is the spectrum.
Episode four, unseen Harm.
(02:27):
There's an incident that theSadler family doesn't like to
talk about.
One that still haunts Karen,though she swears she's made
peace with it.
It happened some years ago.
Greg was having what thetherapist called a behavioral
episode, a phrase.
That sounds clinical and neat,but it wasn't neat.
(02:47):
Greg was 16 at the time, oversix feet tall.
He had been nonverbal his wholelife.
He couldn't say what was wrong.
If anything hurt or if somethingin his environment was
overwhelming.
He could only scream and lashout that day.
Karen was alone.
Daniel was at work.
Maya was upstairs in her roomwith headphones on.
(03:08):
Karen had just finished moppingwhen Greg threw his body onto
the kitchen chairs toppling themover, grabbing whatever was in
reach.
She tried to redirect him likeshe has learned in the years of
being an autism parent.
But he kept swinging and then hehit her right in the jaw.
Hard enough to knock her off herfeet.
(03:30):
She didn't cry.
She didn't call the police.
She just sat there back againstthe fridge catching her breath.
And in that moment, Karen saysshe realized something gutting.
No one would believe her.
No one would believe me.
She later told her therapist,and if she did, they'd blame
her.
(03:51):
Karen didn't think of it asviolence, not in the way that
most people define violence.
When Greg lashed out and hisfist connected with her jaw, it
shocked her.
Yes, it hurt, but in her mind,it wasn't aggression, it wasn't
malice, it was autism.
It was sensory overload.
It was confusion wrapped in abody that couldn't say, I'm
(04:14):
scared or I don't understand.
Karen didn't report it.
She didn't even tell Danieluntil the swelling had faded
because to her it wasn't Greg'sfault, it wasn't anyone's fault.
It was just another layer oftheir reality.
Something to absorb, to adaptaround like everything else.
(04:34):
She iced her cheek and shecarried on, not because it
didn't matter, but because shebelieved Greg couldn't help it
and because deep down she fearedwhat would happen if the world
saw it differently.
Karen didn't tell Daniel rightaway.
She didn't write it down in thebehavior journal, the therapist
(04:55):
asked her to keep, and shecertainly didn't report it, but
it wasn't just Greg's lashingout that scared her.
It was hers.
She yelled, screamed, actuallynot at Greg, but into the void.
Into the air at God.
She picked a dish, threw it intothe sink, so hard, it shattered
(05:15):
for a split second.
She felt something darker.
The pool of frustration that hadnowhere to go.
She didn't hit Greg.
She never has.
But in that split second, sheunderstood how it could happen.
How another caregiver in anothermoment could cross that line
that scared her more than herbruised cheek and her throbbing
(05:37):
jaw And here's the part that noone likes to admit.
Sometimes the caregiver, the onewith the calm voice and the
laminated visual schedule andthe therapist number on speed
dial is at the end of theirrope.
They're exhausted, undersupported and invisible, and
that combination is combustible.
(06:01):
In fact, there's a phrase usedquietly in the caregiver Support
groups rarely spoken out loud.
Rage, guilt.
It's the guilt that comes afteryou yell, after you clenched
your fist, after you slam adoor.
Not because you don't love yourchild, but because you're human
and you're burning out andsometimes love isn't enough to
(06:25):
keep you composed.
Karen didn't hurt Greg, but thatday, sitting in the cold tile
floor, she imagined what wouldhappen if she ever lost control,
and she made a promise toherself.
If I ever feel like that again,I will ask for help, even if I
don't know who to ask, but noteveryone does.
(06:47):
Not every parent feels they can.
Shame is heavy and silence iseasier.
(07:13):
While the Martins weren't readyto play Sean in a group home, he
was verbal able to do manythings for himself.
But the saddlers, they werenearing the edge.
So when Greg turned 22 and agedout of school-based services,
Karen and Daniel were leftscrambling.
His aggressive episodes wereworsening.
Their marriage was fraying.
Karen had left her job yearsago, and Daniel was working
(07:36):
overtime just to pay for Greg'smedications and private
therapies.
A social worker recommended alocal group home operated by a
large nonprofit agency.
It was well staffed.
She said they're trained inbehavior management.
It'll give you some peace.
It didn't.
It was a mid-September when Gregmoved in.
(07:58):
The room was sterile but clean.
His roommates were mostlynonverbal young men.
