Autism Is Not the Problem — Ignorance Is: A Mother's Response to Trump and Tribute to Her Daughter

When Donald Trump recently suggested that autism might be caused by “something artificial... maybe it’s a shot,” he didn’t just peddle discredited pseudoscience — he attacked the dignity of people like my daughter Isabella.

As a mother, I cannot remain silent.

Because autism is not the problem.
Ignorance is.

Trump's words echo a long history of misinformation that’s been weaponized against neurodivergent people. His administration’s plans to explore the “cause of autism” through new commissions and data registries stir fear more than hope — particularly when paired with funding cuts and stigmatizing language. Framing autism as a tragedy, a mystery, or something to be rooted out casts a shadow over the lives of millions of beautiful souls who simply process the world differently.

And I know this intimately. Because I’ve walked that road, barefoot and bleeding, for years — guided only by faith, fire, and the unwavering love I carry for my daughter.

Isabella: A Light Like No Other

I knew she was special long before she arrived.

She was shown to me in visions. Whispered to me by the stars. Named before she was born.

Isabella came into the world on March 21, 2015, the first light of spring — a day later than I'd hoped, because of course she would arrive on her terms. Even in birth, she made that clear. She launched into the world with blazing fire, eyes wide open, lifting her head to look at me before she even rested into my arms. It was as if she was saying, “I see you. But do you see me?”

She was difficult — not because she was “bad” or “broken,” but because this world was not built for her. She cried if I put her down. She nursed constantly. She couldn’t regulate emotions. She couldn’t shield herself from the energies around her. She was a little empath — raw, open, flooded by the world — and had no tools to make sense of it all.

People didn’t understand.

Neither did I, at first.

We faced judgment. Isolation. Even fear. A roommate once asked if we needed a priest. I wondered myself.

But the truth was, she wasn’t possessed.
She was overwhelmed.
By everything.
And she was teaching me how to listen.

Hell and Grace

Our lives were far from easy. I was in an abusive relationship. I was fighting for both of us to be safe, to be heard. When my ex hurt both me and her, and then had the audacity to call CPS on me, I nearly lost everything.

But God placed angels in our path. A neighbor, Nichole Miller, became a lifeline — offering respite care, daycare, love, and stability. They became family to Isabella, and their support kept us afloat when I could barely breathe.

There were nights I cried myself to sleep feeling like a failure. There were days I wondered if I could keep doing it. I even considered letting Nichole adopt her. But the thought of Isabella ever thinking I didn’t want her? That broke me more than anything else. So I stayed. I fought. I loved. Through the tantrums, the biting, the outbursts, the endless appointments, and the broken systems.

And eventually… we began to understand.
Fraser specialists. Evaluations. IEPs.
A diagnosis.
Not a curse — a key.

Fighting for Her Soul

As if that weren’t enough, I spent years in court battling not one, but two men — her abuser, and her biological father — neither of whom cared about what she needed. One tried to possess her for control. The other denied her for convenience.

But then Michael came into our lives.

She recognized him instantly.
She accepted him as her true father long before any paperwork caught up.
And now, he’s adopted her in every way that matters — in spirit, in heart, in name.

They are two peas in a pod. They share a divine bond beyond this life. He is her protector. Her calm. Her rock.

We’re still walking the road, still facing systems that don’t understand. We’re applying for assistance again after recent setbacks. The paperwork is endless. The scrutiny feels invasive. But we do it all for her.

Because she is worth it all.

My Daughter, My Hero

Today, I went to her conference.

And she handed me this writing assignment:

“My mom is my hero. She is loving. She is beautiful. She is happy.”

Tears fell as I read her little paper, hand-written in that perfect, innocent scrawl.
Because after everything we’ve been through, she sees me.
And I see her.
Clearly.

She is not something to be fixed.
She is not broken.
She is not the cause of some “epidemic.”

She is the cure.

For a world that has forgotten how to feel.
For a world that silences what it fears.
For a world that desperately needs the kind of love she gives.

After I read her words — “My mom is my hero” — I looked into her eyes, full of light and truth, and I said, “You’re my hero too.”

Because we’ve been through so much together.
Because we’ve fought every battle side by side.
Because even in the hardest moments, we’ve always found our way back to each other — hearts intact, love unshaken.

We are each other’s heroes.
And that love? That’s what makes us unstoppable.

Final Word

So to Trump, and to anyone who dares to speak about autism as though it’s a mistake to be corrected — I say this:

You are wrong.
Autism is not the problem.
You are.

And to every parent out there walking this road with bleeding feet, I say this:

You are not alone.
Your child is not a burden.
They are the light.
They are the gift.
And you are the fiercest kind of holy.

Affirmation for the Sacred Path of Neurodivergence

I honor the light within my child,
A light the world may not yet understand—
But I see it.
I feel it.
I know it is divine.

I release the need to fix what was never broken.
I reject every lie that says different must mean less.
I choose to listen, to love, to lead with grace.

I call upon patience when the days are long.
I call upon strength when I feel alone.
And I remember:
This path is holy. This child is whole.

May my child grow in a world that celebrates their essence,
And may I never forget the sacred soul who chose me to be their guide.

I am not just a parent.
I am a protector of brilliance,
A bearer of unconditional love,
A vessel for divine understanding.

And so it is.