High Needs, Low Needs, Same Fight: Why We’re Stronger Together
You know those moments where something you read feels like a punch in the gut? Where you have to stop, re-read, and ask yourself… did they really just say that?
That happened to me a few weeks ago.
I was reading proposals and commentary about education and disability supports here in Ireland. Tucked in there (almost quietly) was a suggestion to divide autistic children into two categories: “high support needs” and “low support needs.” And the kicker? That children labelled “low support needs” might not even be recognised as disabled.
If you don’t live in this world, maybe that sounds like paperwork. A boring bureaucratic distinction. But if you do, you know exactly what it means.
It means entitlements disappearing.
It means therapies vanishing.
It means children being told they don’t “count enough” to be supported.
For parents, it means one more round of fighting. One more round of proving. One more round of explaining why their child deserves to exist in this society with dignity.
My immediate reaction was anger. A deep, shaking, visceral anger.
Because my son is what they would call “high support needs.” He’s nonspeaking. He dysregulates easily. He needs constant scaffolding to move through the world.
So you might think… well, then, what’s my problem? Surely this “protects” him.
But that’s the trap.
The minute we start dividing autistic children into “high” and “low,” everyone loses. It’s a false divide… and a deliberate one.
This piece pulls apart that false divide: why it’s dangerous, why it harms every single one of us, and why the only way forward is together.
The Policy Shift (and why it matters)
If you’re outside Ireland, our Special Needs Assistants (SNAs) are classroom staff who support children with additional needs. Their real-life role is broad: physical care, yes… but also co-regulation, sensory support, transitions, and being the trusted anchor a child leans on.
Recent guidance from the NCSE set review criteria that prioritise “significant primary care need” in SNA allocations for 2025/26, prompting concern that support could narrow towards toileting/feeding/dressing rather than emotional and sensory regulation - the daily reality for many autistic students.
Now layer on something even more worrying: a growing push (in clinical pathways and public discourse) to split autistic children into “high support” and “low support” - with the real risk that those labelled “low” are treated as not disabled enough to qualify for help. Even if not formalised in law, systems often behave that way: narrowing definitions is a classic rationing move.
As disability scholars remind us, these categories aren’t neutral; they’re political tools that determine who gets resources and who doesn’t. The result is what feminist philosopher Nancy Fraser would call a double loss: recognition (being seen as legitimate) and redistribution (actually receiving support). Recognition gone. Redistribution gone. Dignity gone.
Bottom line: this isn’t reform… it’s austerity with a new label.
The False Divide
Here’s the deeper harm: once the state draws a line - “disabled/not disabled,” “high/low” - people start to believe it. Parents start to believe it. Communities start to believe it. And we begin looking sideways at each other instead of upwards at the system that created scarcity.
I’ve lived this. I’ve sat in meetings emphasising my son’s hardest moments so he’d qualify. It’s the game we’re forced to play - and every time, it makes me feel sick. Because someone listening might infer that the child who masks all day and collapses at home is “not autistic enough.”
But needs are contextual and fluid. Autism doesn’t fit neat boxes.
Masking and mental health: Research shows autistic people who camouflage are at higher risk of suicidality - hardly “low needs.”
Mutual misunderstanding: Damian Milton’s “double empathy problem” reframes communication differences as two-way - not a deficit in the autistic child. When a child is labelled “low needs,” their difference can be erased and their distress ignored.
The “high vs low” split is a fiction… and a harmful one.
Reflection prompt:
Where have you felt the pull of this divide? Have you ever caught yourself thinking, At least we don’t have it as bad as them… or the opposite? That’s not a personal failing. That’s a scarcity system doing its job.
How Division Harms Us (and our advocacy)
When resources are rationed, parents are trained to compete. We compare struggles, justify needs, and (without meaning to) minimise each other.
It corrodes community (Brené Brown’s scarcity mindset in action).
It weakens advocacy: splintered voices are easier to ignore.
It entrenches control: categorisation is power; once internalised, we stop questioning the system that assigned the label.
Reflection prompt:
Think about a time comparison made you feel worse or more isolated. Who benefited from that? (Hint: not you, not me, and not our children.)
Two Days, Same Exhaustion
A day in our house (what they’d call “high support needs”):
Night wakings. Morning unpredictability. Constant scanning for sensory triggers. Advocacy all day. After-school dysregulation. Collapse into bed, braced for tomorrow.
A parallel day (“low support needs” on paper):
Anxious mornings. Masking at school. “Model student” feedback. Home as the only safe place to fall apart: screaming, sobbing, or whispering that life feels too hard. Requests for help met with, “But they’re doing fine.”
Two families. Same exhaustion. One visible, one invisible.
What the research says:
Masking and unmet needs are linked with suicidality in autistic adults.
“Behaviour” is the tip of the iceberg; underneath is a nervous system under strain… a point echoed by trauma-informed child psychology.
The double-empathy lens explains why “good at school, crisis at home” is missed.
The matrescence lens:
However your child presents, motherhood remakes you. The griefs differ - relentless visible care vs. invisible pain and dismissal - but the ache is shared.
Reflection prompt:
What part of your motherhood is invisible to others? What would change if it were honoured?
The Bigger Picture (Ireland and beyond)
Ireland has a long history of drawing lines - “deserving/undeserving,” “educable/ineducable.” The labels change; the logic doesn’t.
Internationally, families in the UK (EHCP) and US (IEP) face moving goalposts and proof-of-deficit hoops. The tactic is the same: narrow definitions to save money; pit families against each other.
Meanwhile, our government has launched a National Human Rights Strategy for Disabled People 2025–2030 - a welcome step, but one that must be matched by delivery in schools, clinics, and community supports.
Care feminism offers a different foundation: care isn’t a cost centre to be rationed… it’s the infrastructure of a humane society. If we valued care, we wouldn’t need “high vs low.” We’d meet needs.
Reflection prompt:
If care were truly valued, what would change for your child… and for you?
Stronger Together
If division is the weapon, solidarity is the shield.
I’ve felt that solidarity in small, holy moments: a mum of a “low-needs” child sitting beside me after a brutal meeting; a parent of a nonspeaking teen validating another mum’s nightly masking meltdowns. No comparisons. No minimising. Just, I see you.
Movements grow at the speed of trust. Not sameness. Solidarity across difference.
Try this:
Think of one parent whose journey looks different to yours. Send a message today: I see you. I’m with you. What would help right now? That’s where movements begin… in kitchens, WhatsApp groups, waiting rooms.
My son has high support needs. Your child might not. But both of us lie awake at night, planning, worrying, loving.
If we let them split us… if we accept a world where only some children deserve dignity - we all lose.
Autism is not high or low.
It is not divided.
And neither are we.
Together, we’re a force.
This week’s gentle action:
Notice where you’ve been told your child doesn’t “count enough.” Notice where another family has been told the same. Then choose solidarity over comparison, and share this piece with someone who needs the reminder.
Listen to the full episode:
Next step
If this story resonates, you might find my free guide The First 30 Days especially grounding — a gentle companion for those early weeks after diagnosis. Download it here →
