*Scroll to the bottom of this page to Download the Full Letter of Action and Recommendation (PDF). You're welcomed to add your own name and share where you believe fit to do so.*

What We Don’t Say Out Loud

*Please note this is not about my employers, my client(s) or their families. In my personal experience, I've been blessed with amazing employers who put their love for their children first and are dedicated to God, family and compassion for humans as a whole. This is a structural problem, not client and family.*

A Preface

There are parts of this work we don’t talk about. Not because they don’t matter—but because we are trained not to.

Behavioral Technicians are taught early to be regulated, composed, and steady no matter what walks into the room. We learn quickly that our own struggles are expected to stay invisible. Hard days are pushed down. Exhaustion is masked. Injuries are minimized. Emotional weight is swallowed and renamed “professionalism.”

We don’t talk about the nights we go home vibrating from adrenaline.

We don’t talk about the bruises we explain away.

We don’t talk about the quiet grief of watching systems fail people we care about deeply.

We don’t talk about it because honesty is often framed as weakness. Because boundaries are misread as inability. Because our absence has consequences for clients who rely on consistency and trust. Because this field already struggles to retain people—and truth is sometimes punished instead of protected.

So we adapt.

We show up regulated even when we are not.

We hold space for others while compressing our own needs into silence.

If you are a Behavioral Technician, registered or non-registered, this is for you.

If you are a client or family who relies on a Behavioral Technician, this is for you.

If you work in agencies, policy, or systems built on structure—this is especially for you.

What follows is not an attack.

It is a statement of reality.

And it is time it was said.

The Role You Dismiss Is the Role Holding the Line

What a Behavioral Technician Is—and Is Not

I am a Behavioral Technician.

My role exists where theory meets reality—where policy meets people, and where good intentions either become meaningful change or collapse entirely. It is a role often misunderstood, frequently minimized, and quietly depended upon by the very systems that undervalue it.

Let me be clear about what I am—and what I am not.

I am not a CNA. I do not provide medical care or function as a healthcare aide. When I assist with daily living skills, it is not to take over care, but to teach independence, safety, and autonomy.

I am not a maid. I do not clean homes or manage households. When I adjust an environment, it is because structure and predictability directly affect regulation and learning. That is clinical intervention, not domestic labor.

I am not a babysitter. I am not “extra help.” I am not a placeholder for gaps created by understaffing or disengagement.

I am a trained professional working primarily with autistic individuals and others with developmental, behavioral, or emotional needs—inside real environments where life actually happens. Homes. Schools. Communities. Not ideal conditions.

I guide individuals through a world that is often loud, fast, and overwhelming to their nervous systems.

I teach communication so unmet needs do not turn into aggression, shutdown, or self-injury.

I teach emotional regulation so overwhelm has somewhere safe to go.

I teach social, adaptive, and functional skills that many people take for granted—but that must be explicitly taught.

I do not simply “run programs.” I implement treatment plans while constantly adjusting to real-time variables: sensory load, emotional state, environment, and safety. I collect data not as paperwork, but as evidence of what actually works.

My work extends far beyond the client.

I collaborate with parents who are exhausted and afraid. I coordinate with educators, therapists, analysts, and agencies. I answer to state regulations while navigating conflicting expectations—often placed squarely on my shoulders to reconcile.

I am the one present when plans collide with reality.

The Invisible Labor No One Accounts For

Much of the work Behavioral Technicians do is invisible by design. When we do our jobs well, crises are prevented and stability appears effortless.

Before a session even begins, a technician is already working—regulating their own nervous system so personal stress, illness, grief, or overstimulation does not enter the space. For many technicians, including neurodivergent ones, this self-regulation is essential. Clients are observant. They mirror what we bring in. If we stumble, they stumble. That pressure is constant.

Once present, the work becomes continuous micro-decision making. Tone. Timing. Proximity. Word choice. Body language. Pacing. Environment. These decisions are made every minute to prevent escalation before it occurs. When done well, no one notices. When missed, the technician is blamed.