The staff smiled.
They nodded politely, butsomething, and Karen tightened
when she met with the shiftmanager, a man with dark circles
under his eyes, who barelylooked up from his clipboard.
Hmm.
We have cameras in the commonareas.
He told her, but not in thebedrooms or bathrooms, you know,
(08:21):
for privacy reasons.
Karen signed the paperwork.
Anyway, she cried the wholedrive home within two weeks,
Greg had a black eye.
The staff said he had fallenduring a behavior incident.
He lunged out at one of theaides who followed the behavior
plan, but he tripped Theyexplained there was no report
(08:43):
filed until Karen demanded one.
No photo documentation, nofollow up And this is where we
step back and take a broaderpicture.
Group homes, especially thoseserving people with severe
disabilities, are oftenunderfunded.
Understaffed and unregulated inmany states.
(09:04):
Oversight is minimal, yearlyinspections at best, often pre
announced staff turnover ishigh.
Some employees arecompassionate, committed, and
deeply invested.
Others are simply clocking inand when their job gets hard,
they lash out or walk out.
Nationally, data on abuse ingroup homes is hard to pin down
(09:27):
why you might ask.
Hmm.
Because most states don't trackit in a centralized way.
According to a 2021investigation by NPR, and the
Associated press, thousands ofcases of abuse, including
physical assault, neglect, andsexual misconduct have occurred
in group homes often with littleconsequence, even when reports
(09:49):
are made, families rarely seejustice.
Staff are quietly transferred.
Investigations are dropped orworse.
Victims like Greg who can'ttestify, can't describe what
happened, are simply notbelieved.
Back at the group home, Gregstopped eating regularly.
He flinched when certain staffmembers entered the room.
(10:12):
His humming disappeared.
Karen noticed it immediatelywhen she asked the staff.
They said that he was justadjusting, but a mother knows
she pushed harder.
She called her case managerdaily.
She began documentingeverything, times, dates, any
type of injury.
She asked to see the incidentreports she visited unannounced
(10:35):
only to be told.
Now was not a good time.
Eventually, she pulled Greg out.
She and Daniel rearranged theirlives again.
He returned home.
There were No formal charges, nolawsuit.
Just another story whispered incaregiver support groups,
another warning passed fromparent to parent.
Be careful.
Not all homes are what theyseem.
(10:59):
This story isn't unique.
It's tragically common.
Violence in group homes can takemany forms.
Physical restraint, usedimproperly or excessively over
medication to sedate residentsinto compliance, neglect, or
individuals are left unbathed,unfed, or isolated for hours.
(11:19):
Psychological abuse where staffmock or ignore clients who can't
speak up the victims.
People like Greg, like Sean.
If his Path ever shifts likethousands of others across the
country, and yet these storiesare rarely in the news.
They're not in the headlines.
They're not those feel-goodsegments.
(11:41):
Why?
Because the public still doesn'tknow what profound autism really
looks like, and many don't wantto know the institutional
silence of schools andhospitals.
The hospital room was cold andthe light's too bright.
Karen sat beside Greg.
(12:03):
gripping his hand as he laidmotionless.
The effects of heavy sedationstill lingering in his system.
His wrist bore red marks a softrestraint strap, dangled from
the hospital.
Bed rail.
This was supposed to bebehavioral crisis evaluation,
not trauma reenactment.
(12:25):
The incident has started athome.
Greg had become overwhelmed.
No one knew what triggered it.
He screamed, struck the wall,then scratched his own arms
until they bled, panicked.
Daniel called 9 1 1.
The ambulance arrived withsirens blaring.
The EMTs tried to restrain Gregand that only escalated things
(12:46):
at the er.
Greg was met not with care, butwith suspicion.
A young nurse muttered anotherone of those cases.
He was sedated before Karencould explain his sensory needs.
She'd seen this before, but notjust in hospitals.
When Greg was in middle school,he had what his teachers called
(13:09):
a difficult year, hisindividualized education plan,
also known as IEP, listed histriggers, loud noises,
unexpected transitions,fluorescent lighting, but one
substitute teacher didn't readit.
Greg became overwhelmed after afire drill.
He covered his ears, ran intothe corner of the classroom and
(13:31):
began rocking violently.
The school's response, two staffmembers restrained him face down
on the floor.
