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Who Are You When You're Not Working?

Tue, 08 Sep 2026 18:11:30 GMT

Pierra Perspective 002

On reinforcement, identity, and finding your way back to yourself

As I continued to grow in my career, something else was happening that I didn’t immediately recognize. I was doing less of the things that made me Jasmine . I traveled less. I spent less time with friends and family. I worked out less. I cooked less. I read for pleasure less. And I made less time for the things I genuinely enjoyed, the things that had absolutely nothing to do with my professional identity.

Meanwhile, my career was growing. There were more responsibilities. More people depending on me. More problems to solve. More opportunities to lead. More accomplishments. More professional development. More reasons to keep going.

From the outside, that looked like growth. And in many ways, it was. But looking back at that period of my life through the lens of behavior analysis has made me curious about something else:

What contingencies was I creating along the way?

When Work Becomes Really Good at Reinforcing Us

There is nothing inherently wrong with ambition. Meaningful work can provide tremendous reinforcement: accomplishment, financial stability, recognition, mastery, belonging, praise, opportunity, status, and the satisfaction of becoming increasingly competent at something that matters to us.

We work.

Something valuable follows.

So we work some more.

But sometimes work can serve another function.

Life outside of work isn’t always reinforcing. Sometimes it’s uncertain. Sometimes relationships are complicated. Sometimes we’re lonely, overwhelmed, bored, grieving, uncomfortable, or trying to figure out what comes next. And work gives us somewhere to go.

Something to solve.

Someone who needs us.

Something we already know how to be good at.

If working temporarily reduces our contact with something aversive, continuing to work may also be negatively reinforced .

That doesn’t mean every ambitious person is using work to escape something. It doesn’t mean working hard is inherently unhealthy. And it certainly doesn’t remove the responsibility organizations have for creating environments that encourage—or even reward—chronic overwork.

It simply means that, as behavior analysts, function is worth examining .

Research on workaholism has similarly examined excessive investment in work, preoccupation with work, and the ways working can become disproportionately important compared with other areas of life. For some of us, then, work may become particularly powerful because it can do two things at once:

It gives us access to things we want while sometimes helping us avoid things we don’t.

That’s a powerful contingency.

But What Happens to Everything Else?

This is the part I’ve been thinking about most. Because while my professional repertoire was expanding, parts of my personal repertoire were becoming smaller. Every additional hour spent working had to come from somewhere.

Sometimes it came from traveling.

Sometimes from working out.

Sometimes from cooking.

Sometimes from reading.

Sometimes from time with friends and family.

And none of this happened dramatically.

There wasn’t a particular day when I decided that work would take priority over everything else. It happened gradually.

Maybe we don’t lose ourselves all at once. Maybe our lives narrow one contingency at a time.

As a behavior analyst, it would be tempting to say that I had placed my hobbies “on extinction.” Technically, that’s not necessarily what was happening. Extinction requires discontinuing the reinforcement that previously maintained a behavior. Real life is considerably messier. There may be competing contingencies. Increased response effort. Fewer opportunities to engage in an activity. Environmental constraints. Changes in motivating operations. Or simply fewer occasions to engage in behaviors that once reliably contacted reinforcement.

But eventually, the result can sound something like this:

“I used to do that.”

I used to cook.

I used to work out.

I used to read.

I used to travel more.

I used to see my friends more.

I used to have hobbies.

And if enough things become things we used to do, eventually we have to ask a much bigger question.

When “What I Do” Starts Becoming “Who I Am”

Our careers are supposed to change us. We develop expertise. We become more confident. We acquire new skills. We assume greater responsibility. We build professional relationships and communities. Our work can provide meaning and purpose.

I’m proud of being a behavior analyst.

I’m proud of being a leader.

I’m proud of the education, experiences, knowledge, and skills I’ve worked hard to acquire.

The problem isn’t that our profession becomes part of our identity. The question is whether we’ve left enough room to continue developing the rest of it. At some point:

“What do you do?” can quietly become “Who are you?”

And we may not realize how much of ourselves has become attached to that answer until something changes.

A position ends. A promotion doesn’t happen. An organization changes. We burn out. We change careers. Eventually, we retire. If our reinforcement, social relationships, daily structure, sense of competence, recognition, and identity are overwhelmingly attached to our professional role, what happens when that role isn’t available in the same way?

