Parenting Through the Noise: When Politics Touch Autism

 

🧩 Parenting Through the Noise: When Politics Touch Autism

I never imagined that parenting my son Boston—bright-eyed, bison-loving, and beautifully autistic—would one day feel like a political act. But here we are.

Earlier this week, President Donald Trump made headlines with comments suggesting that acetaminophen (Tylenol) use during pregnancy might be linked to autism. He urged pregnant women to “fight like hell” to avoid it and echoed long-debunked claims about vaccines. He even referenced the Amish community as an example of low autism prevalence, implying that modern medicine might be to blame.

For many, these remarks were just another headline. For parents like me, they were a gut punch.

💔 When Words Reopen Wounds

Raising a child with autism already means navigating a world that often misunderstands him. It means decoding sensory overloads, advocating in school meetings, and celebrating victories others might overlook—like a new word spoken, or a meltdown averted.

But when the most powerful voice in the country implies that our children’s neurology is a preventable mistake? That’s not just misinformation. That’s emotional sabotage.

I remember the guilt I carried during pregnancy. Every snack, every medicine, every moment of stress—I wondered if I was doing something wrong. And now, years later, to hear a president suggest that Boston’s autism might have been caused by something I did. It’s cruel. It’s reckless. And it’s wrong.

🧠 What the Science Actually Says

Medical experts swiftly responded. The FDA clarified that while some studies have explored potential associations between acetaminophen and neurodevelopmental outcomes, no causal link has been established. The American Academy of Pediatrics and the Autism Science Foundation reaffirmed that acetaminophen remains safe when used appropriately during pregnancy.

Vaccines, too, have been exhaustively studied. They do not cause autism. Period.

But the damage of misinformation isn’t just scientific—it’s emotional. It plants seeds of doubt in parents already stretched thin. It fuels stigma. It distracts from the real work of supporting autistic children and building inclusive communities.

👩‍👧‍👦 My Children Are Not Cautionary Tales

Boston is six. He has short blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a stocky build. He loves his plush bison and finds comfort in routine. His autism isn’t something to be feared—it’s part of who he is. It shapes how he sees the world, how he loves, how he learns.

Our story isn’t tragic. It’s tender. It’s resilient. It’s real.