Stop Trying to Fix What Was Never Broken: Rethinking Autism and Blame
This has been on my mind today…
The latest debates around Tylenol and autism feel like déjà vu. Another attempt to eliminate something we don’t fully understand. This time, the theory is that avoiding acetaminophen during pregnancy could somehow prevent a child from being autistic. And while the internet grabs onto that narrative like it’s gospel, I can’t help but think of the damage it’s doing — not just to scientific truth, but to every child being born into a world where their neurodivergence is seen as a defect.
Autism was discovered long before Tylenol hit pharmacy shelves. The spectrum existed before there were labels, diagnoses, or heated panels on morning talk shows. What’s new isn’t autism. What’s new is our panic around accepting it.
I grew up in Singapore, where the approach to childhood “issues” was very different — but carried the same dangerous root: blame. If you weren’t performing well in school, it wasn’t because you learned differently or were overwhelmed or needed support. You were lazy. Disrespectful. A problem.
My parents believed this. So did my teachers. My inability to focus or sit still or memorize math formulas wasn’t something to understand — it was something to beat out of me. Literally.
I was hit at home. Disciplined at school. Shamed in front of peers. I remember hearing the word potential thrown around like it was a threat — like I could have been something, if I just tried harder. The system, they said, was fine. I just didn’t fit it. That was my fault.
Now I’m older, a father, and an educator building a company that works with thousands of students — many of them neurodivergent. And I see the same root problem, just dressed differently.
Instead of beating kids into conformity, we now try to scare parents out of having children that are different in the first place. Avoid this. Don’t take that. Follow these rules and maybe, just maybe, your kid won’t be one of those.
But that’s not progress. That’s erasure.
Autism isn’t something to get rid of. It’s something to understand. Neurodivergent kids aren’t broken. They’re brilliant. But only if we stop trying to fix them.
We need to stop treating difference like a disease. We need to stop hiding behind policies and prevention myths and start asking better questions. Like: How do we build schools, communities, and systems that allow all kids — not just the compliant ones — to thrive?
At Schoolio, that’s our mission. Not just because it’s good pedagogy, but because it’s personal. I know what it feels like to be punished for the way your brain works. I also know what it feels like to unlearn all of that — to parent differently, build differently, lead differently.
So no, I don’t believe Tylenol is the problem. And I don’t believe discipline should be violent, whether physical or emotional. I believe in kids. I believe in learning environments that adapt to the child — not the other way around.
This isn’t about prevention. It’s about permission — to be different, to be seen, to be accepted.
Let’s stop blaming. And start building.
still learning, still unlearning