That isn’t only an existential question.

It’s a behavioral one.

Maybe We Need More Than Rest

When we talk about overwork and burnout, we frequently talk about rest. And rest absolutely matters. Research on recovery from work has found meaningful relationships between psychological detachment from work and outcomes including exhaustion, fatigue, sleep, life satisfaction, and well-being. Research has also examined recovery experiences such as relaxation, control, and mastery —activities outside of work that allow us to learn, challenge ourselves, develop skills, and experience competence in other areas of our lives. That last part interests me. Because maybe the goal isn’t simply to become better at recovering from work so that we’re rested enough to return to it. Maybe we need to ask a different question:

How many different ways does your life allow you to contact reinforcement?

Develop a Bigger Life

What if taking care of ourselves also means deliberately building behavioral repertoires that have nothing to do with our professions?

Travel somewhere because you’re curious.

Cook something because you want to taste it.

Move your body because you enjoy how movement feels.

Read something that will never help your career.

Take a class you have absolutely no intention of monetizing.

Create something.

Host dinner.

Learn something you’re terrible at.

Spend an afternoon laughing with people you love.

Get dressed up when you have nowhere important to go.

Find something you love enough to do badly.

Maybe our lives need multiple sources of reinforcement —not simply one incredibly powerful one called work.

Behavioral activation research has long examined relationships among activity, avoidance, environmental reinforcement, and engagement with meaningful life activities. I’m not suggesting that picking up a hobby is a clinical intervention for occupational burnout. That would be far too simplistic. But the underlying behavioral principle gives us something worth considering:

Our environments help determine what we have opportunities to do—and what reinforcement we have opportunities to contact.

Maybe we should become just as intentional about creating environments that reinforce the rest of us.

I Had to Start Finding Jasmine Again

This is where the conversation became deeply personal for me. At some point, I realized I had spent years becoming increasingly clear about who I was professionally while becoming less intentional about who I was outside of work.

And there’s a lot of me outside of work.

I’ve always loved fashion .

Not simply clothes. I love curating an entire look. Thinking about how pieces work together. Playing with proportions, accessories, textures, and details until something feels like me.

I love fragrance. I love experimenting with scent combinations , layering fragrances, and discovering how scent can become part of how I express myself.

I love skin care and hair care—the products, the routines, learning what works, and the ritual of taking care of myself.

I love recipes and cooking. Finding something new I want to make. Creating a meal. Sharing food with people I care about.

I love traveling.

I love reading.

I love working out and moving my body.

I love spending time with my friends and family.

I love discovering things simply because they interest me.

None of those things have anything to do with being a behavior analyst.

And that’s exactly the point.

Those parts of me didn’t disappear as my career grew. I just gave myself fewer opportunities to engage with them. More of my time, attention, energy, and available reinforcement became organized around professional achievement. Eventually, I had to ask myself:

When did I stop making as much room for the things that made me Jasmine?

Finding My Way Back Doesn’t Mean Becoming Less Ambitious

I don’t want a smaller professional life.

I still have enormous goals.

I still want to learn.

I still want to lead.

I still want to build.

I still want to contribute to this field.

But I also want a bigger personal life .

I want to curate a look simply because I feel good wearing it.

I want to experiment with fragrance combinations because scent brings me joy.

I want to spend entirely too much time figuring out what works for my hair or skin.

I want to try a new recipe.

I want to travel somewhere simply because I want to experience it.

I want to read something that will never appear on a reference page.

I want to move my body.

I want uninterrupted time with the people I love.

I want to discover interests I don’t even know I have yet.

And I want some of the things I do to remain completely unproductive.

No business plan.

No credential.

No monetization strategy.

No measurable professional outcome.

Just reinforcement.

I want to continue developing Jasmine, too.

And perhaps that’s one of the biggest things this season of my life has taught me:

Professional development should not require personal disappearance.

And Then There Is the Rest of You

I’ve spent much of my career thinking about how we develop people professionally.

How do we build competency?

How do we develop stronger clinicians?

How do we teach people to lead?

How do we build systems that help people perform well?

Those questions still matter deeply to me.

They’re part of why I’m building Pierra.