They didn't call Karen until anhour later she arrived to find
her son bruised and sobbing.
He didn't return to that school.
This isn't an isolated case.
The use of restraint andseclusion in schools, especially
(13:52):
in special education classrooms,has come under fire nationwide
while the US Department ofEducation has issued guidance
limiting such practices,enforcement varies wildly by
state district, evenindividualized school.
Some schools use paddedseclusion rooms.
Called calming areas.
Others trained staff in holdsthat mimic law enforcement
(14:15):
tactics.
These are children, oftennonverbal, often already
frightened, and what happenswhen the parents aren't told?
Karen only found out aboutGreg's classroom restraint
because he was visibly injured.
Many families learn long afterthe fact.
If ever in hospitals, thingsaren't much better.
(14:39):
Individuals with profound autismmay not respond to pain the way
others do.
They lash out when touchedunexpectedly.
They may not tolerate IVs ortight gowns, but how many ER
nurses are trained in autismcare?
How many pediatricians know howto interpret stem rather than
(14:59):
suppress it?
Greg once flapped his handsrapidly.
When a resident tried to givehim a shot, the nurse took it as
defiance.
He was sedated again.
What's missing is context.
Just like The schools, thedefault response is too often
control, not compassion.
(15:20):
And what about the staff?
Many are undertrained, some areunderpaid, some are burned out.
This isn't just a policyfailure, it's a systemic one.
One that leads to trauma forfamilies already carrying too
much.
After the hospital incident,Karen researching alternatives,
she found one, there was noautism specific.
(15:44):
Crisis units within a hundredmiles of their home.
No sensory friendly ER protocol,no trained emergency response
team for autistic adults incrisis.
Just a revolving door ofstandard protocols that don't
apply to kids like Greg.
She called another parent.
She called Maya, she calledSeans mom.
Michelle Martin.
(16:07):
I'm scared.
Karen said I'm scared that oneday.
Something's gonna happen, and noone's gonna know how to help
him.
I'm scared they're gonna hurthim before they understand him.
Sean's mom automaticallyunderstood Sean wasn't as
(16:28):
profoundly affected, but thefear was still there.
He was a young black man nowflapping his hands on the
sidewalk.
How long until someonemisunderstood that, how long
until he was hurt?
The truth is violence doesn'talways look like a bruise or a
slap.
Sometimes it's indifference.
Sometimes it's misunderstanding.
(16:49):
Sometimes it's a system thatsees people like Greg and Sean
as problems to manage, not livesto support.
Three months after the hospitalvisit, Greg stopped speaking
altogether.
It's unclear if it was thetrauma, a regression, or simply
his way of protecting himself.
(17:09):
Karen sits with him at home,running her fingers through his
hair.
She whispers.
I love you.
I see you.
I'm still here.
She doesn't know if he hearsher, but she hopes across the
street and a few houses down.
Sean completes a, completes acomplex robotics project.
(17:30):
One he has designed himself.
He grins flaps and says, done.
His mom smiles, but the fearnever leaves.
She wonders which of them willbe next.
It started with a whisper, aprivate Facebook message, a DM
from a parent who said, me too.
(17:51):
A comment left under an articlethat said, this is our life, but
no one talks about it.
Karen noticed it first.
After Greg's hospitalization,she posted cautiously about what
happened, not naming names, notbeing dramatic, just honest.
She didn't expect the response.
In 48 hours, her inbox wasfilled with stories.
(18:14):
A mother in Texas whose son wastased by school police, a father
in Florida whose daughter waslocked in a seclusion closet
because she rocked too loudly.
A former group home worker inOhio who quit after seeing a
colleague hit a nonverbalresident in the shower.
These weren't isolatedincidents.
They were symptoms of somethinglarger, a system underfunded,
(18:35):
undertrained, and unaccountable.
One question, Karen beganasking, where are the watchdogs?
She called the State's Office ofDevelopmental Disability
Services.
They sympathized but told hercomplaints needed to go through
a formal process.
She called the local news.
(18:56):
A reporter told her.
We try to highlight thepositive.
Another said, unless there's aconfirmed abuse is hard to
cover.
But what about chronic undertraining?
What about trauma?
That's invisible.
She reached out to an autismorganization known for high
profile fundraising andcelebrity gala.
Their mission statementemphasized inclusion, awareness
(19:19):
and hope they never responded.
