Let’s talk about something that rarely makes it into polished brochures or awareness campaigns.

Hiring help.

For the past few months, we’ve been trying to hire a nanny. Not a specialist. Not an ABA therapist. Not someone with a psychology degree. Just a regular, decent person who can help watch over Jayden and keep him safe.
On paper, it sounds simple. In reality, it has been anything but.

Because the truth is this—very few people are willing to take the job.

And honestly, I understand why.

Jayden is not a neurotypical child. He runs, climbs, jumps—constantly. There is no pause button, no predictable rhythm that allows someone to relax, even briefly. He doesn’t speak, so communication is not straightforward. You learn to read patterns, gestures, and instincts rather than words.

He is strong, fast, and unpredictable. One moment he is laughing, the next he is sprinting toward the staircase, repeating the same movement over and over again. What looks like a simple act requires continuous supervision, both physically and mentally. It is not a passive job. It demands attention, stamina, and emotional control throughout the day.

The challenge often begins the moment we explain the situation. When candidates hear the words “anak autis,” something shifts. Some respond politely and decline. Others hesitate and never follow up. A few try, but most last only a short period—sometimes a day, occasionally a week.

It is not because they lack kindness. It is because they are not prepared for what the role actually requires. There is still too much fear, too much misunderstanding, and very little exposure to what
caring for a child like Jayden truly means.

At one point, we began to question whether we were looking in the wrong place. Perhaps what we needed was not a nanny, but a trained caregiver—someone with experience, someone who understands how to handle sensory needs, unpredictability, and non-verbal communication.

But that introduced a different problem.

Those individuals are even harder to find.

In Indonesia, caregiver services for children with special needs are limited. There is no central registry, no reliable platform, and no structured pipeline of trained professionals. Families are left to search on their own, relying on referrals, informal networks, or trial and error.

And even when you do find someone, availability becomes the next barrier. Many are already engaged, others are selective with cases, and some are simply not equipped to handle a child like
Jayden.

Cost is often assumed to be the main issue, but in our case, it is not the primary constraint. In Jakarta, domestic helpers typically earn between IDR 2.5 to 4.5 million per month, while those with more experience may command up to IDR 6.5 million. Trained caregivers, if available, can range between IDR 7 to 10 million.

We are prepared to pay for proper support.

But the reality is that affordability and availability are two entirely different challenges. Even when the compensation is competitive, the willingness to take on the role is not guaranteed.

There is also a broader structural issue that cannot be ignored. Indonesia is one of the largest suppliers of caregivers to countries like Singapore, Hong Kong, and Taiwan. Many of these workers
leave because they receive better pay, clearer job structures, and stronger protection abroad.

At home, we struggle to build a system that supports families who need that same level of care.

That gap is difficult to ignore.

I often wonder how many other parents are facing the same situation. How many are trying to balance work, therapy costs, and daily life while also dealing with the uncertainty of unreliable help.
How many are forced to rethink their routines, their careers, and even their sense of stability because consistent support is so difficult to secure.

In our case, like many others, we have had to adapt in ways we never expected. Our home is no longer just a home—it is also a controlled environment. Cameras are installed not out of paranoia, but out of necessity. When your child cannot always communicate clearly, you create systems that allow you to monitor, verify, and ensure their safety.

It is not ideal.

But it is reality.

This is why I believe the issue goes beyond individual families. It is not just about finding a nanny or a caregiver. It is about the absence of a structured ecosystem that supports children with special needs and the families who care for them.

We are missing a pipeline of trained caregivers. We lack standardized training and certification. There is no reliable matching system that connects families with qualified individuals. Caregiving, in
many cases, is still seen as informal work rather than a skilled profession that requires preparation and recognition.

And that perception has consequences.

Because caregiving is not charity.

It is responsibility.
It is skill.
And above all, it is dignity.

Dignity for the caregiver, who deserves proper training, fair compensation, and respect. Dignity for the child, who deserves to be understood rather than avoided. And dignity for the family, who should not have to struggle this hard to secure basic support.

When we fail to recognize caregiving as essential work, we do not just fail the workers. We fail the entire system that depends on them.

At some point, the question becomes larger than autism or parenting. It becomes a reflection of what we prioritize as a society. If we cannot build systems that support the most vulnerable among
us, then growth and progress become incomplete.

We are not asking for something extraordinary.

We are asking for something fundamental.

Reliable support.
Trained individuals.
A system that works.

Until that exists, families like ours will continue to do what we have always done.

We adapt.

We adjust.

And we keep going.

This is Autism Raw.
This is our unscripted journey