Elizabethe Payne is director of the Queering Education Research Institute (QuERI). Her work focuses on advancing the well-being of gender and sexual minority students through research-to-policy efforts at the state and federal levels. She is currently completing a 10-year research project exploring implementation of LGBTQ-inclusive state anti-bullying law in New York. Dr. Payne was the recipient of the 2022-2023 American Association for the Advancement of Science, American Educational Research Association Congressional Fellowship.  She also serves on the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) Committee for Bullying and Cyberbullying. Her work has appeared in a number of publications including Teachers College Record, QED: A Journal of GLBTQ World Making, and Educational Administration Quarterly. You can find her on bluesky @ecpayne. QuERI is on bluesky & FB @QueeringEDU. Here I talk to her about her book, Queer Kids and Social Violence: The Limits of Bullying

AMW: What are some of the broader social forces you see at play when queer kids experience violence in school settings and how do schools often overlook them?

EP: Bullying, as a concept, does not currently encompass the range of behaviors that regulate gender expressions. The majority of bullying research has been “gender blind”–failing to look at the sociocultural context of bullying and the ways many bullying behaviors are rooted in reinforcing the rules for “appropriate” gender behavior and sexuality. When discussions of bullying do turn to gender, they largely reinforce gendered stereotypes and essentialized norms of masculinity and femininity rather than exploring the policing of gender boundaries as a primary social function of bullying behavior. Bullying behaviors are not antisocial but rather highly social acts deeply entrenched in the perpetuation of cultural norms and values. Significantly, those norms usually require a fixed relationship between (cis/hetero) gender, sex and sexuality.  Students’ speech, behavior, and self-presentation are regulated by cultural rules mapping the “right” way to exist in the school environment, and youths’ everyday gender policing practices often fail to draw adults’ attention because these behaviors largely align with educator beliefs and the institutional values of school. Young people’s attitudes about difference are partially formed in a school-based social scene that rewards conformity. Youth regularly regulate and discipline the boundaries between “normal” and “different” along the lines of sex, gender, and sexuality and their intersections with race, class, ability, and this process can be a mechanism for acquiring and increasing social status. These patterns of aggression occur constantly throughout the school, producing and reproducing systems of value based on gender conformity, and they often occur within friendship groups making it all the more difficult to see and to intervene. It is, therefore, important to examine the various ways in which schools institutionalize heterosexuality and cisgender identity, silence and marginalize queerness, and support social positioning practices that privilege idealized cisgender and heterosexual identities and behaviors. Current understandings of and responses to bullying depoliticize violence against queer kids, which is part of the continued appeal. Aggression targeting LGBTQ+ students needs to be understood within a broader system of gender regulation that is experienced by all people and in multiple contexts.

AMW: In what ways do you think our current focus on anti-bullying programs might be missing the mark when it comes to actually protecting queer students?

EP: Over time, it has become clear that “anti-bullying” and other individualized interventions are not creating significant change. Anti-bullying programs and policies may be successful (at least temporarily) at decreasing overtly violent acts and making adults more aware of harmful peer dynamics, but such behavioral changes do not challenge norms or values upholding discrimination against sexuality and gender diversity and these discriminatory norms provide permission for youth to target their peers. Patriarchal, cisheteronormative power structures in which these norms are anchored have been largely undisturbed in Western elementary and secondary schools. These are the cultural conditions in which youth learn lessons about gender hierarchies, queer stigma, and gender policing. Portrayal of bullying is decoupled from structural power relations, and focus is placed on the actions of individual students reinforcing the binaries of bully/victim, bad kid/good kid. Intervention efforts are directed toward the individual youth involved in the interaction rather than the structural inequalities that allow for some groups of students to be the targets and others to be the perpetrators. This also enables blame to be placed outside the school—poorly socialized children bring the problem into the school—and avoid examination of the school culture and its role. The bullying discourse has produced a simplistic, taken-for-granted narrative about bullied youth that schools and other institutions can uncritically absorb.  Anti-bullying programs are more often pushing violent behavior underground than they are calling systemic privileging and marginalization into question. Additionally, the increased surveillance and reporting that often accompanies anti-bullying programs disproportionately impacts already marginalized youth including LGBTQ+ youth and students of color.