Karen and a small group ofparents, some local and some
across this country, decided toact.
They formed an advocacy group.
They hosted virtual town halls.
They interviewed former aides,nurses, and teachers willing to
speak anonymously.
They gathered testimonials,medical records, and state data
(19:41):
on restraint and the use ofinjury reports.
They didn't just share stories.
They built a case.
Their goal wasn't to shame.
Individual workers most weredoing the best they could with
too little support.
Their goal was systemic change.
The group pushed for three keyreforms.
One mandatory autism specifictraining for all hospitals and
(20:06):
emergency staff, law enforcementand school personnel training
designed with autistic adultsand caregivers, not just about
them.
Two transparent reporting whichwould require.
Public reporting on allincidents involving restraint,
seclusion, or injury in schooland group home settings.
(20:26):
Three.
National crisis interventionprotocols modeled after
trauma-informed care to ensureresponses are based on support,
not suppression.
A state senator took notice.
She'd once worked as a pediatricnurse.
She'd seen things.
She agreed to sponsor a bill.
(20:47):
It wasn't perfect.
It wouldn't pass easily, but itwas something.
A start months later, a smallpublic radio station ran a
segment titled Autism and theQuiet Crisis.
Karen wasn't the focus, neitherwas Greg.
It featured multiple families,but one line stood out.
(21:09):
For every story we don't tell.
There is someone still waitingto be seen.
It wasn't a viral story, itdidn't trend, but for the
families like the Martins andthe Saddlers, it was a beginning
one spotlight in a landscape ofshadows.
Violence isn't always loud.
(21:31):
Sometimes it's hidden.
Sometimes it looks like policy.
Sometimes it looks like silence.
When systems fail to see thefull spectrum of autism.
When they simplify, sanitize, orignore those most vulnerable,
carrying the burden, but thesilence is breaking.
Caregivers are speaking,siblings are remembering.
(21:52):
Advocates are organizing.
The road to change is long, butevery voice counts.
If this story moved you join ourconversation at Caregiving Life
on Facebook.
Where you can share stories,receive resources, and ask
advice because you are not aloneand your voice matters.
(22:17):
You show up for them every day,but who shows up for you?
The take care time.
Bimonthly Respite box is curatedwith caregivers in mind, each
box is filled with self-careitems to help you breathe,
recharge, and feel seen fromsoothing sense, to calming teas,
to uplifting surprises.
It's a moment of reliefdelivered because caregivers
(22:38):
need care too.
Treat yourself or gift one to acaregiver
youLove@takecaretime.com.
Take care time respite boxbecause you matter too.
Next time on the spectrum.
When the last school bell rings,what comes next for families
raising children with autism?
Turning 22 Isn't a milestone,it's a free fall.
(23:00):
Services vanish, structuresdisappear and families are left
staring into a future with nomap.
In episode five of the Spectrum,we explore what really happens
when kids with autism age outtaschool and why so many fall off
what parents quietly call thecliff.
Because leaving your classroomshouldn't mean leaving behind a
(23:22):
life worth building.
That's next time on thespectrum.
If this episode resonated withyou, if you've ever felt unseen
or unheard in your caregivingjourney, we would love to hear
from you.
Contact us at podcast at takecare of time.com.
Share your story for a chance tobe featured in a future episode.
(23:45):
You're Not alone and your voicecould be the one that helps
another caregiver feel seen.
Please note that this episodefeatures reenactments and
dramatized details.
While in most cases the exactverbatim dialogue may not be
known.
All dramatizations are groundedin thorough research and crafted
to honor the stories shared torespect the privacy and
(24:06):
confidentiality of individualsinvolved names, and some
identifying details have beenchanged.
Until next week, take care.
Welcome back to Take Care Time,the Tales and Exhales of
Caregivers.
I'm your host, Beverly Nance,and this is episode four of our
series The Spectrum, a podcastseries that doesn't just talk
about autism, but digs into thefull, complicated and often
uncomfortable reality behind thespectrum.
(00:26):
If you are joining us for thefirst time, this story is about
two families, the Martins andthe Saddlers, who live on the
same street, just houses apart.
Both families have sons withautism born in the same year,
but where one boy, Sean, isarticulate and attends
mainstream classes.
(00:47):
The other Greg is profoundlyautistic, non-verbal, and
requires full-time care.