But while building Pierra, another question has started becoming equally important:

What are we doing to develop the person who exists outside of all of that?

The person with preferences.

Curiosity.

Style.

Rituals.

Interests.

Relationships.

Creativity.

Pleasure.

A body that deserves care.

An identity that doesn’t need to produce anything to be worth developing.

That is development, too.

And there’s a part of Pierra I’ve been quietly building around that idea.

I’m calling it The Muse Series.

It isn’t separate from how I think about development.

In many ways, it’s the other half of it.

I’m not going to explain all of it yet.

There’s time for that.

For now, I’ll let that marinate. ��

Develop the professional. But don’t place the rest of yourself on extinction.

Research Referenced

Bennett, A. A., Bakker, A. B., & Field, J. G. (2018). Recovery from work-related effort: A meta-analysis. Journal of Organizational Behavior, 39(3), 262–275.

Headrick, L., Newman, D. A., Park, Y. A., & Liang, Y. (2023). Recovery experiences for work and health outcomes: A meta-analysis and recovery-engagement-exhaustion model. Journal of Business and Psychology, 38, 821–864.

Mazzucchelli, T. G., Kane, R. T., & Rees, C. S. (2010). Behavioral activation interventions for well-being: A meta-analysis. The Journal of Positive Psychology, 5(2), 105–121.

What Happens Before the Label Becomes the Child?

Wed, 26 Aug 2026 20:29:22 GMT

Black children, behavioral health, autism, school discipline, and the questions we should be asking sooner.

I grew up on the South Side of Chicago, just outside of the Roseland community. The street I grew up on was filled with working Black professionals. There were highly educated families, homeowners, people with careers, and people who knew how to navigate systems and access resources. But you didn't have to travel very far to see something different. Go a little farther into another neighborhood and you could see how access changed.

Different schools.

Different community resources.

Different opportunities.

Different access to mental and behavioral health services.

As a child, I could see those differences. As a behavior analyst, I understand them differently now. And lately, I've found myself thinking about the children who grew up in communities like mine, and the labels some of them received before anyone ever stopped to ask what they actually needed.

The Label Can Start Early

We talk about the school-to-prison pipeline as though it begins when a teenager has their first interaction with law enforcement. But I keep wondering whether, for some children, the story begins much earlier. Maybe it begins in elementary school. A child becomes:

Disruptive.

Defiant.

Aggressive.

Noncompliant.

A problem.

And eventually, the description of the behavior starts becoming a description of the child. Research gives us reason to take this seriously. In a large U.S. study involving 11,875 children ages 9 and 10, Black children had approximately 3.4 to 3.5 times greater adjusted odds of receiving detention or suspension than White children, even after researchers accounted for externalizing behavior and multiple demographic and contextual variables.¹

Other research suggests these disparities don't necessarily remain static. In a study of nearly 47,000 middle-school students, racial disparities in discipline grew over the course of the school year, with particularly pronounced escalation in schools where disparities were already high early in the year.²

Behavior analysts have also called attention to the racial school-discipline crisis, including the roles that implicit bias, anti-Black racism, punitive school policies, and environmental variables may play in behavioral referrals and disciplinary decisions.³

And that forces me to consider something beyond the behavior of the child. What if the child isn't the only variable we should be analyzing? That's an uncomfortable question but behavior analysis should be comfortable asking questions about environments.

Behavior Tells Us Something

As behavior analysts, we don't, or at least we shouldn't, look at a behavior and simply decide that a child is "bad." We ask questions.

What happened before the behavior?
What happened afterward?
What variables in the environment might be influencing it?
What is the behavior accomplishing for this individual?
What skill might be missing?
What does this child know how to communicate—and what do they not yet know how to communicate?

Imagine a child who cannot effectively communicate:

"This is too loud."

"I don't understand what you're asking me to do."

"I need a break."

"That student is bothering me."

"I'm overwhelmed."

"I don't know how to ask for help."

What might we see instead?

Leaving the classroom.
Yelling.
Pushing someone away.
Throwing materials.
Refusing an instruction.
Shutting down.
Escalating when demands continue.

Now imagine that the adults around that child respond only to what the behavior looks like.

"He threw a chair."

But nobody asks: What happened before the chair was thrown?

