When Dread Becomes a Daily Companion: Coping After Tragedy as a Special Needs Parent

There are few things more gut-wrenching than hearing about a child like ours, a child with autism, being harmed or killed, especially by those who are supposed to protect. When the news broke about the autistic boy shot by police in Idaho, many of us didn’t just feel heartbreak. We felt dread. A deep, visceral, chest-tightening dread that has no off switch.

If you’re reading this with tears in your eyes or your fists clenched, know this: you are not alone. I’m writing this with that same ache. That same fear. That same scream inside that says, What if it was my child?

Let’s Name What We’re Feeling

Parents and caregivers in the special needs community often carry a baseline level of anxiety. But news like this turns that low hum into an internal siren. We feel:

• Terror, because we know how misunderstood our children can be.
• Helplessness, because no matter how hard we advocate, the world still feels dangerous.
• Anger, because we’ve shouted for change and still see these horrors unfold.
• Guilt, because part of us is relieved it wasn’t our child this time.

This is trauma. Collective trauma. And it demands more than just deep breaths and distraction.

Here’s What We Can Do With This Pain

1. Acknowledge That This Isn’t “Normal” Parenting Fear

Neurotypical parents worry about scraped knees. We worry about whether our child’s stimming might be mistaken for threatening behavior. We worry about the 911 call that might be misinterpreted. That is not normal, and it’s okay to say that out loud.

2. Connect With Your Circle, or Build One If You Haven’t Yet

In moments like this, reach out to your community. Find your people, online, in your town, through support groups, church, advocacy orgs. Share your feelings. Say, “This shook me.” We can’t carry this grief alone. And the truth is, no one understands the raw fear of being a special needs parent better than another special needs parent.

3. Talk to Someone, Yes, Even if You’re the “Strong One”

You can be strong and get help. Trauma compounds in silence. If you’re waking up with anxiety, avoiding the news, or feeling detached from the world because the fear is too great, talk to a therapist who gets neurodivergence. Many specialize in parental PTSD. You’re not broken; you’re exhausted from all they variables that play out in your head day in and day out in order to keep your child safe.

4. Have the Hard Conversations

Do you know what your local police department’s autism training looks like? Yeah. Most of us don’t, because we shouldn’t have to. But now is the time to ask. Call. Email. Advocate. Ask what they’d do if they encountered a nonverbal boy mid-meltdown. Offer to speak. Join forces with local disability orgs. Your fear can become fuel for change.

5. Equip Your Child While Honoring Their Neurodiversity

We walk a heartbreaking tightrope. We want our children to be their authentic selves, but we also know the world isn’t always safe for that. If your child is old enough, talk to them in age-appropriate, supportive ways about safety. Practice scripts or tools, like safety cards and communication apps. Use ID bracelets, or indicators to put on their seatbelt strap, backpacks, sneakers or clothing to let anyone who encounters your child know that they are non-verbal. Not out of shame, but because their life is worth protecting.

6. Turn Dread into Daily Action

Lighting a candle is beautiful. But we need more than moments of silence, we need a movement of sound. Reach out to lawmakers. Support or start petitions for mandatory police training. Share stories. Use your voice. Our fear can become the fire that lights a path forward.

And Finally, Please Hear This:

You are not paranoid. You are not overreacting. You are not weak for crying over a child you never met.

You are a fierce, tender warrior raising a child in a world that often misunderstands them. The fear you feel? It’s the heartbreaking side effect of how deeply you love them. But don’t let that fear drown you. Let it move you, connect you, remind you that your voice, and your child’s life, matters deeply.

We’re not just raising kids. We’re raising awareness, resilience, and hell when necessary.

And we can do it together.