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Blame it on the algorithm, but lately I’ve been getting a lot of videos of kids with autism melting down.

The other day, there was one of a boy thrashing around on the ground. No parent was near him, aside from whoever was recording. There was no context or explanation. Just a boy upset over something.

When he spotted the camera, he swung toward it.

This kid was maybe eight years old. The whole time he was upset, there wasn’t a single comforting word, a single negotiation, or any attempt to calm him. No one said anything.

Now here’s the superpower I have as the parent to a non-verbal child with severe autism. I get to criticize things like this when other parents might feel uneasy.

After all, this poor mom. Her kid is out of control. This must be what autism looks like.

If you had any doubt, you could simply read the words “This is what autism looks like” on the video. That seemed to be the message the poster wanted to put out there.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: my son isn’t violent and rarely, if ever, melts down anymore. But it would have taken nothing to find ourselves in that situation.

Seeing things like this breaks my heart and leaves a bad taste in my mouth. It almost feels like these outbursts are encouraged in order to garner sympathy points from the internet. There’s no other explanation.

Lucas had meltdowns at eight. When he did, they became the priority. The phone was put down. The camera was off. I did whatever I could to comfort my boy. This overwhelming outpouring of emotion isn’t content you’re creating. It’s a difficult situation for a child that you, as his parent, should be easing him through. This is the time to create that bond and show you’re there. It’s not the time to display him for TikTok.

Look, I get it. There’s no context here. Maybe something happened before, or this had been going on for hours. It didn’t appear that way, so I will give you the benefit of the doubt. But let me tell you about this other one I saw.

Again, algorithm.

By far, this one upset me much more. It was a spectacle presented like a performance. The boy, possibly a few years older than my son, seemed to have a few words. Lucas has none.

I’m changing the name of the restaurant in order to avoid giving the video hits, but the kid wanted to go out to eat. Let’s say it was the Olive Garden.

Again, a caption played out on the screen telling people that “this is what severe autism looks like.” Again, it seemed to be the one cliché image everyone already has in their head about severe autism.

Standing in front of his mother, a few inches shorter than him, the boy called out, “Olive Garden!”

At this point, the mother’s response had to have been done for the benefit of the video. If not, it made no sense at all.

She didn’t try to relax him or talk in a comforting tone. She didn’t explain that they could go tomorrow or that he could get something special to eat elsewhere. Would it have made a difference? I don’t know. All I know is she didn’t do it.

Know what she did? She looked him in the eyes and said, “No.”

And then, she visibly braced herself.

Almost as if this tensing was a trigger for him, the kid grabbed his mother by the head and again called out “Olive Garden!” Again, she said no.

It was jarring to see and made me sick. Even now, typing it out makes me sick and I’ll tell you why.

Want to know what severe autism really looks like? It looks like a major disconnection in terms of communication. My son has no words. He has major deficiencies in life skills. Things that you stop doing for your kids at three, I still do for him. If you want to claim that my boy “gets it” more than others, you’d be wrong.

What Lucas gets is that I understand him or, in the least, don’t dismiss him. If he wants Olive Garden and we can’t go, I try to get that information across. If it upsets him, I work to comfort him.

I wouldn’t, however, say “no” and take a defensive posture.

This isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being present.

Trust like this doesn’t happen overnight. It takes time, sometimes years, of being there when your child needs you most. That trust is fragile, especially for kids who struggle with communication or emotional regulation. When you choose to hit record instead of reaching out, you risk shattering the very connection you’re trying to build.

These hard moments are the ones that shape your relationship. They’re not meant for strangers online. They’re meant for your child to know that they’re safe with you. You see their needs and you understand the overwhelming feeling that comes with being denied. You treat them with empathy, understanding, and respect.

Do me a favor. Take away the autism. Take away the verbal issues. Pretend this is a neurotypical 17-year-old kid. Pretend he’s overwhelmed with stress and anxiety over something. Now imagine he comes to you, his parent, and asks to go out somewhere.

Think about what would happen if you simply shouted “no” and squared up in his face.

You’d get pushback. Whether it’s a mean word or a slammed door, there would be something teenagery in the response. My daughter is neurotypical. I know this.

I also know I would never do that to her. You don’t treat people like that and expect them to not be upset.

A kid with autism who has known communication issues wouldn’t react that way. Whether it’s the lack of emotional tools or the overflowing frustration, what would the kid do? What can they do?

They lash out. You discounted your child, added to their frustration, and stood in their face. Now, as they react in the only way they know how, you post it on the internet for the world to see? Come on.

I don’t feel sorry for the parent here. I feel sorry for the kid.

Meltdowns happen. They almost never happen without a reason. Sure, they might be hard for us to understand, but they are all ultimately your kid failing to handle a tough situation. Isn’t your job to help them through it?

At the end of the day, it comes down to a simple question. Are you a parent or a director?

Either way, put the phone down and take your kid to Olive Garden. If not, at least make them feel better in private. They deserve that much.