Now, when I say non-verbal,verbal, his family can
understand some of theutterances that he makes, but
mostly the world does not sofar.
We've talked about diagnosis,sibling dynamics, and media
(01:09):
portrayal, but today, today's alittle harder.
This episode is about somethingwe rarely talk about, something
we're often too scared or tooashamed to name, and that is
violence.
Violence against those withautism.
Sometimes it happens in placesthat were meant to protect them.
(01:29):
Group homes, hospitals, schools.
Sometimes it happens at homebehind closed doors where
exhausted caregivers break down.
Sometimes it's subtlerestraints, seclusion, silence.
Sometimes it's loud, but alwaysit's devastating and almost
always is hidden.
(01:50):
This is the spectrum.
Episode four, unseen Harm.
(02:27):
There's an incident that theSadler family doesn't like to
talk about.
One that still haunts Karen,though she swears she's made
peace with it.
It happened some years ago.
Greg was having what thetherapist called a behavioral
episode, a phrase.
That sounds clinical and neat,but it wasn't neat.
(02:47):
Greg was 16 at the time, oversix feet tall.
He had been nonverbal his wholelife.
He couldn't say what was wrong.
If anything hurt or if somethingin his environment was
overwhelming.
He could only scream and lashout that day.
Karen was alone.
Daniel was at work.
Maya was upstairs in her roomwith headphones on.
(03:08):
Karen had just finished moppingwhen Greg threw his body onto
the kitchen chairs toppling themover, grabbing whatever was in
reach.
She tried to redirect him likeshe has learned in the years of
being an autism parent.
But he kept swinging and then hehit her right in the jaw.
Hard enough to knock her off herfeet.
(03:30):
She didn't cry.
She didn't call the police.
She just sat there back againstthe fridge catching her breath.
And in that moment, Karen saysshe realized something gutting.
No one would believe her.
No one would believe me.
She later told her therapist,and if she did, they'd blame
her.
(03:51):
Karen didn't think of it asviolence, not in the way that
most people define violence.
When Greg lashed out and hisfist connected with her jaw, it
shocked her.
Yes, it hurt, but in her mind,it wasn't aggression, it wasn't
malice, it was autism.
It was sensory overload.
It was confusion wrapped in abody that couldn't say, I'm
(04:14):
scared or I don't understand.
Karen didn't report it.
She didn't even tell Danieluntil the swelling had faded
because to her it wasn't Greg'sfault, it wasn't anyone's fault.
It was just another layer oftheir reality.
Something to absorb, to adaptaround like everything else.
(04:34):
She iced her cheek and shecarried on, not because it
didn't matter, but because shebelieved Greg couldn't help it
and because deep down she fearedwhat would happen if the world
saw it differently.
Karen didn't tell Daniel rightaway.
She didn't write it down in thebehavior journal, the therapist
(04:55):
asked her to keep, and shecertainly didn't report it, but
it wasn't just Greg's lashingout that scared her.
It was hers.
She yelled, screamed, actuallynot at Greg, but into the void.
Into the air at God.
She picked a dish, threw it intothe sink, so hard, it shattered
(05:15):
for a split second.
She felt something darker.
The pool of frustration that hadnowhere to go.
She didn't hit Greg.
She never has.
But in that split second, sheunderstood how it could happen.
How another caregiver in anothermoment could cross that line
that scared her more than herbruised cheek and her throbbing
(05:37):
jaw And here's the part that noone likes to admit.
Sometimes the caregiver, the onewith the calm voice and the
laminated visual schedule andthe therapist number on speed
dial is at the end of theirrope.
They're exhausted, undersupported and invisible, and
that combination is combustible.
(06:01):
In fact, there's a phrase usedquietly in the caregiver Support
groups rarely spoken out loud.
Rage, guilt.
It's the guilt that comes afteryou yell, after you clenched
your fist, after you slam adoor.
Not because you don't love yourchild, but because you're human
and you're burning out andsometimes love isn't enough to
(06:25):
keep you composed.
Karen didn't hurt Greg, but thatday, sitting in the cold tile
floor, she imagined what wouldhappen if she ever lost control,
and she made a promise toherself.
If I ever feel like that again,I will ask for help, even if I
don't know who to ask, but noteveryone does.
(06:47):
Not every parent feels they can.
Shame is heavy and silence iseasier.