And there's another layer we have to acknowledge. What if two children engage in similar behavior, but adults interpret those behaviors differently? What if our perceptions of aggression, defiance, compliance, respect, or danger are influenced by the race of the child standing in front of us? The research on racial disparities in school discipline means we cannot responsibly examine the child's behavior without also being willing to examine **the behavior of the systems responding to that child.**¹˒²˒³

Then I Started Thinking About Autism

Not because every Black child experiencing school discipline is autistic. Not because autism causes incarceration. And certainly not because ABA can somehow solve the school-to-prison pipeline. The research does not establish any of those things. My question is different. What happens when developmental, communication, behavioral, mental-health, educational, or other support needs are not identified, or aren't adequately addressed? And are Black children experiencing those systems differently? When I started looking at the autism literature, I found more questions.

What Happens While a Family Is Waiting for Answers?

A 2020 Pediatrics study examined 584 African American children with autism. The average age of diagnosis was approximately 65 months. What struck me even more was the time between parents' first developmental concerns and their child's autism diagnosis: 42.3 months on average.⁴ More than three years . Think about how much development happens during three years of a young child's life. Then consider earlier research examining Medicaid-eligible children who ultimately received an autism diagnosis. African American children in that study were 2.6 times less likely than White children to receive an autism diagnosis at their first specialty-care visit. Among children who did not initially receive an autism diagnosis, racial differences were also found in patterns of other diagnoses received.⁵

More recent research involving Black families has continued to identify diagnostic challenges. One study found that receiving a prior misdiagnosis was associated with nearly threefold greater odds of later or delayed autism diagnosis among Black children.⁶ None of this means every alternative diagnosis given to a Black child is incorrect. It doesn't mean conduct problems are secretly autism. It doesn't mean every child exhibiting challenging behavior needs an autism evaluation. And it certainly doesn't mean autism explains racial disparities in school discipline. But it does tell us something important: We have documented disparities in how some Black children and families have moved through developmental and diagnostic systems.

And that brings me right back to the question of interpretation.

What happens to the child while we're figuring it out?
What does the teacher see?
What does the family hear?
What goes into the school record?
What interventions are attempted?
What gets punished?
What gets taught?
What opportunities for support are missed?

And perhaps most importantly: What does the child begin believing about themselves?

Access Is More Than Putting a Clinic in the Neighborhood

When we talk about improving autism and behavioral-health services in Black communities, one of our first conversations is usually about access. And yes, geographic and financial access matter. But I've been thinking about access differently. We could put a clinic five minutes away from a family. That doesn't necessarily mean we've created access.

Does the family know what autism can look like?
Do they know where to start when they have developmental concerns?
Can they obtain an evaluation?
Do they trust the provider?
Did another professional previously dismiss their concerns?
Can the provider explain what they're seeing without talking down to them?
Does the family feel judged?
Does seeking behavioral or mental-health support carry stigma within their family or community?
Are assessment tools appropriate for the populations being evaluated?
Does anyone providing the service understand the community they're entering?

And does the family feel safe enough to say: "I disagree with you."

Research with Black and multiracial families has documented barriers involving providers, systems, culture, information, and access during autism screening, diagnosis, and intervention.⁷ Systematic reviews have similarly identified barriers across multiple levels of the diagnostic and service system, including provider-family relationships, dismissal of caregiver concerns, cultural knowledge, trust, healthcare access, and assessment practices.⁸ More recent work continues to identify inequities involving provider bias, health literacy, insurance, appointment access, culturally appropriate assessment, communication, and whether caregiver concerns are taken seriously.⁹ So sometimes when professionals describe certain populations as "hard-to-reach communities," I wonder whether we're asking the wrong question. Maybe the community isn't hard to reach. Maybe our systems haven't done enough to become worth reaching for.

Representation Matters. But Representation Alone Isn't Enough.

Black caregivers have described experiences of institutional and interpersonal racism while navigating autism diagnostic and service systems. Behavior-analytic scholars have specifically argued for more culturally responsive and context-specific ABA practice with Black families.¹⁰ That brings me to something I care deeply about: Who is providing the service?

I'm not saying only Black clinicians can serve Black families. Sharing someone's race does not automatically make a clinician culturally responsive, clinically competent, or capable of providing excellent care. But representation still matters.

