An Open Letter to RFK Jr.

I’ve been sitting with a lot of feelings since hearing RFK Jr.’s recent comments about autism. As an autistic mother of an autistic child, his words felt personal—like an attempt to erase people like me and my family. I wasn’t sure what to do with that feeling at first, but eventually, I wrote this open letter. I originally shared it anonymously in an autistic community online, and now I want to share it here, too. My hope is that it helps others feel seen, and maybe reminds the world that we are here—and we have always been here.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on RFK Jr.’s speech, and your experiences as autistic people (or those who love us). Let’s keep this conversation going.

An Open Letter to Robert F. Kennedy Jr.

From one of many American citizen Autistic parents of Autistic children across the spectrum

Mr. Kennedy,

In your recent public address, you spoke about autism as a tragedy—a warning sign, a loss, something to prevent. But when you say that, you’re talking about people. People like me. People like my child. And people like the countless other autistic adults who are living full, meaningful lives right now.

You didn’t just speak over us. You acted like we don’t even exist.

I am an autistic woman. I am a mother. I am raising an autistic child with pride and love. I am not broken. I am not a burden. I am not a cautionary tale. I’m one of millions of autistic adults—especially those labeled as “low support needs” (a term I don’t love, but one your audience might recognize).

We are parents. Partners. Leaders. Business owners. Artists. Writers. Scientists. Advocates. We are building lives, raising children, contributing to our communities—and we are doing it as autistic people.

And yes, we struggle. Autism is a spectrum—not a straight line from “not autistic” to “very autistic,” but a wide range of traits, needs, and experiences. Even autistic adults who appear “high functioning” (another broken term) often struggle quietly, worn down by masking, misunderstanding, and lack of support.

And those labeled “high support needs”? Many of them thrive—when they are given the right accommodations, respect, and community.

But let me be absolutely clear: a person’s ability to date, work, or live independently is not what makes them worthy of life.

We are not measured by your definition of success. Being nonverbal does not mean a person has nothing to say. Needing full-time care does not make someone less valuable. No autistic person should have to earn their humanity.

Autism is not the tragedy here. Your rhetoric is. Your words feed stigma, misinformation, and ableism that hurt real people. They teach fear where there should be pride. They cause isolation when we need community. And they silence us when we are finally raising our voices.

We are not a problem to solve. We are a powerful, diverse, living community. You owe us better.

And if you can’t understand that, then you are not qualified to speak about us at all.

On behalf of autistic parents, adults, and children everywhere:

We are here. We are real. And we will not be erased.