(07:13):
While the Martins weren't readyto play Sean in a group home, he
was verbal able to do manythings for himself.
But the saddlers, they werenearing the edge.
So when Greg turned 22 and agedout of school-based services,
Karen and Daniel were leftscrambling.
His aggressive episodes wereworsening.
Their marriage was fraying.
Karen had left her job yearsago, and Daniel was working
(07:36):
overtime just to pay for Greg'smedications and private
therapies.
A social worker recommended alocal group home operated by a
large nonprofit agency.
It was well staffed.
She said they're trained inbehavior management.
It'll give you some peace.
It didn't.
It was a mid-September when Gregmoved in.
(07:58):
The room was sterile but clean.
His roommates were mostlynonverbal young men.
The staff smiled.
They nodded politely, butsomething, and Karen tightened
when she met with the shiftmanager, a man with dark circles
under his eyes, who barelylooked up from his clipboard.
Hmm.
We have cameras in the commonareas.
He told her, but not in thebedrooms or bathrooms, you know,
(08:21):
for privacy reasons.
Karen signed the paperwork.
Anyway, she cried the wholedrive home within two weeks,
Greg had a black eye.
The staff said he had fallenduring a behavior incident.
He lunged out at one of theaides who followed the behavior
plan, but he tripped Theyexplained there was no report
(08:43):
filed until Karen demanded one.
No photo documentation, nofollow up And this is where we
step back and take a broaderpicture.
Group homes, especially thoseserving people with severe
disabilities, are oftenunderfunded.
Understaffed and unregulated inmany states.
(09:04):
Oversight is minimal, yearlyinspections at best, often pre
announced staff turnover ishigh.
Some employees arecompassionate, committed, and
deeply invested.
Others are simply clocking inand when their job gets hard,
they lash out or walk out.
Nationally, data on abuse ingroup homes is hard to pin down
(09:27):
why you might ask.
Hmm.
Because most states don't trackit in a centralized way.
According to a 2021investigation by NPR, and the
Associated press, thousands ofcases of abuse, including
physical assault, neglect, andsexual misconduct have occurred
in group homes often with littleconsequence, even when reports
(09:49):
are made, families rarely seejustice.
Staff are quietly transferred.
Investigations are dropped orworse.
Victims like Greg who can'ttestify, can't describe what
happened, are simply notbelieved.
Back at the group home, Gregstopped eating regularly.
He flinched when certain staffmembers entered the room.
(10:12):
His humming disappeared.
Karen noticed it immediatelywhen she asked the staff.
They said that he was justadjusting, but a mother knows
she pushed harder.
She called her case managerdaily.
She began documentingeverything, times, dates, any
type of injury.
She asked to see the incidentreports she visited unannounced
(10:35):
only to be told.
Now was not a good time.
Eventually, she pulled Greg out.
She and Daniel rearranged theirlives again.
He returned home.
There were No formal charges, nolawsuit.
Just another story whispered incaregiver support groups,
another warning passed fromparent to parent.
Be careful.
Not all homes are what theyseem.
(10:59):
This story isn't unique.
It's tragically common.
Violence in group homes can takemany forms.
Physical restraint, usedimproperly or excessively over
medication to sedate residentsinto compliance, neglect, or
individuals are left unbathed,unfed, or isolated for hours.
(11:19):
Psychological abuse where staffmock or ignore clients who can't
speak up the victims.
People like Greg, like Sean.
If his Path ever shifts likethousands of others across the
country, and yet these storiesare rarely in the news.
They're not in the headlines.
They're not those feel-goodsegments.
(11:41):
Why?
Because the public still doesn'tknow what profound autism really
looks like, and many don't wantto know the institutional
silence of schools andhospitals.
The hospital room was cold andthe light's too bright.
Karen sat beside Greg.
(12:03):
gripping his hand as he laidmotionless.
The effects of heavy sedationstill lingering in his system.
His wrist bore red marks a softrestraint strap, dangled from
the hospital.
Bed rail.
This was supposed to bebehavioral crisis evaluation,
not trauma reenactment.
(12:25):
The incident has started athome.
Greg had become overwhelmed.
No one knew what triggered it.
He screamed, struck the wall,then scratched his own arms
until they bled, panicked.
Daniel called 9 1 1.
The ambulance arrived withsirens blaring.
The EMTs tried to restrain Gregand that only escalated things
(12:46):
at the er.