It matters when communities see people who look like them occupying positions of expertise.

It matters when emerging Black professionals see Black BCBAs, researchers, professors, executives, and founders.

It matters who participates in research.

It matters who develops assessment tools.

It matters who designs interventions.

It matters who decides what "socially significant" behavior means.

And it matters whether professionals entering communities understand that credentials do not automatically create trust.

Trust has to be built.

Importantly, culturally responsive care isn't only a philosophical conversation. A 2024 meta-analysis of culturally responsive autism interventions found significant positive effects across the included studies, including outcomes involving children's social communication and families. The authors also appropriately noted that more research is needed to determine precisely how cultural adaptations contribute to intervention effects.¹¹ So cultural responsiveness deserves more than a paragraph in an annual diversity training. It deserves continued scientific investigation.

This Is Where My Question Begins—Not My Conclusion

The existing research does not demonstrate that delayed autism identification causes exclusionary school discipline. It does not demonstrate that delayed diagnosis causes justice-system involvement. And it does not establish a pathway of: Autism → behavior problems → school discipline → incarceration. These are separate bodies of literature involving complex and interacting variables.

Race.

Disability.

Poverty.

Education.

Healthcare.

Family resources.

Community resources.

Trauma.

School policy.

Provider behavior.

Policing.

Structural racism.

And many others.

What I am asking is whether some children move through these systems with developmental, communication, behavioral, mental-health, educational, or family-support needs that were never adequately identified or addressed. And if they do: What might earlier, culturally responsive support change for some of them?

That is a research question. Not a conclusion.

Then There Is What Happens Later

Longitudinal research has associated exclusionary school discipline with later negative outcomes, including subsequent involvement with the criminal legal system.¹² Separately, research involving autistic youth has documented interactions with law enforcement. One nationally representative U.S. study found that by age 21, approximately one in five autistic youth had been stopped and questioned by police and nearly 5% had been arrested . Externalizing behavior was associated with greater criminal-justice involvement.¹³ And then there is the intersection of being Black and autistic.

Recent qualitative research with 43 Black caregivers of Black autistic children documented profound concerns about police interactions. Caregivers described fears that autistic behaviors could be misunderstood or criminalized, concerns about inadequate autism training among police officers, and fears that their children could be harmed during encounters with law enforcement.¹⁴

A related study asked what those caregivers wanted police officers to do differently. Their recommendations included nonthreatening body language, basic helpful communication strategies, patience, and more thoughtful approaches to interacting with Black autistic youth.¹⁵And once again, I find myself thinking about communication. Interpretation. Environment. And the consequences of what happens when someone misunderstands behavior.

What Happens Between the First Label and Everything That Comes After It?

That's the question I can't stop asking. Between the first teacher saying, "We're having some behavioral concerns," and the first suspension— what happened? Between repeated disciplinary referrals and a child disengaging from school— what support was offered? Between a parent saying, "Something seems different," and receiving an evaluation years later— who listened? Between a child's behavior becoming their reputation and that child eventually encountering another punitive system— what needs were recognized, and which ones weren't?

Maybe the child needed behavioral support.

Maybe speech therapy.

Maybe occupational therapy.

Maybe mental-health treatment.

Maybe a developmental evaluation.

Maybe special-education services.

Maybe trauma-informed support.

Maybe their family needed resources.

Maybe the classroom environment needed to change.

Maybe the adults around them needed additional training.

Maybe bias influenced how their behavior was interpreted.

Maybe several of those things were true at the same time.

The point isn't that ABA should have been everywhere.

The point is: Did anybody ask what the child needed before deciding who the child was?

What If We Changed the First Question?

Instead of: What's wrong with this child?

What if we asked: What does this child need?

That sounds like a small shift. It isn't. Because it requires us to stop treating behavior only as something that needs to be controlled. It requires us to examine:

Communication.

Environment.

Learning history.

Development.

Mental health.

Trauma.

Culture.

Family context.

Access.

And yes, bias.

It also requires professionals to acknowledge something that can be uncomfortable: Sometimes the child isn't the only variable that needs intervention.

The classroom may need support.

The teacher may need support.

The family may need information.

The healthcare system may need to listen sooner.

The clinician may need greater cultural humility.

The school may need additional resources.

The community may need providers it can trust.

