April is Autism Awareness Month, so I always get a heavy influx of questions in regards to my profession. If you’ve been around for a min, you know that I am a BCBA (Board Certified Behavior Analyst) and that I work primarily with children diagnosed with Autism. My field of study in school was Applied Behavior Analysis (and I explain a lot more about it in this post and more about Autism in this post). So last week, I asked my RBTs to think of their “elevator speech” to explain what they do on a daily basis here in the clinic.
This may seem life a simple task, but y’all, it’s one of the most difficult ones, and I sometimes dread meeting new people for this very reason. A bit dramatic, right? Now you know where Emma gets it 😉 But the reality is that while I never quite know what to say to fully convey what I do properly in a short amount of time, the worst part is people’s reactions. Sometimes I get the “oh so you’re reading my mind right now?” or “oh so you’re judging what I do aren’t you?”. And while these eye rolling comments are often times meant in jest or are purely out of ignorance about the field, they aren’t the ones I dread.
I dread the comments that lead with “oh my goodness, you’re such a good person”, or “wow, you must have so much patience”, or “you are so special, I could never do that”, or worse yet, “you must have such a heart for disabilities”. Because the truth is, being a BCBA doesn’t make me a good person. I lack patience daily, and if we’re being honest, I don’t have a passion for disabilities.
I do this job because I have a passion for people. I have long thought that all people have the ability to do just about anything they want to with a little bit of hard work and practice. I never liked when people would make excuses for someone because of their background, gender, race, family status, diagnosis, or physical limitations. Like my basketball coach always said, excuses are like butts, everyone’s got one. And while every person on the planet is not capable of doing the exact same thing in life, they are capable of doing something. And that’s where my passion lies – in guiding people to reach their true potential regardless of their diagnosis.
One question I have asked every person I have ever interviewed is “what is your definition of success?”. This always throws the candidates a bit, but it is one of the most telling responses I get when looking to hire someone to work with the kids we serve daily. All too often, people tell me how passionate they are about Autism or another developmental disability and I wonder if there’s something I’ve missed after all this time.
But then I remember why I’m here. Throughout undergrad, I knew I was being called to something greater than myself. And each time I left the country for weeks or months on end to spread the Gospel overseas I get the same sort of commentary on those trips as I do now about my profession. “You must have such a heart for Bolivia“, “You must have such a passion for Russia.” And as I cringe now, I cringed then too knowing that I really didn’t have an opinion one way or the other about those countries other than believing that the people there were no less worthy to hear the good news than in any other country across the world. And that’s what lead me to this field. While often contrary to belief, Behavior Analysis and faith can very much go hand in hand.
My “goodness” as a person doesn’t come from what I do – it comes only from the grace of Jesus, who taught me how to love people. While it’s not in my job description, my hope is to not only make a difference in the lives of these kids, but also extend love and grace to the girls that work with them. And to encourage them that they can, in fact, do this work. And you probably could too. Because at the end of the day, kids with Autism are just tiny humans who are capable of doing great things!