Greg was met not with care, butwith suspicion.
A young nurse muttered anotherone of those cases.
He was sedated before Karencould explain his sensory needs.
She'd seen this before, but notjust in hospitals.
When Greg was in middle school,he had what his teachers called
(13:09):
a difficult year, hisindividualized education plan,
also known as IEP, listed histriggers, loud noises,
unexpected transitions,fluorescent lighting, but one
substitute teacher didn't readit.
Greg became overwhelmed after afire drill.
He covered his ears, ran intothe corner of the classroom and
(13:31):
began rocking violently.
The school's response, two staffmembers restrained him face down
on the floor.
They didn't call Karen until anhour later she arrived to find
her son bruised and sobbing.
He didn't return to that school.
This isn't an isolated case.
The use of restraint andseclusion in schools, especially
(13:52):
in special education classrooms,has come under fire nationwide
while the US Department ofEducation has issued guidance
limiting such practices,enforcement varies wildly by
state district, evenindividualized school.
Some schools use paddedseclusion rooms.
Called calming areas.
Others trained staff in holdsthat mimic law enforcement
(14:15):
tactics.
These are children, oftennonverbal, often already
frightened, and what happenswhen the parents aren't told?
Karen only found out aboutGreg's classroom restraint
because he was visibly injured.
Many families learn long afterthe fact.
If ever in hospitals, thingsaren't much better.
(14:39):
Individuals with profound autismmay not respond to pain the way
others do.
They lash out when touchedunexpectedly.
They may not tolerate IVs ortight gowns, but how many ER
nurses are trained in autismcare?
How many pediatricians know howto interpret stem rather than
(14:59):
suppress it?
Greg once flapped his handsrapidly.
When a resident tried to givehim a shot, the nurse took it as
defiance.
He was sedated again.
What's missing is context.
Just like The schools, thedefault response is too often
control, not compassion.
(15:20):
And what about the staff?
Many are undertrained, some areunderpaid, some are burned out.
This isn't just a policyfailure, it's a systemic one.
One that leads to trauma forfamilies already carrying too
much.
After the hospital incident,Karen researching alternatives,
she found one, there was noautism specific.
(15:44):
Crisis units within a hundredmiles of their home.
No sensory friendly ER protocol,no trained emergency response
team for autistic adults incrisis.
Just a revolving door ofstandard protocols that don't
apply to kids like Greg.
She called another parent.
She called Maya, she calledSeans mom.
Michelle Martin.
(16:07):
I'm scared.
Karen said I'm scared that oneday.
Something's gonna happen, and noone's gonna know how to help
him.
I'm scared they're gonna hurthim before they understand him.
Sean's mom automaticallyunderstood Sean wasn't as
(16:28):
profoundly affected, but thefear was still there.
He was a young black man nowflapping his hands on the
sidewalk.
How long until someonemisunderstood that, how long
until he was hurt?
The truth is violence doesn'talways look like a bruise or a
slap.
Sometimes it's indifference.
Sometimes it's misunderstanding.
(16:49):
Sometimes it's a system thatsees people like Greg and Sean
as problems to manage, not livesto support.
Three months after the hospitalvisit, Greg stopped speaking
altogether.
It's unclear if it was thetrauma, a regression, or simply
his way of protecting himself.
(17:09):
Karen sits with him at home,running her fingers through his
hair.
She whispers.
I love you.
I see you.
I'm still here.
She doesn't know if he hearsher, but she hopes across the
street and a few houses down.
Sean completes a, completes acomplex robotics project.
(17:30):
One he has designed himself.
He grins flaps and says, done.
His mom smiles, but the fearnever leaves.
She wonders which of them willbe next.
It started with a whisper, aprivate Facebook message, a DM
from a parent who said, me too.
(17:51):
A comment left under an articlethat said, this is our life, but
no one talks about it.
Karen noticed it first.
After Greg's hospitalization,she posted cautiously about what
happened, not naming names, notbeing dramatic, just honest.
She didn't expect the response.
In 48 hours, her inbox wasfilled with stories.
(18:14):
A mother in Texas whose son wastased by school police, a father
in Florida whose daughter waslocked in a seclusion closet
because she rocked too loudly.
A former group home worker inOhio who quit after seeing a
colleague hit a nonverbalresident in the shower.
These weren't isolatedincidents.