And our systems may need to examine why similar behavior can result in support for one child and punishment for another. We teach behavior analysts to examine environmental variables before attributing behavior to internal characteristics. Perhaps we need to apply that same curiosity to the systems surrounding the child.

Where Does ABA Fit?

I believe behavior analysis has something meaningful to contribute. But I don't believe behavior analysis is the entire answer. Our science gives us powerful tools for asking questions about behavior. It teaches us to look beyond labels. It gives us methods for examining environmental variables. It allows us to identify skills that may need to be taught. It can help individuals develop functional communication. It can help caregivers and educators better understand behavior. And it can help us evaluate whether our interventions are actually working. But if we're going to bring those tools into Black communities, our field has work to do too.

We need clinicians who understand the science.

We need clinicians who understand culture and context.

We need professionals who can explain autism without making a family feel that something terrible has happened to their child.

We need providers who know how to listen before prescribing solutions.

We need researchers asking questions that include Black children and families.

We need community education that doesn't begin and end when somebody receives a diagnosis.

We need stronger interdisciplinary collaboration.

And we need Black clinicians who are prepared not simply to enter this field, but to shape and lead it.

Because this isn't about getting more Black children into ABA. It's about making sure families understand what resources exist, when those resources may be helpful, how to access them, and when another discipline or support system may be more appropriate.

I Don't Have the Complete Answer

And I think that's important to say. This isn't a post where I give you "10 Ways to Fix ABA in Black Communities." The issue deserves more than that.

I want to keep researching it.

I want to listen to families.

I want to hear from Black autistic adults.

I want to understand what educators and clinicians are seeing.

I want to know what community organizations need.

I want to examine where behavioral science can contribute, and where behavior analysts need to sit down and let another discipline or, more importantly, the community itself lead. And I want to explore what it would look like to prepare clinicians who don't simply provide culturally responsive services, but who can educate, advocate, build trust, recognize their own limitations, and become meaningful resources within the communities they serve.

That's part of what I want Pierra Company to explore.

Because when I look back at the South Side neighborhood where I grew up, I don't just see my childhood anymore.

I see systems.

I see resources.

I see disparities in access.

I see environments.

I see children whose behavior may have been interpreted differently if the adults and systems around them had different information, resources, or perspectives.

And I see questions I didn't have the language to ask then. I do now. So I'm going to keep asking them. Because behavioral science gives us powerful tools for understanding behavior. But science does not absolve us from understanding people .

If anything, I believe it gives us a greater responsibility to do so. And maybe somewhere between that first label and everything that comes after it, there are opportunities to change trajectories.

The question is whether we're willing to notice them.

— Jasmine Tate
Founder, Pierra Company

Research Referenced in This Perspective

Pierra Perspective combines lived experience, professional reflection, and research. The research cited throughout this essay represents multiple distinct bodies of literature. These sources do not establish a causal relationship between autism, school discipline, and justice-system involvement. Questions connecting these areas are presented as areas for further inquiry rather than established causal conclusions.

1. Fadus, M. C., Valadez, E. A., Bryant, B. E., Garcia, A. M., Neelon, B., Tomko, R. L., & Squeglia, L. M. (2021). Racial disparities in elementary school disciplinary actions: Findings from the ABCD Study. Journal of the American Academy of Child & Adolescent Psychiatry, 60(8), 998–1009. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jaac.2020.11.017

2. Darling-Hammond, S., Ruiz, M., Eberhardt, J. L., & Okonofua, J. A. (2023). The dynamic nature of student discipline and discipline disparities. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America, 120(17), e2120417120. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.2120417120

3. Sevon, M. A. (2022). Schooling while Black: Analyzing the racial school discipline crisis for behavior analysts. Behavior Analysis in Practice, 15(4), 1247–1253. https://doi.org/10.1007/s40617-022-00695-8

4. Constantino, J. N., Abbacchi, A. M., Saulnier, C., Klaiman, C., Mandell, D. S., Zhang, Y., Hawks, Z., Bates, J., Klin, A., Shattuck, P., Molholm, S., Fitzgerald, R., Roux, A., Lowe, J. K., & Geschwind, D. H. (2020). Timing of the diagnosis of autism in African American children. Pediatrics, 146(3), e20193629. https://doi.org/10.1542/peds.2019-3629

