I’ve been working in ABA Therapy Services for just over a decade now, most of that time as a Board Certified Behavior Analyst in clinical and home-based settings. My days have been spent on living room floors with data sheets, in classrooms negotiating support plans with teachers, and at kitchen tables having honest conversations with parents who are exhausted, hopeful, and understandably skeptical. ABA Therapy Services look very different from the inside than they do on a brochure, and that difference matters when families are deciding whether this kind of support is right for their child.
When I first started, I was assigned to a preschool-aged child who had significant communication delays and frequent self-injury. The initial referral paperwork focused heavily on reducing behaviors. Sitting with the family during intake, though, it became clear their biggest concern wasn’t the behavior charts—it was that their child couldn’t tell them when they were hurt or scared. That experience shaped how I approach ABA services to this day. Good ABA isn’t about suppressing behaviors to make life easier for adults; it’s about building skills that give the child more control over their own world.
One thing only people who’ve actually delivered ABA tend to understand is how individualized it needs to be to work. I’ve seen beautifully written treatment plans fall apart in real homes. One family I worked with lived in a small apartment with three generations under one roof. Strategies that worked perfectly in a clinic didn’t translate there at all. We had to adapt—shorter sessions, fewer materials, and a lot more coaching of caregivers instead of direct drills. ABA therapy services that don’t account for real-life constraints often fail, no matter how evidence-based they look on paper.
I’m also opinionated about intensity. Early in my career, I followed the old model almost blindly: more hours meant better outcomes. Over time, I watched kids burn out and families feel overwhelmed. A few years ago, I worked with an elementary-aged child whose progress actually improved after we reduced hours and focused on fewer, more meaningful goals. ABA isn’t a race. More therapy isn’t always better therapy, and any provider who insists otherwise without discussing your child’s tolerance and family capacity is oversimplifying a complex situation.
There are common mistakes I still see families stumble into, usually through no fault of their own. One is assuming all ABA providers deliver services the same way. I’ve supervised technicians who were incredible at building rapport and others who treated sessions like factory work. Credentials matter, but supervision quality matters just as much. If a BCBA is rarely present or can’t explain why a strategy is being used in plain language, that’s a red flag I’ve learned not to ignore.
Another mistake is focusing solely on reducing “problem behaviors” without asking what skills are being built to replace them. I once inherited a case where aggressive behaviors had decreased, but the child had almost no functional communication. The behavior didn’t disappear—it just changed form. ABA therapy services should always be teaching something meaningful, whether that’s communication, self-advocacy, or daily living skills that actually improve independence.
I’ll also say this plainly: ABA is not appropriate for every child in the same way or at the same time. I’ve recommended pauses in services, shifts to parent training only, or collaboration with speech and occupational therapists instead of increasing ABA hours. That’s not anti-ABA—that’s ethical practice based on what I’ve seen work and fail in real families’ lives.
After ten years in the field, my view of ABA therapy services is less rigid and more human than when I started. When done thoughtfully, with respect for the child and the family, it can open doors that once felt permanently closed. When done poorly, it becomes just another stressor layered onto an already challenging situation. The difference isn’t in the buzzwords or promises—it’s in how the therapy shows up, week after week, in the realities of a child’s life.