"Because I Said So" Isn’t Enough: Why We Are Building Different Kind of ABA Clinic

I’m Felicia, one of the founders of Something to Say ABA. In this final installment of my series, I’m sharing how I transitioned from the classroom to the clinic, and exactly why my husband Matt and I are opening our doors in Springfield this Fall. If you missed my difficult decision to leave teaching, read Part 5 here. Let's dive into the final chapter.

Looking Beyond the ABCs: Why I Hesitated to Become a BCBA

A young toddler boy eagerly types on a laptop keyboard, "helping" his mom study for her master's degree in Applied Behavior Analysis on her journey to becoming a BCBA.

Before I left teaching, I never pictured myself as a Board Certified Behavior Analyst. Although I had started a master’s degree in Applied Behavior Analysis, I never intended to use it professionally. I only wanted to gain more knowledge so I could be the best teacher possible for the children in my classroom. The fact that I was in a pursuit for knowledge and not the degree meant I put that degree on hold for some time to focus on teaching and parenting through a pandemic.

Despite being interested in the science of behavior, I initially hesitated to take the leap and become a full-blown behavior analyst. My hesitations about the field's rigidity began during my time teaching in the STEP room, and those concerns are exactly what kept me firmly rooted in the classroom initially. While the science made sense to me, I struggled to call myself an "analyst" instead of a "teacher who draws upon the science of behavior." I had a persistent sticking point: I felt that some theories in ABA oversimplified the beautiful complexity of how children grow and learn.

2,000 hours of fieldwork! It sounds exhausting, but honestly, this tracker holds memories of incredible mentorship, so many lightbulb moments, and a lot of shared laughs with an amazing team.

To understand why I felt this way, you have to understand the framework used in ABA, which we call the ABC model. It’s essentially a three-part story that aims to understand the "why" behind everything a child does:

• A (Antecedent): What happens immediately before the action (the setting, the request, or the environment).

• B (Behavior): The action itself—what the child does or says.

• C (Consequence): The result that follows—what happens immediately after.

  
  

We use this ABC model to figure out why a child is acting in a certain way. Most often the "consequence" (the C) is analyzed to determine the primary reason, or "function," of the behavior. Traditionally, this process required us to narrow down a child's complex motivations into just one single, isolated function: Is the child acting out solely to get a toy? Are they only seeking attention? Are they just trying to avoid a difficult task? The theory of traditional ABA is by isolating and focusing on the C, we can predict and change future behaviors.

This oversimplification in traditional models also extended to communication and cognition, which the field refers to as "verbal behavior." In this view, language is often analyzed as a transactional loop: the child has a motivation or observes a stimulus (A), they emit a communication (B), and they receive a specific reinforcement (C). While this is a simplified explanation, I found that even the most academically rigorous explanations of these theories felt like an oversimplification of the human experience.

The ultimate souvenir from my clinic days! I walked away from this chapter with a passing score, lifelong clinical skills, and some truly wonderful memories of the kids and staff who got me there.

However, as I learned more through my degree, those doubts about the field began to ebb. My coursework had touched (albeit far too briefly) on Relational Frame Theory (RFT)—an alternate framework for understanding language and cognition—and Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), which is the practical application of this framework. But it was Corey Moore who really started my interest in ACT. Seeing this framework applied in my classroom was a revelation. Instead of focusing solely on stopping a "bad" behavior, ACT gave the children tools to notice their big, uncomfortable feelings and still make choices that mattered to them—like playing with a friend or participating in an activity. I began to realize that there were other, far less rigid applications of ABA available. For the first time, I could actually picture myself as a potential BCBA—one who could prioritize a child's emotional well-being just as much as their behavior.

Even with my initial reservations softening, leaving the classroom was a leap. I knew moving to a clinic setting was the next most logical career path, but I found myself wondering if I would be able to apply ABA with the flexibility I was used to in the classroom. I didn't want to just track functions and transactions; I wanted to honor the ABC foundation while embracing the bigger, more dynamic picture of child development. I wanted to ensure that our interventions were rooted in growth and connection, rather than just compliance.