5. Mandell, D. S., Ittenbach, R. F., Levy, S. E., & Pinto-Martin, J. A. (2007). Disparities in diagnoses received prior to a diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 37(9), 1795–1802. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10803-006-0314-8

6. Onovbiona, H., Quetsch, L., & Del Rosario, E.-A. (2025). Exploring factors of diagnostic timing among Black autistic youth. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 55(4), 1438–1449. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10803-024-06283-9

7. Weitlauf, A. S., Miceli, A., Vehorn, A., Dada, Y., Pinnock, T., Harris, J. W., Hine, J., & Warren, Z. (2024). Screening, diagnosis, and intervention for autism: Experiences of Black and multiracial families seeking care. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 54(3), 931–942. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10803-022-05861-z

8. Rivera-Figueroa, K., Marfo, N. Y. A., & Eigsti, I. M. (2022). Parental Perceptions of Autism Spectrum Disorder in Latinx and Black Sociocultural Contexts: A Systematic Review. American journal on intellectual and developmental disabilities, 127(1), 42–63. https://doi.org/10.1352/1944-7558-127.1.42

9. Srivarathan, A., Bradford, A., Shearkhani, S., Heimlich, L., Jefferson, S., Miller, K. E., Smith, K., Haskell, H., & Giardina, T. D. (2026). Bridging diagnostic safety and mental health: A systematic review highlighting inequities in autism spectrum disorder diagnosis. BMJ Quality & Safety, 35(7), 487–497. https://doi.org/10.1136/bmjqs-2025-018723

10. Čolić, M., Araiba, S., Lovelace, T. S., & Dababnah, S. (2022). Black caregivers' perspectives on racism in ASD services: Toward culturally responsive ABA practice. Behavior Analysis in Practice, 15(4), 1032–1041. https://doi.org/10.1007/s40617-021-00577-5

11. Lee, J. D., Kang, V. Y., Terol, A. K., & Joo, S. (2025). Examining the efficacy of culturally responsive interventions for autistic children and their families: A meta-analysis. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 55(2), 706–726. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10803-023-06212-2

12. Prins, S. J., Shefner, R. T., Kajeepeta, S., Levy, N., Esie, P., & Mauro, P. M. (2023). Longitudinal relationships among exclusionary school discipline, adolescent substance use, and adult arrest: Public health implications of the school-to-prison pipeline. Drug and Alcohol Dependence, 251, 110949. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.drugalcdep.2023.110949

13. Rava, J., Shattuck, P., Rast, J., & Roux, A. (2017). The prevalence and correlates of involvement in the criminal justice system among youth on the autism spectrum. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 47(2), 340–346. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10803-016-2958-3

14. Yates Flanagan, A., Cola, M., Yu, N., Peele, H., Dicette, K., Hicks, G., Pelella, M. R., King-Pointer, A., Owens, J., Truong, D. M., Hauptmann, A., Pacheco, J., Russell, A., Lee, A., Schillinger, S., Covello, M., Lyons, M., Solórzano, R., Turnacioglu, S., … Parish-Morris, J. (2025). Policing Black autistic children: A qualitative approach to understanding Black caregivers' concerns. Autism, 29(5), 1303–1317. https://doi.org/10.1177/13623613241303549

15. Yates Flanagan, A., Peele, H., Obus, E., Dicette, K., Hill, T. L., Yu, N., Hicks, G., Pelella, M. R., King-Pointer, A., Owens, J., Truong, D. M., Hauptmann, A., Cola, M., Weaver, N., Pacheco, J., Russell, A., Lee, A., Schillinger, S., Covello, M., … Parish-Morris, J. (2025). A critical exploration of police officers' interactions with Black autistic youth and the guidance Black caregivers hope police officers will follow. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10803-025-06994-7

Pierra Perspective: The Black ABA Experience

Sun, 23 Aug 2026 02:09:09 GMT

Pierra Perspective 001

Five years. One ending. And the beginning of something much bigger.

Over the last week, I have experienced a plethora of emotions.

Last week, ties were severed with my previous work environment. And honestly? It was bittersweet.

There was anger. Sadness. Disappointment. Relief.

A lot of relief.

