Where to Actually Start When Supporting Autistic Communication (And Why It's Not Requesting)

Remember that feeling when a new autistic student lands on your caseload and you're staring at a blank IEP wondering where the heck to begin?

Maybe they're just starting to communicate. Maybe they don't have a reliable communication system yet, or maybe you're juggling fifteen different areas you could support—but you're paralyzed trying to figure out which one will actually make the biggest impact.

I've been there. Early in my career, this feeling would keep me up at night. I'd overthink everything, wondering, “What if I pick the wrong goal? What if this doesn't actually help them?” Honestly, I still feel echoes of that pressure today—even after 10+ years in this field. But I’ve learned that there IS a pattern to where I start with my autistic students (and it's probably not what you were taught in grad school).

In this post, I'm breaking down exactly where I begin when supporting autistic communication—and why the traditional "start with requesting" approach often misses the mark entirely.

Why We Need to Rethink Where We Start

Let's be honest. Historically, we've all been taught to start with one skill when working with autistic kids. Can you guess what it is? Requesting.

Why? Because it feels tangible. It's easy to track data. It feels like you can mark it right or wrong. Did they request the thing? Yes or no. But here's the problem: When we make requesting the be-all and end-all, we're often just testing compliance—not supporting authentic communication.

When we use strategies like sabotage like withholding items, locking containers, taking toys away until a child "uses their words"—we're not teaching requesting. We're teaching kids that adults create obstacles and that they have to perform to get what they need.

That's not communication. That's control.

The 4 Questions I Ask Before Choosing a Communication Goal

Instead of defaulting to what's easiest to measure, I ask myself these four questions:

1. What does the child already know how to do?

What are they already doing successfully when I'm not interrupting their flow? What communication have I seen them use naturally—or with support? This tells me where to build from, not where to start from scratch.

2. What communication function do they need access to right now?

Not what's easiest for me to target. Not what looks good on paper. But what skill will be the most protective and valuable for this child in their daily life?

3. What helps this child feel powerful with their communication?

What gives them a sense of pride, confidence, and autonomy? What shows them that their voice matters and that what they have to say is important and respected?

4. How can I show up as their partner—not their manager?

How can I position myself as someone who's here to support and collaborate, not to direct and control? When I filter my goal-setting through these questions, I land in a very different place than I used to.

The 3 Communication Functions I Actually Start With (Plus One Runner-Up)

Here's where I typically begin when supporting autistic students. And spoiler alert: requesting is the runner-up, not the starting line.

Function #1: Asking for Help

One of the very first things I look for is whether a child can reliably ask for help when they actually want or need it. But I don't use sabotage to "teach" this skill. I don't lock snack containers. I don't hold toys behind my back and wait for a child to beg. I don't create artificial obstacles just to collect data.

Instead, I let the environment do the work. In my clinic, toys live on shelves—some high, some low. Some containers are easy to open, others are tricky. Some toys need two people to play with. These are natural challenges kids encounter in real life. When a child pauses and looks at me, or grabs my hand and brings me to a shelf, or tries to climb to reach something that's communication. That's them problem-solving and recognizing they might need support. Instead of withholding my help until they say the "right" words, I narrate what I see: "Oh, you want the blocks! Let me help. I can get them down."

I'm not sabotaging trust. I'm building it. When a child can ask for help, they learn that adults are safe, responsive, and trustworthy. They learn that they don't have to do everything alone—and that asking for support is a strength, not a weakness.

Function #2: Protesting or Rejecting

If a child can't reliably say no—or have that "no" respected then this is where I start. Protesting is a protective skill. It keeps autistic kids safe. It helps them set boundaries, advocate for their needs, and communicate when something feels uncomfortable, overwhelming, or wrong. And in a world where disabled individuals are at higher risk of abuse, the ability to say "no," "stop," or "go away" is not just communication—it's a safeguard.

But here's what I see too often: In compliance-based systems, "no" is punished, ignored, or redirected. Kids are taught that their protest doesn't matter—that they have to do what adults say, no matter what.

And that's dangerous.

In child-led, neuroaffirming therapy, we teach kids that their "no" is powerful. We honor it. We respond to it. We show them that their voice matters—even (and especially) when they're setting a boundary. When a child feels safe to protest, they're less likely to experience chronic stress and dysregulation. They're more likely to trust the adults around them. And they're taking the first step toward self-advocacy.

Function #3: Directing Actions

This is one of my favorite functions to support because it gives kids power. Directing actions means the child can tell you what to do—and what not to do.

- "Push me on the swing."  

- "Turn on the music."  

- "Open the door."  

- "Stop singing."  

When a child can direct your actions, they're shaping their environment. They're showing you what they like, what they want more of, and what they want to stop. They're leading the interaction. And that transforms your relationship from adult-directed to truly child-led.

Directing actions also helps kids move beyond noun-heavy communication (which is where requesting often leaves us stuck) and start using verbs, action words, and more flexible language. It's communication that feels joyful, collaborative, and empowering—for everyone involved.

The Runner-Up: Requesting (But Not How You Think)

Yes, requesting is important. But the way we've traditionally taught it? Not great. If I'm holding all the pieces of a game and making a child ask for them one by one, I'm not supporting communication—I'm making the game boring and teaching the child that I'm the gatekeeper.

If a child asks for a marker during a coloring activity they clearly don't want to do, that's not a request—that's compliance. A request is only meaningful if the child actually wants or needs the thing. So yes, I support requesting—but I do it naturally. If a child reaches for something in my hand, I don't yank it back and say "use your words." I say, "Oh, you want the Spider-Man! Here, let's ask for it. Can I have that? Here you go."

I'm modeling. I'm narrating. I'm responding to their communication—whatever form it takes, because communication is not a performance.

Why These Functions Matter More Than You Think

When I prioritize asking for help, protesting, and directing actions, I'm doing more than just "teaching communication skills." I'm teaching autistic kids that, their voice is powerful, adults are safe and responsive, communication is about connection—not control, and that they have autonomy over their own bodies and choices.  That's the foundation authentic communication is built on.

Not compliance. Not data collection. Trust.

How Rubrics Help Me Support All of These Functions at Once

Here's the thing: I don't usually choose one function and drill it for months. Instead, I use rubric-based goals that allow me to support multiple communication functions at once—and meet the child wherever they are on any given day. Rubrics let me track progress in ways that actually matter, without forcing a child to hit arbitrary 80% accuracy benchmarks that don't reflect real communication.

If you want to learn more about how I write neuroaffirming, rubric-based goals, stay tuned—I'll be diving deeper into that soon.

In the meantime, if this post resonated with you and you want step-by-step guidance on supporting autistic communication through neuroaffirming rubric-based goals, I've got you covered. You can download the aligned rubric framework here and finally track and capture progress in ways that ACTUALLY matter and reflect true communication.