Navigating a massive career shift with two little ones meant it was all hands on deck at home. Watching Ethan embrace his big brother duties with Josie brought so much light to those exhausting early clinic days.

My evolving mindset was truly solidified when I started my clinic fieldwork hours with a fantastic supervisor, Becky Nelson. Up to this point, my shift in perspective had been largely theoretical, but she introduced me to the practical applications I had been searching for.

The first was a different approach to behavior: Practical Functional Assessment (PFA) and Skill-Based Treatment (SBT). For someone outside the field, this might sound like more clinical jargon, but in practice, it was a breath of fresh air. While traditional behavior models often try to categorize a child's actions into one of four isolated functions—like simply wanting a toy or escaping a task—real life is rarely that simple. PFA addresses this oversimplification by focusing on "synthesized contingencies," which are the customized, real-world combinations of things a child actually wants (such as needing the iPad while sitting on Mom's lap without any background noise). By identifying this exact, personalized recipe, the PFA phase establishes a therapeutic baseline where the child is maintained in a Happy, Relaxed, and Engaged (HRE) state. Once that HRE foundation is solid, Skill-Based Treatment (SBT) builds upon it, progressively teaching the child how to gracefully communicate their needs, tolerate the disappointment of hearing "no," and cooperate with everyday expectations.

The second breakthrough with Becky involved language. She showed me how to use Relational Frame Theory (RFT) to guide my clinical programming, finally bridging the gap between the theory I had learned with Corey and the practical application I needed. If traditional models treated language as a simple transaction, RFT was the scientific framework that captured how beautifully complex human thought actually is. It explains how our brains naturally build vast, interconnected webs of meaning without needing every single connection explicitly taught and rewarded.

Taking a break from analyzing data to hunt for candy! I learned so much at this clinic, but the community events that brought our families together were definitely the highlight of my time there.

Between the foundational understanding of ACT I gained from Corey, and the practical applications of PFA, SBT, and RFT I learned from Becky, I finally had the missing pieces I had been looking for. They provided a way to utilize the proven, effective science of ABA while honoring, connecting with, and supporting the whole child.

Ultimately, bringing all these pieces together opened the door to fully embracing true play-based learning—something the rigid structure and systemic constraints of the school system simply didn't allow for. My early experiences in autism education were highly structured and adult-led. It often felt like we were training children to tolerate an inflexible educational structure rather than honoring their beautifully complex needs. Now, by rooting our interventions in joy, emotional flexibility, and genuine connection, we are no longer just aiming for compliance. We are fostering a genuine love of learning and it was clear to me being a BCBA was exactly where I have needed to be.

Empowering the Village: Why Operations Matter Just as Much as Clinical Care

Working with Becky as my supervisor quickly turned into an incredibly dynamic collaboration. While she helped expand my clinical perspective, I was able to bring my own background in team-building and systemic troubleshooting into our work. We were constantly bouncing our “good ideas” of one another, and out of those conversations came one of our most defining shared beliefs: supporting the "whole child" means you have to empower the parents and technicians surrounding them. I knew that in order to truly be there for those adults, we had to build strong, intentional structures that would support their efforts and ultimately elevate the outcomes for our clients. Paired with the deeper understanding of behavior, that realization triggered a profound interest in systems improvement for me.

I have always loved a good system, but I now viewed these operations as a way to care for our team. My goal essentially became to clear the staff's administrative and logistical paths, so they could focus entirely on the kids. I overhauled our intake process to make it more accurate and developed a systematic way to handle client cancellations. When it came to staff training, I leaned on Becky’s ongoing mentorship to create a new clinic-wide feedback form, standardized competency assessments, and structured training observations. Drawing on my previous experience with Augmentative and Alternative Communication (AAC) devices, I was able to expand the clinic’s use of robust, vocabulary-rich, high-tech AAC systems. I used what I had learned about child-led learning and RFT to completely overhaul my data collection methods, allowing us to capture a much broader, more accurate picture of a child's generative language.  It was incredibly rewarding to create the concrete support systems our technicians needed to confidently deliver the kind of joyful, play-based care we were so passionate about.

