Understanding PDA Through a Compassionate Lens

About the Author

Brenda Dater, MSW, MPH, is the executive director at AANE and the author of “Parenting Without Panic.” Brenda is a mom of three, and her eldest is an Autistic woman. Brenda has facilitated parent support groups for over 20 years and thoroughly enjoys creating an environment where parents can find the support, information, and the community they need.

More and more Autistic adults and families are talking about PDA, which initially stood for Pathological Demand Avoidance. For many, the term helps describe a familiar experience: everyday demands, expectations, or requests can feel overwhelming or even threatening, triggering a threat response in the nervous system. That response is often described, not as willful defiance, but as extreme anxiety, a loss of control, or a critical need to preserve autonomy. This is why many individuals feel a more accurate and neurodiversity-affirming representation of the initials PDA is Pervasive Drive for Autonomy.

Whatever language we use, the lens we bring to these moments matters.

When someone resists brushing their teeth, getting dressed, starting work, answering a question, or beginning a task, it is easy to interpret that behavior as oppositional or a calculated disobedience. But sometimes something else is happening.

When the nervous system shifts into fight or flight, reasoning rarely works. Explaining why something is important, increasing consequences, or repeating the request often escalates the situation. The body reacts instinctively to a perceived threat before the thinking brain has a chance to weigh in.

For some Autistic people, even everyday expectations can trigger that response. A simple request may register as a loss of control. From the outside, it may look like defiance or complete shutdown. On the inside, it can feel like panic or a desperate need to protect oneself.

This is not a new idea.

Fifteen years ago, I taught a workshop called How to Make Daily Life Work at Home. We were not using the term PDA then, but parents regularly brought up struggles with routines like teeth brushing or getting dressed. We talked about sensory reasons those routines might be hard. Toothpaste can burn. Clothing can feel unbearable. Transitions can feel abrupt and disorienting.

And we also talked about something deeper that might be going on in some cases. What if the child is not being willful? What if something about that moment is pushing them into fight, flight, freeze, or fawn?

As parents and caregivers to Autistic individuals, when we shift from “Why won’t they?” or “How can I get them to do this?” to “What is happening in their nervous system?” everything changes.

Curiosity opens a door. Compassion builds a bridge.

Instead of assuming intent, we can pause and ask:

• Is this anxiety?
• Is this sensory overload?
• Is this about autonomy?
• Is this a nervous system that does not feel safe?
  

This applies to Autistic adults as well. Someone who avoids emails, delays paperwork, or shuts down during meetings may not be unmotivated or resistant. They may be overwhelmed. They may be anxious. They may be trying to regain a sense of control.

When we refrain from rushing to judgment that an action or inaction is manipulative or lazy, even that small shift can make a meaningful difference. Instead of saying, “You need to do this now,” we might try, “Would it help to choose when you start?” or “What would make this feel easier?” Offering choice, flexibility, or collaboration can lower the threat response and make engagement possible.

For some, the term PDA is deeply validating. It offers language for experiences that have long been misunderstood. Labels can be helpful. But whether or not this particular label applies, how we approach points of difficulty should be the same: understanding.

Understanding comes before progress. When someone feels understood rather than controlled, they feel valued and their nervous system can settle. And when the nervous system settles, collaboration becomes possible.

When behavior looks extreme or confusing, that is often a sign that someone is struggling, not choosing.

Changing the lens can change the outcome.