They were symptoms of somethinglarger, a system underfunded,
(18:35):
undertrained, and unaccountable.
One question, Karen beganasking, where are the watchdogs?
She called the State's Office ofDevelopmental Disability
Services.
They sympathized but told hercomplaints needed to go through
a formal process.
She called the local news.
(18:56):
A reporter told her.
We try to highlight thepositive.
Another said, unless there's aconfirmed abuse is hard to
cover.
But what about chronic undertraining?
What about trauma?
That's invisible.
She reached out to an autismorganization known for high
profile fundraising andcelebrity gala.
Their mission statementemphasized inclusion, awareness
(19:19):
and hope they never responded.
Karen and a small group ofparents, some local and some
across this country, decided toact.
They formed an advocacy group.
They hosted virtual town halls.
They interviewed former aides,nurses, and teachers willing to
speak anonymously.
They gathered testimonials,medical records, and state data
(19:41):
on restraint and the use ofinjury reports.
They didn't just share stories.
They built a case.
Their goal wasn't to shame.
Individual workers most weredoing the best they could with
too little support.
Their goal was systemic change.
The group pushed for three keyreforms.
One mandatory autism specifictraining for all hospitals and
(20:06):
emergency staff, law enforcementand school personnel training
designed with autistic adultsand caregivers, not just about
them.
Two transparent reporting whichwould require.
Public reporting on allincidents involving restraint,
seclusion, or injury in schooland group home settings.
(20:26):
Three.
National crisis interventionprotocols modeled after
trauma-informed care to ensureresponses are based on support,
not suppression.
A state senator took notice.
She'd once worked as a pediatricnurse.
She'd seen things.
She agreed to sponsor a bill.
(20:47):
It wasn't perfect.
It wouldn't pass easily, but itwas something.
A start months later, a smallpublic radio station ran a
segment titled Autism and theQuiet Crisis.
Karen wasn't the focus, neitherwas Greg.
It featured multiple families,but one line stood out.
(21:09):
For every story we don't tell.
There is someone still waitingto be seen.
It wasn't a viral story, itdidn't trend, but for the
families like the Martins andthe Saddlers, it was a beginning
one spotlight in a landscape ofshadows.
Violence isn't always loud.
(21:31):
Sometimes it's hidden.
Sometimes it looks like policy.
Sometimes it looks like silence.
When systems fail to see thefull spectrum of autism.
When they simplify, sanitize, orignore those most vulnerable,
carrying the burden, but thesilence is breaking.
Caregivers are speaking,siblings are remembering.
(21:52):
Advocates are organizing.
The road to change is long, butevery voice counts.
If this story moved you join ourconversation at Caregiving Life
on Facebook.
Where you can share stories,receive resources, and ask
advice because you are not aloneand your voice matters.
(22:17):
You show up for them every day,but who shows up for you?
The take care time.
Bimonthly Respite box is curatedwith caregivers in mind, each
box is filled with self-careitems to help you breathe,
recharge, and feel seen fromsoothing sense, to calming teas,
to uplifting surprises.
It's a moment of reliefdelivered because caregivers
(22:38):
need care too.
Treat yourself or gift one to acaregiver
youLove@takecaretime.com.
Take care time respite boxbecause you matter too.
Next time on the spectrum.
When the last school bell rings,what comes next for families
raising children with autism?
Turning 22 Isn't a milestone,it's a free fall.
(23:00):
Services vanish, structuresdisappear and families are left
staring into a future with nomap.
In episode five of the Spectrum,we explore what really happens
when kids with autism age outtaschool and why so many fall off
what parents quietly call thecliff.
Because leaving your classroomshouldn't mean leaving behind a
(23:22):
life worth building.
That's next time on thespectrum.
If this episode resonated withyou, if you've ever felt unseen
or unheard in your caregivingjourney, we would love to hear
from you.
Contact us at podcast at takecare of time.com.
Share your story for a chance tobe featured in a future episode.
(23:45):
You're Not alone and your voicecould be the one that helps
another caregiver feel seen.
Please note that this episodefeatures reenactments and
dramatized details.
While in most cases the exactverbatim dialogue may not be
known.
All dramatizations are groundedin thorough research and crafted
to honor the stories shared torespect the privacy and
(24:06):
confidentiality of individualsinvolved names, and some
identifying details have beenchanged.
Until next week, take care.
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