AMW: What do you hope educators, parents, or even fellow students take away from this book—especially those who want to create lasting, positive change for LGBTQ+ youth?

EP: The questions most often asked about bullying are behavior management questions not questions about the ideological roots of persistent, predictable, patterns of peer targeting. Policies and practices should not only address bullying as it occurs, but also identify and address cultural systems that stimulate and support bullying behaviors and the targeting of difference. Bullying is a complex social problem, not the effect of individual bad children. Educators need to understand the social tools youth use to discriminate, link those tools to institutional culture, and take action to address school participation in supporting categories of marginalization. We know from past intervention efforts that a “just say no” approach is ineffective. We need to make their patterns of targeting visible to youth, talk with them about why they feel it is OK to target others based on a particular identity or characteristic. We need to have uncomfortable conversations about the ways that adults in a school, and outside it, also use gender norms to shame and degrade young people. Bullying is social, not anti-social behavior. It serves a social function and policies boundaries between normal/acceptable and different/not tolerated. We want educators, parents, students to come away from the book seeing bullying as a social problem, not only an individual one, and ready to think in new ways about it.

Alicia M. Walker is Associate Professor of Sociology at Missouri State University and the author of two previous books on infidelity, and a forthcoming book, Bound by BDSM: Unexpected Lessons for Building a Happier Life (Bloomsbury Fall 2025) coauthored with Arielle Kuperberg. She is the current Editor in Chief of the Council of Contemporary Families blog, serves as Senior Fellow with CCF, and serves as Co-Chair of CCF alongside Arielle Kuperberg. Learn more about her on her website. Follow her on Twitter or Bluesky at @AliciaMWalker1, Facebook, her Hidden Desires column, and Instagram @aliciamwalkerphd

“I’m so heartbroken I can barely breathe… Aren’t I family?”

Reprinted from Psychology Today

Dear Readers, enjoy this reprint from Joshua Coleman, a leading expert on marriage and relationships, Dr. Coleman ‘s advice has been featured in the New York Times, USA Today, The Chicago Tribune, Parenting Magazine, Cosmopolitan, Psychology Today, and many others.

Key points

• Grandparents play a valuable role in grandchildren’s lives, providing security and identity.
• Contact with grandparents is on the decline.
• A cultural shift towards severing ties with grandparents needs critical evaluation.

You can live with a broken heart, and you can die with one. But it’s terrible to have to do both.” —An estranged grandmother

Jessica is the 67-year-old mother of Robert, 42. She divorced his father when he was 6 and raised Robert as a single parent with little support.

During COVID-19, Robert and his wife Marie moved into Jessica’s house for a year with their daughter after Robert lost his job in the restaurant business. Their daughter, Charlene, was 5 at the time. Jessica says:

“It wasn’t easy having everyone under one roof, but I really cherished that time with my granddaughter. I’d take her to school and pick her up every day, cook for everyone, and put her to bed most nights so they could go out or relax. I didn’t complain about it, and they didn’t complain about me as a grandmother. I could tell my daughter-in-law was jealous of how much my granddaughter was attached to me, but it didn’t ever come up as an issue other than the occasional glare in my direction.”

Jessica continues:

“Robert eventually got another job, they moved out, and I assumed I’d continue to be active in my granddaughter’s life. I was wrong. About two months after they moved, I got a letter saying they wanted to ‘take a break from the relationship,’ that they had problems with my ‘lack of boundaries,’ and suggested I go to therapy. I was confused, to say the least, but I wanted to know when I could see my granddaughter since this had nothing to do with her. My son said that the relationship with me was bad for his mental health, it was negatively impacting his marriage, and he needed to prioritize his family’s happiness. ‘Well, aren’t I family?’ I asked him and he said, ‘You know what I mean,’ and I said, ‘No I really don’t.’ He said, ‘If our relationship isn’t good for me, then it’s not good for our daughter.’ I’m so heartbroken I can barely breathe.”