But before I talk about this past week, I have to rewind a little, because what happened didn't begin last week. And I don't think my experience exists in isolation. There is the ABA experience. And then, for me, and for many other Black professionals I've had the opportunity to speak with, there is also the Black ABA experience.

When your work has value, but your voice doesn't

There is a particular kind of frustration that comes with knowing you are capable. You build systems. You create curricula. You develop protocols. You train people. You identify problems before they become crises. You mentor emerging professionals. You help build teams and develop leaders.

Your knowledge is valuable .

Your ideas are valuable .

Your labor is valuable .

But somehow, when that same expertise leads you to question a decision, challenge a system, advocate for change, or simply have a different opinion, the response can feel very different.

Suddenly, you're difficult.

You're intimidating.

You're aggressive.

You're not a "team player."

Or your voice simply stops carrying the same weight as the work you produce.

And excuse my language, but:

THAT IS FRUSTRATING AS FUCK.

There really isn't a more polished way I want to say that.

Because there is something deeply frustrating about being trusted to build something but not necessarily trusted to challenge it.

Five years

I spent five years with my previous organization. Five years, y'all. During my time there, I had the opportunity to contribute to tremendous growth. I was there as the organization expanded from two locations to nearly eight. My work touched training curricula, templates, clinical protocols, policies and procedures, staffing structures, pod models and schedules, leadership development, new positions, clinical systems, and more.

I poured a lot into that work.

And then, this past week, that chapter ended.

At first, there was a part of me that wanted to focus exclusively on what I had lost.

But sitting with it has made me realize something else:

I'm relieved.

I didn't realize how much energy I had been spending trying to function in an environment that no longer felt healthy for me.

It is exhausting to constantly feel responsible for fixing problems you didn't create.

It is exhausting to feel as though you have to calculate how you speak before you speak.

It is exhausting to wonder whether being knowledgeable, assertive, or unwilling to simply agree will be interpreted differently because of who you are.

And it is especially exhausting when you begin shrinking yourself just to make everyone else comfortable.

I don't want to do that anymore.

So what do we do with the experience?

That's the question I've been sitting with. Because I could leave this chapter angry. And believe me, I'm angry.

But anger can be information. It can tell us where something hurts. It can tell us what matters to us. And sometimes it can tell us exactly what we're supposed to build next. So instead of only asking: Why did this happen to me?

I've started asking:

How do we prepare the Black professionals coming behind us so they don't have to learn all of these lessons the hard way?
How do we teach emerging Black behavior analysts to recognize their value before an organization defines it for them?
How do we talk about navigating leadership when you may be the only Black person in the room?
How do we prepare people for the difference between mentorship and exploitation?
How do we teach professionals to document their contributions, protect their intellectual property, advocate for themselves, negotiate compensation, recognize unhealthy organizational cultures, and know when it's time to leave?
And how do we develop Black clinicians who are not only clinically competent, but culturally confident enough to take up space?

Those are conversations I want to have.

That's why I'm writing Pierra Perspective

I didn't create this space because I have every answer. I'm creating it because I've lived some of the questions.

Pierra Perspective is where I'm going to talk about them. Leadership. ABA. Representation. Career growth. Organizational culture. Burnout. Identity. Mistakes. Successes. The things nobody warns you about when you're collecting your supervision hours and studying for the BCBA exam.

Some entries may be polished.

Some probably won't be.

Sometimes I may have research.

Sometimes I may simply have a story.

But they'll be mine.

And I'll tell the truth about how I experienced them.

My time at Howard University also shaped something in me that I don't think I'll ever lose: a willingness to question disparities when I see them and a responsibility to think about the people coming behind me.

That fire is still there.

Actually, after this week, I think somebody poured gasoline on it.

And now, we build.

That brings me to Pierra Company.

Part of what I'm building through Pierra is the resource I wish more Black professionals had while navigating this field, a place where professional development isn't separated from identity, leadership isn't separated from culture, and becoming excellent at what you do doesn't require becoming smaller in who you are.

This chapter didn't end the way I expected.

But maybe that's okay.

Because five years of building for someone else taught me an incredible amount about what I want to build for myself—and what I want to build for the people coming behind me.

So, stay tuned.

This is going to be a fun ride.

— Jasmine Tate
Founder, Pierra Company