Fall has always been our favorite season, but this upcoming Fall is going to be the most special one yet. Looking back at these pumpkin patch trips reminds me of the beautiful, chaotic season of building our dream clinic while raising our babies.

Having these improved clinical data systems in place paved the way for our next big endeavor: empowering the families. Becky and I were able to combine our knowledge in so many ways. One of the last projects we worked on together was designing a comprehensive AAC training course for parents. With Becky’s clinical insights and my background in AAC, we built a curriculum that didn't just hand parents a device, but actually empowered them to confidently use it at home. We went into the project with the clear intention of continuously evaluating and improving the course based on family feedback. Although my time at the clinic ended before the project was fully completed, establishing that framework for systemic accountability sparked a much larger realization. It gave me a taste for the kind of continuous, intentional improvement I wanted to see applied everywhere—which, as I would soon find out, is both a blessing and a bit of a professional liability.

The "Why" Phase (and Other Occupational Hazards)

The clinical and procedural work I was doing was profoundly fulfilling. I still LOVED working with my clients, but I was enjoying these system level projects.  These projects required a unique type of self-reflection and problem-solving that kept me on my toes. I was looking at more and more things trying to answer the questions - why are we doing it this way? How can we do this better?

My ongoing curiosity for understanding for the reasoning behind systemic decisions made my favorite question, much like the toddlers I work with, “why?”  But my passion for clinical excellence wasn’t always communicated as I had intended. Call it a natural desire to cut to the chase, or the sleep deprivation of having my second child, but my chronic lack of a "fluff filter" meant my words rarely came sugarcoated in the expected corporate pleasantries.  My direct, solution-focused communication style paired with leadership’s movement toward billing and standard operational metrics, meant that I found that my continuous, admittedly intense push to critically analyze practices was starting to not be received well.

These two keep me on my toes more than any workplace politics ever will!  If I can create a clinic environment that captures even half this much joy, I'll consider it a massive success.

I found myself increasingly frustrated. I wanted to define meaningful progress that actually mattered to our clients, rather than just following standard operations and chasing quotas for the sake of a spreadsheet. I loved the feeling of a team constantly growing and finding better ways to do things, but my desire to critically analyze situations and ask the tough questions was being viewed as insubordination as opposed to the collaborative systemic growth I was looking for.

When raising my hand in meetings started to feel a lot more like a liability as opposed to an asset, I attempted to step back entirely from collaborative, clinic-wide projects. I focused entirely on my caseload, trying to ensure the progress we tracked actually translated to a better quality of life for the families that were directly in my care.

But I knew my steadfast dedication to questioning the status quo, although making me a tough fit for a “corporate machine,” is the exact trait that makes me a great clinician. I never wanted to be a provider who blindly accepts "how it's always been done." I am someone willing to ask the hard questions, push for continuous improvement, and fight for what actually matters. That same stubborn drive that frustrated my former supervisors is what allows me to shoot straight with parents, continuously seek out better ways to support their children, and fiercely protect the therapies that bring true, joyful progress to their life.

So, eventually, I realized that just keeping my head down and stepping back wasn't a sustainable long-term plan. For someone wired to care deeply about the big picture, just clocking in and out wasn't in my DNA. It became incredibly clear that to do my best work—to truly provide the ethical, client-centered care I’m so passionate about—I needed an environment that actively pursued better with intention, rather than fearing it.

Taking the Leap (With The Help of a Little Nudge)

The exact moment we decided to stop tweaking other people's systems and build our own. (Don't worry, we waited until after the cake was cut to finalize the business plan.)

