The brisk autumn breeze carries fallen maple leaves across Queen’s Park as families gather with handmade signs. Children in weighted vests rock gently on the periphery while parents take turns at the microphone, sharing stories that sound strikingly similar despite coming from Windsor to Thunder Bay.
“We waited 38 months for therapy,” says Melissa Drysdale, bouncing her four-year-old son Oscar on her hip. “By then, the funding package we received covered less than half of what he needed.”
This scene has become increasingly common across Ontario as families affected by autism confront what many describe as a chronically underfunded system. The recent provincial budget announcement for fiscal year 2025 has reignited long-simmering tensions between advocacy groups and the Ford government over the Ontario Autism Program (OAP).
The province has allocated $667 million for autism services in the upcoming fiscal year—technically an increase from previous years, but one that falls significantly short of what experts and families say is needed to address the backlog of nearly 60,000 children waiting for core clinical services.
“When you break down the numbers, we’re talking about approximately $14,000 per child if everyone received an equal share,” explains Dr. Janet McLaughlin, autism researcher at Wilfrid Laurier University and parent of a child with autism. “But the reality is that evidence-based therapy can cost between $50,000 to $80,000 annually for a child with moderate to severe needs.”
The OAP has undergone multiple transformations since 2019, when the Ford government first announced plans to clear waitlists by providing families with fixed amounts based on age rather than individual needs assessments. The resulting backlash forced policy reversals and an eventual promise of a needs-based program.
While visiting a therapy center in Mississauga last month, I watched seven-year-old Maya learn to communicate using a tablet-based system. Her mother, Priya Sharma, explained that private therapy costs consume nearly 40% of their household income, even with provincial funding.
“We’ve remortgaged our home twice,” Sharma said, her voice steady but her hands fidgeting with her car keys. “But what’s the alternative? We can see how this therapy is helping her connect with us in ways that seemed impossible two years ago.”
The emotional and financial strain on families has measurable downstream effects. A recent report from the Canadian Medical Association Journal documented significantly higher rates of stress-related health conditions among parents of children with developmental disabilities, particularly when access to support services is limited.
Finance Minister Peter Bethlenfalvy has defended the budget allocation, citing consecutive annual increases since 2018. “We’ve more than doubled funding for autism services compared to the previous government,” he stated during budget deliberations at Queen’s Park.
However, autism advocates counter that these increases haven’t kept pace with either inflation or the growing diagnostic rates. The prevalence of autism spectrum disorder in Canadian children is now estimated at 1 in 50, according to the Public Health Agency of Canada’s latest surveillance data.
Angela Brandt, president of the Ontario Autism Coalition, argues that inadequate funding creates a multi-tiered system. “Families who can afford to supplement government funding get services. Those who can’t either go into crippling debt or watch as developmental windows close for their children.”
The situation is further complicated in northern and rural communities, where service providers are scarce. In Thunder Bay, families report driving over three hours each way for therapy sessions that urban families can access within their neighborhoods.
“We’ve built our entire life around this commute,” says Mark Lavoie, whose son receives therapy in Winnipeg because it was actually closer than waiting for services to become available in northwestern Ontario. “Every Tuesday and Thursday, we drive across provincial borders just to access what should be available in our own community.”
The human costs extend beyond finances. Marriages strain under the pressure. Siblings receive less attention. Careers are put on hold—predominantly by mothers, according to StatsCan data showing that parents of children with disabilities are 40% more likely to report employment disruptions, with mothers bearing the primary impact.
Clinical psychologist Dr. Evdokia Anagnostou of Holland Bloorview Kids Rehabilitation Hospital notes that these stressors create a troubling paradox. “The very families already dealing with extraordinary challenges are further burdened by fighting for basic services. This advocacy becomes almost a second full-time job for many parents.”
Some creative solutions have emerged from communities themselves. Parent-run support cooperatives have formed in several Ontario cities, where families share resources, exchange respite care, and collectively navigate the bureaucratic maze of funding applications.
In Windsor, the Autism Advocacy Collective has created a lending library of sensory equipment and therapy materials. “If the government won’t provide adequate resources, we’ll create our own safety nets,” says founder Lucy Martinez, whose twins both have autism.
As debate over the 2025 budget continues, families express frustration that autism funding seems perpetually caught in political crossfire rather than treated as an essential health service. Many point to provinces like British Columbia and Quebec, which have established more stable funding models.
Political will could change the equation. A comprehensive economic analysis published in the Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders suggests that investing in early, intensive intervention actually saves healthcare and education systems approximately $2.4 million per individual over their lifetime.
As the afternoon grows colder at Queen’s Park, parents pack up their signs. Children who’ve been patient beyond their years are getting tired. The microphone is turned off, but conversations continue in small clusters. These families know they’ll likely be back next year, and the year after that.
“We’re not going anywhere,” says Drysdale, now carrying a sleeping Oscar toward the parking lot. “Our children deserve so much better than this endless cycle of announcements and disappointments.”
