Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services (CAMHS) are supposed to be the frontline of support for young people experiencing psychological distress. For many Autistic children and their families, CAMHS represents the only option when crises arise. Yet time and again, Autistic people report that CAMHS not only fails to meet their needs, but actively compounds the harm.
I know this because I lived it. CAMHS nearly killed me. And I know I am not alone.
Across my own story, and through the testimonies of countless Autistic children, families, and professionals, a disturbing pattern emerges: CAMHS is a system that is ill-equipped to understand Autistic experience, overburdened by impossible demand, and held hostage by a culture of blame. The result? Autistic children and their families are being failed—sometimes with fatal consequences.
CAMHS Nearly Killed Me
I first came into contact with CAMHS during one of the darkest times in my life. I was a young person in deep distress, carrying pain I couldn’t put into words. Instead of being met with understanding, I was met with discompassionate assessment that made me feel like box to be ticked.
CAMHS staff treated my Autistic differences as quirks. They saw my inability to articulate emotions not as alexithymia, but as an emotionally disconnected child. They treated my shutdown as school refusal. They pushed interventions that while potwntially helpful, were delivered in such an emotionally disconnected way that my mother could not trust them.
Rather than helping, CAMHS left me teetering on the edge of life and death. What should have been a safety net became a trapdoor. The irony is cruel; the very service designed to protect young people nearly became the reason my story ended.
Autism and Suicide: The Disturbing Facts
My experience is not unique. Autistic people are up to nine times more likely to die by suicide than non-autistic people. The research is stark, and it should ring alarm bells in every mental health service.
CAMHS too often ignores or dismisses the unique risk factors Autistic young people face. Monotropism, sensory overwhelm, chronic invalidation, systemic exclusion;these are not quirks. They are realities that shape our mental health. And yet, CAMHS continues to shoehorn Autistic distress into frameworks designed for neuronormative populations.
Instead of asking “what does this young person need in order to thrive?” CAMHS asks “how can we reduce their “challenging behaviours” to something tolerable for others?”
This is not suicide prevention. This is systemic neglect dressed up as care.
The Weapon of Parent Blame
When Autistic children struggle, CAMHS rarely asks what structural barriers or systemic failures are contributing to their distress. Instead, a familiar script unfolds; blame the parents.
I have seen families torn apart by insinuations that their child’s difficulties are the result of poor parenting. I have spoken to parents accused of fabricating their child’s struggles or of being overprotective. Some have been threatened with social services referrals.
This practice of parent blame does more than traumatise families, it shifts accountability away from the system itself. If parents can be scapegoated, then CAMHS doesn’t have to answer for its lack of neurodivergent-competent care, its years long waiting lists, or its reliance on outdated behavioural frameworks.
For Autistic children, the consequences are devastating. Instead of seeing their families as allies in survival, they are forced to watch their loved ones attacked and undermined. The very bonds that could help them heal are eroded by mistrust and suspicion.
The Forgotten Toll: Parent-Carer Burnout
CAMHS failures don’t just harm Autistic children, they also push parents and carers to breaking point.
Families are left to pick up the pieces when CAMHS refuses referrals, discharges children prematurely, or fails to provide appropriate support. Parents often find themselves managing complex crises with no guidance, all while fending off accusations of being the problem.
This takes a profound toll on parent-carer wellbeing. Many experience burnout, isolation, and despair. I’ve spoken to carers who felt like they were “screaming into the void,” begging for help that never came.
CAMHS rarely acknowledges this burnout, let alone provides meaningful support to address it. Yet a burnt out parent cannot sustain the energy required to support their Autistic child through crisis. The system is creating a vicious cycle where both children and parents are left unsupported, exhausted, and vulnerable.
A System in Crisis
When we look at these threads together, the picture is clear; CAMHS is in crisis, and Autistic families are paying the price.
Autistic young people are misinterpreted, pathologised, and failed at the exact moments they most need help.
Suicide risk is ignored because CAMHS insists on applying frameworks that do not fit Autistic experience.
Parents are scapegoated for systemic failings, compounding family distress.
Carers are pushed into burnout by the relentless burden of navigating a hostile system.
This is not an accident. It is the outcome of a service designed without Autistic voices, maintained by professionals who lack neyrodivergent-competent training, and underpinned by political decisions that chronically underfund children’s mental health.
Toward Neurodivergent-Competent Care
It doesn’t have to be this way. We can reimagine CAMHS, or whatever service replaces it, through the lens of Autistic experience.
That means:
Listening to Autistic voices and centring lived experience in service design.
Recognising that Autistic distress may manifest differently and requires different approaches.
Supporting, not blaming, parents and carers.
Building systems that prioritise safety, connection, and thriving over compliance and pathology.
Most of all, it means confronting the uncomfortable truth; CAMHS, as it currently exists, is not fit for purpose. Tinkering at the edges will not save lives. We need radical change.
Why I Keep Speaking Out
Writing about CAMHS is painful for me. It forces me to revisit traumas I would rather leave buried. But I keep speaking out because I know too many young Autistic people who didn’t make it through. I keep speaking out because families continue to be blamed, carers continue to burn out, and children continue to be harmed.
CAMHS nearly killed me. But I survived. And survival comes with responsibility; to bear witness, to demand better, and to refuse to accept a system that treats Autistic lives as disposable.
If you are a parent, carer, or Autistic young person struggling with CAMHS right now, I want you to know this: you are not alone. This is not your fault. And we deserve better.