My mom had always predicted that I would open my own "school" someday. Naturally, my response was always an immediate, emphatic "no." I didn't want to leave the clinical work I loved just to drown in administrative red tape. I had seen firsthand how systemic constraints could overshadow clinical care, and I refused to sacrifice the quality of my practice to manage a broken system.

But my husband, Matt, encouraged me to see the situation differently. He pointed out that my potential to impact the field was capped where I was. He knew my drive for continuous improvement wasn't a liability; it was the exact foundation needed to build something better. He offered to guide the operational side of things—bringing his deep knowledge of finance, technology, and business planning to the table—and support me through the aspects of running a business I was less familiar with.

That’s when everything finally clicked: I realized I could redefine the role of a clinic owner. I didn't have to be a traditional administrator. With Matt expertly guiding the operational, financial, and technological side of our practice, I am completely freed up to do what I do best. I can use everything I have learned to innovate and create true systems of excellence on the clinical front, directly pouring into our team so they can pour into our clients.

Something to Say: Creating a Space Where Clinicians and Kids Thrive

I am incredibly grateful for the lessons I learned during those early clinic years, but stepping away was a necessary step to align my daily work with my core values. I learned that if you want a team to pour their hearts into serving kids and families, you have to build intentional, supportive structures to empower them first. I learned that asking "why" and pushing for systemic growth shouldn't be an occupational hazard—it should be the standard.

The executive team behind Something to Say ABA! Matt handles the spreadsheets, I handle the clinical systems, and these two handle the quality control on all our therapy toys.

And because of Matt’s partnership, I never have to sacrifice clinical excellence for administrative red tape. I firmly believe that when clinicians are genuinely supported and free to innovate, exceptional, joyful care flows directly to the children and families we serve.

The path from the classroom to the clinic wasn't always easy, but all those growing pains and lightbulb moments led me exactly where I need to be: building Something to Say ABA. We are creating a company where these values aren't just posters on a breakroom wall, but the very foundation of everything we do. As we prepare to open our clinic doors in Springfield this fall, we are building a space where asking questions is celebrated, where clinical rigor meets deep compassion, and where every child is empowered to find their voice. We can't wait to follow your learner's lead and welcome you to Something to Say.

Wrapping It Up (Because This Clinic Won't Set Itself Up)

If you’ve stuck with me through all these posts, thank you for attending my unsolicited, highly public therapy session.  Thank you for letting me step out from behind the polished professional bio to share the deeply personal details that form the bedrock of Something to Say ABA. Sharing my life on the internet is definitely a bit nerve-wracking, but it's been entirely worth it.

Standing here looking at this sign in Springfield, I realize how every unpredictable detour over the past few years led us exactly where we were meant to be. We made it, and we are so excited to open our doors this Fall!

Looking back on this wild, unpredictable journey, I realize that every single messy, heartbreaking, and beautiful chapter was necessary. From those early days with Ivy before finding my passion for autism care, to the locker room tears, the profound privilege of raising our foster son, and the challenging leap away from a broken system—each step expanded my perspective and built the exact foundation required for Something to Say ABA.

As Matt and I prepare to officially open our clinic doors here in Springfield, IL this Fall, we aren't just launching a practice; we are building the collaborative safe harbor I always wanted for my students, my colleagues, my family, and myself. Thank you for reading and for giving me the space to be vulnerable. Now, I should probably log off the computer so we can actually finish getting the building ready!

I cannot wait to finally meet your family. Until then, I hope my story gives you permission to take that leap of faith—whether that means walking away from a broken system or simply trusting your own gut when everyone else tells you otherwise. You are allowed to ignore society’s expectations and of discover the beautiful, messy reality of where you are truly meant to be on your own terms. Because when we trade rigid expectations for genuine growth and connection, we realize that the hardest moments aren't setbacks to be fixed or hidden away, but simply unmet needs pushing us to find another path. So, give yourselves some grace, keep leaning into the unpredictable journey, and never stop believing that every moment matters and everyone has something to say.