I’ve spent a little over ten years working as an ABA Therapist, mostly in homes and school settings, and I’ve learned that the role is far less about charts and protocols than it is about presence. The first time I walked into a family’s living room as a newly certified behavior analyst, I thought my job would be to “fix behaviors.” That idea didn’t survive the first week. Real ABA work happens on carpeted floors cluttered with toys, in hallways between classes, and during long conversations with caregivers who are exhausted but still hopeful.
Early in my career, I worked with a preschool-aged child whose progress looked minimal on paper. The data sheets showed small gains, slow response rates, and frequent setbacks. But one afternoon, while helping him transition away from a preferred activity, he independently asked for “five more minutes” instead of dropping to the floor. It wasn’t dramatic, and it didn’t show up as a milestone anyone outside the room would celebrate. For his parents, though, it was the first calm transition they’d seen in months. Moments like that recalibrated how I measure success as an ABA Therapist.
One mistake I see families make—often because they’re overwhelmed—is assuming all ABA providers operate the same way. I’ve stepped into cases midstream where therapy was technically sound but emotionally disconnected. In one home-based program, sessions ran like clockwork, yet the child avoided the table entirely once I arrived. It became clear that therapy had turned into something to endure rather than something to engage with. We shifted away from rigid table work, spent time pairing through play, and rebuilt trust. Progress followed, but only after we slowed down and respected the child’s tolerance and communication style.
From the professional side, not every ABA Therapist is equally suited to every child. That’s an uncomfortable truth, but it matters. I’ve recommended families request a provider change when personalities clashed or when a therapist lacked experience with a specific profile, such as severe communication delays or aggressive behaviors. A good therapist isn’t defensive about this; they recognize that effective intervention depends on fit, not ego.
Burnout is another reality that rarely gets discussed honestly. There was a period a few years into my career when I was juggling too many cases, driving hours between sessions, and carrying families’ stress home with me. I caught myself becoming overly procedural—doing what was written rather than what was needed. That was a warning sign. Stepping back, reducing my caseload, and seeking peer consultation made me a better clinician. ABA work demands consistency, but it also requires self-awareness.
If you’re considering working with an ABA Therapist, pay attention to how they talk about your child when data sheets are closed. Do they notice small changes? Do they adjust when something clearly isn’t working? The best outcomes I’ve seen didn’t come from perfect programs; they came from flexible, observant therapists who treated families as partners rather than variables.
Being an ABA Therapist isn’t about controlling behavior. It’s about understanding why behaviors exist, teaching alternatives that actually fit the child’s world, and showing up day after day even when progress is slow. That quiet, steady commitment is where the real work lives.