MotherCop

A Hidden Journey of Sun, Sand and Strength

CONFESSION: I’ve been strongly thinking about leaving my sun-kissed land of white-blanketed sandy beaches and turquoise seas—to move to a different Caribbean country. One that has the much-needed resources to help my little champ soar to independence.

Before making any drastic decisions—I conducted some essential research to discover which country had the necessary resources for us to fulfill this enormous transition.

I was troubled to learn other Caribbean countries experience similar, if not, worse challenges than mine. The fact is—Autism is not foreign to the Caribbean — yet, to an extent, it’s often treated as if it doesn’t exist.

Families across The Bahamas, Jamaica, Trinidad, Barbados, and smaller island nations face an invisible crisis. Many discover their child is different but find few professionals or support systems to turn to.

Early intervention (which helps so much) is difficult when there is a lack of fundamental and effective resources available.

Developmental assessments are limited, due to an underdeveloped infrastructure for identification and diagnosis. Public health clinics in The Bahamas rarely screen for autism before the age of four and private services can roughly cost hundreds of dollars per hour — far beyond what the average Caribbean household can afford.

As a result, many children go undiagnosed or receive help a little too late.

Another sad reality is the scarcity of autism professionals. Across the region, the number of trained speech therapists, certified behavior analysts, and occupational therapists remains painfully low.

Some islands have only one or two specialists serving hundreds of children. Waiting lists can stretch for months.

Teletherapy (online therapy) options are still developing but not widely accessible.

During COVID-19, my son’s therapist canceled all in-person sessions and resorted to Teletherapy. My then—completely non-verbal, hyper-active son who had just turned TWO at the time, did not sit behind the computer once for his sessions. After weeks of innumerable failed attempts to get him to sit in front of the camera, she strategically started interviewing me for daily updates of my kid’s reactions to the lockdowns, as an alternative to continue providing the services that were meant for him. After weeks went by, not only was I left in the same position as I started—but I was left with a bill that came with a headache on a platter. So, of course I did the next best thing.

Parents become the bridge — learning therapy techniques online, printing free visuals, and creating sensory-friendly corners at home because professional help is simply out of reach.

Inclusive education remains a dream for many. While a few Caribbean schools are beginning to adopt special education programs, most remain unprepared to handle neurodiversity. Teachers often lack proper training, and many classrooms are overcrowded with limited teacher’s aide.

Children with autism, like my son, are too often labeled as “disruptive,” “slow,” or “uncooperative.” Yet, with the right structure, resources and understanding, these same children can thrive — showing exceptional memory, creativity, and focus. Inclusive schools don’t just benefit autistic children; they build empathy and compassion in all students.

Behind every child with autism stands a parent carrying the emotional and financial weight. Many parents—mothers especially—leave their jobs because no one can adequately care for their child.

Therapy sessions, sensory tools, and dietary needs all add up — often without government support or insurance coverage. This lack of systemic help creates cycles of exhaustion and burnout that no parent should face alone.

Despite the challenges, hope is rising across the Caribbean. In Jamaica, advocacy groups are training teachers to recognize autism signs early.

In Trinidad, inclusive schools are proving that with patience and resources, all children can learn.

In The Bahamas, faith-based and parent-led initiatives are pushing for greater public awareness and acceptance.

Real change begins when we build a Caribbean where:

• Early screening must become standard. Parents, clinics and schools need clear guidance about what developmental milestones to watch for. If a child is missing many of the typical social or communicative signs by age 2-3, they should be evaluated.

• Better training for professionals across the islands. Speech therapists, psychologists, pediatricians, and teachers need culturally-aware training so they can recognize autism early, understand sensory needs, and support families.

• Support networks for parents. Groups where mothers, fathers, caregivers can share experiences, be encouraged, exchange resources — that lifts weight off lonely shoulders. I’ve found courage when I heard someone else say: “I see my child in yours.”

• Combat misinformation. We need trusted voices (health ministries, nonprofits, churches) speaking consistently. False causes and miracle cures are dangerous — they waste time, money, hope.

• Funding & policy. Governments in the Caribbean must invest: diagnostics, therapy, inclusive school systems, and services for adults on the spectrum too. And policies must recognize neurodiversity as part of public health.
  
  

Raising a child with autism in the Caribbean takes courage, creativity, and faith. Every day is a mix of beauty and battle. But Caribbean parents are resilient — we’ve weathered storms before, and we’ll do it again.

It’s time our systems match that strength. Because our children don’t need pity — they need opportunity.