Pervasive Drive for Autonomy
When Safety and Autonomy are One in the Same
Balancing Safety and Freedom in a Digital World
In my research on adolescent online safety, I advocate for the digital rights of teens, often speaking publicly against outright bans of social media and smartphones for adolescents. This isn’t because I necessarily believe that these technologies are unequivocally good for teens, but because autonomy, respect, and self-regulation are core values that are both appropriate for the unique developmental stage of adolescence, as well as values I strongly believe in as a Mom of a now pre-teen.
Here is a recent podcast, where I was interviewed by Revolution.Social about my research and views on this topic.
Everything is Connected
This post, however, is more personal. Anyone who knows me understands that my professional and personal lives are deeply intertwined; they shape and sustain each other in ways that can’t be separated. My husband has been disabled for more than thirteen years, which means my career is not only my passion but also our family’s primary source of stability.
Yet, the reason I pour so much of myself into my work is rooted in my own story. Growing up, my childhood was tumultuous, and my ties to my family of origin remain strained. Those early experiences left me yearning for stability and belonging, which are things I’ve been fortunate to find through my work. My collaborators and students have become the family I’ve built for myself: people I invest in, care for, and draw strength from. For me, work isn’t just a professional calling; it’s also a space of connection, trust, and shared purpose.
Everything in my life is connected. The same themes that run through my research—autonomy, safety, and respect—are the ones I strive to nurture in my own family. My academic work on giving teens a voice mirrors the emotional work of raising a neurodivergent child: finding ways to build trust without control, and safety without caging her in.
A Pervasive Drive for Autonomy
In our AuDHD household, we live with something called Pathological Demand Avoidance (PDA)—a profile often seen in autism that we prefer to reframe more positively as a Pervasive Drive for Autonomy. PDA describes individuals who experience an extreme resistance or avoidance of everyday demands and expectations, even those that seem simple or routine, due to high levels of anxiety and a need to feel in control. PDA is definitely real, and it isn’t just a kid thing—It applies to adults too.
For us, it’s not an abstract concept; it’s part of our daily life.
There are days when something as simple as getting dressed, brushing teeth, or even eating becomes a negotiation, not out of defiance but out of fear and overwhelm. Ironically, the conflict arises even when the task at-hand is something the individual wants to do and is in their best interest to do, but simply because they are being told to do it, the task then becomes impossible. I’ve learned that what looks like resistance is often a plea for control, a way of saying, “Let me do this on my own terms.” Those moments can be tender and trying in equal measure. But they’ve taught me more about autonomy—and about love—than any textbook ever could. Control is not safety.
Understanding PDA has reframed how I see parenting, my marriage, my research, and my own life. It reminds me that safety isn’t the absence of conflict; it’s the presence of trust. And, that trust grows when we allow each other the freedom to be fully ourselves, even when it’s messy, inconvenient, or unpredictable.
The Lesson My Daughter Teaches Me Every Day
My daughter is my greatest teacher, and she means everything to me. She is the reason I wake up every morning and keep pushing forward, even after what feels like endless years of discrimination in a field that too often confuses conformity with competence. She is also the reason I’ve become a better mentor, colleague, and wife—because she’s taught me that you can’t lead by control. You have to invite, engage to get buy-in, and do it together.
Below is a video of her recent recital, singing “Speechless.” Singing is her passion, and the song she chose couldn’t be more fitting. It epitomizes who she is.
She looked beautiful, but she was dressed discernibly different than all the other kids who wore their Sunday best. (Her teacher disapprovingly pointed that out to us.)
She did great, but it was not her best performance. Why?
Because she didn’t like being told to practice. She didn’t like being told to get up early on a Saturday morning. She didn’t like waiting until second-to-last to perform. And, she didn’t believe me when I said to trust the microphone and that she didn’t have to scream for the audience to hear her. She did not want to be silenced. So, she did it her own way. And I’m proud of her, because she did it.
Try to lock me in this cage
I won’t just lay me down and die
I will take these broken wings
And watch me burn across the sky
She is beautifully strong, vulnerable, defiant, and herself. And, I love her fiercely.
It’s about Empathy, Not Control
I’ve struggled a lot lately because there are people telling me what to do, how to do it, and making threats if my performance isn’t to their liking—on important decisions that affect my life far more than theirs—both professionally and personally. But their attempts to control and to silence me have had the opposite effect of igniting a fire within me to fight even harder.
In case those people happen to be reading this post, maybe they will learn something new on how to best engage with my neurodiverse family: Open dialogue and trust will go much farther than coercion and threats. We thrive on collaboration, not control. We do not negotiate with terrorists.
Autonomy is not rebellion—it’s survival. And for us, it’s safety and love.