I’ve spent more than a decade working directly in ABA therapy services, moving between homes, clinics, and public school classrooms, often alongside families who are exploring providers such as https://regencyaba.com/ while trying to understand what effective support looks like beyond the therapy room. I’m a Board Certified Behavior Analyst, and like many people who enter this field, I started out believing that strong programs and clean data would naturally lead to better outcomes. That belief didn’t hold up for long once I began sitting at kitchen tables with exhausted parents and seeing how therapy actually carried over—or didn’t—between sessions. ABA can be effective, but only when it adapts to real life instead of trying to control it.
Most of my work has been with children on the autism spectrum, primarily in early childhood and the elementary years. Very little of that work happens in ideal conditions. Therapy unfolds during rushed mornings, loud classrooms, and evenings when families are simply trying to get through dinner without a meltdown. Those moments make it clear very quickly whether ABA therapy services are supporting a family or adding another layer of stress.
One experience early in my career still shapes how I practice. I worked with a child who performed almost flawlessly during sessions. The data showed steady progress, yet the parents felt like nothing had changed at home. During observations, I noticed that nearly every skill had been taught at a table, under tightly controlled conditions. When frustration showed up during meals or transitions, the skills vanished. We shifted focus toward communication and coping during the moments that actually caused distress. The progress didn’t look as polished on paper, but the family noticed calmer days and fewer breakdowns, which mattered far more than perfect graphs.
In my experience, overprogramming is one of the most common mistakes in ABA therapy services. I’ve inherited treatment plans packed with goals that no one could realistically implement consistently. Therapists rushed, parents felt overwhelmed, and the child spent much of the day being corrected instead of supported. Some of the strongest outcomes I’ve seen came after stripping plans down to a small number of meaningful goals that directly improved daily routines, even if those goals didn’t sound impressive in reports.
I’ve also learned to question rigid ideas about therapy intensity. More hours don’t automatically produce better results. I once worked with a child who made clearer gains after therapy time was reduced and goals were embedded into activities the child already enjoyed. Therapy stopped feeling like an interruption and started blending into everyday life, which helped the skills stick.
School-based work reinforced these lessons. I supported a child whose aggressive behavior escalated during hallway transitions. Previous plans focused heavily on desk-based compliance tasks that had little relevance to the actual problem. What helped was practicing coping strategies during real class changes, surrounded by noise and unpredictability. The sessions were messy and imperfect, but the behavior decreased because the intervention finally matched the environment.
ABA therapy services shouldn’t exist only within scheduled sessions. Families should see changes in the moments that used to feel overwhelming—leaving the house, tolerating small changes, asking for help before frustration takes over. If progress disappears as soon as therapy ends, the approach needs to be reconsidered.
I’ve also encouraged families to pause or change direction when therapy became more about meeting targets than supporting daily life. ABA is a powerful approach, but it loses its value when it ignores a child’s autonomy or a family’s capacity to sustain the work. The most meaningful progress I’ve witnessed came from collaboration, flexibility, and a willingness to revise plans that weren’t working.
After years in this field, my perspective is straightforward. ABA therapy services should reduce stress, not add to it. When therapy respects the child, supports the family, and stays focused on meaningful change, progress becomes something families can actually feel in their everyday lives.
One call that stays with me came in late one winter evening. A homeowner noticed their water pressure suddenly felt aggressive—faucets snapping shut louder than usual, hoses jerking when valves closed. By the time I arrived, the pressure-reducing valve had failed completely. The pipes hadn’t burst yet, but several joints were already strained. We shut the system down just in time. That job reinforced something I’ve seen repeatedly in Las Vegas: pressure problems don’t announce themselves with leaks until damage is already underway.
Trenton homes—whether the older brick ranches or the newer two-story builds—tend to show their condition through the details, and cleaners are often the first to notice what those details mean.