We anticipate triggers—some known, some emerging suddenly and without warning. This requires sustained observation of subtle cues, body language, and shifts that others never register.

We are emotional buffers. Not only for clients, but for families, siblings, professionals, and visitors. We regulate rooms, not just individuals. We absorb fear, frustration, grief, and urgency so it does not destabilize the client. There is no off switch. There cannot be.

We practice professional restraint—knowing when to intervene, when to hold back, and how to protect dignity even when others mishandle situations. When restraint fails, we manage the outcome while carrying responsibility for it.

We carry continuity. We remember what worked, what failed, and why. When technicians leave, that knowledge leaves with them.

After sessions end, many technicians have no formal space to debrief. The expectation is to absorb, compartmentalize, and return regulated the next day.

We advocate without authority—seeing issues early, carrying responsibility, but lacking power to decide.

None of this appears on timesheets.

All of it is essential.

The Isolation of Private-Home Behavioral Technicians

Private-home Behavioral Technicians work under a strain few people see.

Many are the sole technician assigned to a client for years at a time. There is no rotation, no backup, no one to switch days with. When illness, injury, or exhaustion happens, the responsibility does not shift—it waits.

In private homes, technicians often manage safety alone. They monitor not just the client, but the emotional and sensory environment created by multiple family members, professionals, and visitors. This level of vigilance is constant.

There is also profound instability. At any review, services can be reduced or removed entirely—sometimes because progress has been made. Improvement can mean fewer hours and less pay. Regression can mean blame. Either way, job security remains fragile.

Grace, when it exists, often comes not from systems or agencies, but from families.

Private-home technicians carry insight without authority. They see patterns early, problem-solve quietly, and navigate conflicting expectations from parents, educators, therapists, agencies, and the state—often alone.

And yet, many stay.

Why I Am Not a Registered Behavioral Technician

I want to address something directly—because assumptions are often made.

I am not a Registered Behavioral Technician, not because I lack the ability, knowledge, or commitment. I have the study guide. I could take the exam. I want to be registered.

But to become registered, a BCBA must sponsor you. And once sponsored, you must work under that BCBA. In my case, that would require leaving my current client.

I made an oath to her and to her family.

So I faced a choice:

Become registered, earn higher pay, and abandon my promise—or keep my word, remain non-registered, accept lower pay, and stay.

I chose my morals.

That decision has cost me financially. It has limited my professional mobility. And I do not regret it.

Because loyalty, consistency, and trust are not abstract values in this field. They are the foundation of progress. And I will not sacrifice a child’s stability for a credential—no matter how justified it may be on paper.

Conclusion: What Sustainability Actually Looks Like

It would be dishonest to pretend Behavioral Technicians are one policy change away from fair pay. Much of this field is funded through governmental programs such as Medicaid, with rigid reimbursement structures.

But acknowledging limits does not excuse neglect.

If higher wages are not immediately realistic, sustainability must be built in other ways.

Paid time off. Health insurance. Paid mental health days—even a few per quarter. Ongoing training and continuing education. Supportive supervision. Clear role boundaries. Backup planning for private-home technicians.

These are not luxuries. They are retention tools. They protect clients as much as technicians.

Behavioral Technicians are not replaceable parts.

They are relational anchors.

If this field expects us to keep showing up,

it must start showing up for us.

Author’s Note

I stay because my client is worth it.

Because her family is worth it.

Because I know what it feels like to be told you are too much, too different, not enough.

I believe God does not make mistakes. He makes masterpieces. I was once that child. My family was once that family. And if He did not give up on me, I refuse to give up on His work in others.

This profession is filled with imperfect, deeply caring humans who show up anyway. That matters.

If you are one of them—you are seen.

If you depend on them—protect them.

If you oversee them—support them.

This work matters because people matter.

And that truth is worth defending.

Below are 2 downloadable pdf's.

1st PDF: Explains the difference between an Attendant and Behavioral Technician.

2nd PDF: A formal advocacy document addressing misclassification, sustainability, and ethical support for Behavioral Technicians. Feel free to add your own name as well and share and/or send to your local officials