Thousands of grandparents today have been cut off from contact with their grandchildren. While this sometimes results from the grandparent’s highly problematic behavior toward the grandchild, my clinical experience, as illustrated in the case above, reveals that grandchildren are often a casualty of the conflict between parents and grandparents.

A recent Fortune survey revealed that contact with grandparents may be on the decline. While 41 percent of Gen X say they have a very close or strong relationship with their grandparents, only 18 percent of Gen Z acknowledged the same. This is tragic since studies show that the relationship between grandparents and grandchildren is not only good for the well-being of the grandparents but also the grandchildren’s development.

Grandparents can make a grandchild feel more secure and loved. They can also correct problematic or even traumatizing behavior from the parents. In a non-estranged environment, grandparents can monitor problematic or dysfunctional family behavior and, where possible, intervene on behalf of the grandchild.

Grandparents also can serve as a rich resource of identity, history, and stories of family members. Because they are often more invested in perpetuating the family lineage, they may carry emigration stories, family recipes, clothing, or culture. Grandparents also provide a different role model of behavior for the child. They might have artistic or intellectual interests that speak to the grandchild, different from the parents’.

In short, grandparents can create a foundation of safety, security, and identity whose removal may be deeply hurtful and disorienting to the grandchild.

Our culture’s disdain for aging reveals itself in the little regard accorded to the role of grandparents when family conflict occurs. Grandparents are viewed as one more relationship to be disposed of when they don’t satisfy the criteria required to sustain today’s parent–adult-child relationships. This is true even when the adult child acknowledges that the grandchildren loved the grandparent, as with Robert.

It is curious to me that a generation that has redefined what should be considered abusive or traumatizing child-rearing is so casual when it comes to casting a grandparent out of their own children’s lives. For a generation obsessed with closely hewing to theories on attachment between themselves and their children, it is remarkable how many seem to disregard their children’s profound attachment to their grandparents.

While this is often framed as modeling healthy boundaries and limits, one has to wonder, How healthy could it be? Is it good modeling to prize your feelings so much that you’ll sacrifice your children’s relationship on the altar of that aspiration? Is it a strength not to be able to separate your child’s needs from your own?

Does it model healthy separation to assume that your children’s mental well-being is so tied to yours that you can’t imagine that your children benefit from a relationship with your parents, even if you find that relationship upsetting or difficult? What does that teach children about the value of older people and what they might contribute to life or society?

Most of the estranged grandparents I work with are bereft and confused. Cut loose from the insulating meanings of family, they survey a world where they have no place in the greater order of things. And like so many, they want to know, “What can I do to get my grandchildren back? What if I never see them again? What can I do to end this pain?”

References

Drew, L. M., & Silverstein, M. (2007). Grandparents’ psychological well-being after loss of contact with their grandchildren. Journal of Family Psychology, 21(3), 372–379. https://doi.org/10.1037/0893-3200.21.3.372

Gair, S. (2017). Missing grandchildren: Grandparents’ lost contact and implications for social work. Australian Social Work, 70(3), 263–275. https://doi.org/10.1080/0312407X.2016.1173714

Park, E.-H. (2018). For grandparents’ sake: The relationship between grandparenting involvement and psychological well-being. Ageing International, 43(3), 297–320. https://doi.org/10.1007/s12126-017-9320-8

Joshua Coleman, Ph.D., is a psychologist in private practice in the San Francisco Bay Area and a Senior Fellow with the Council on Contemporary Families. He is the author of numerous peer-reviewed articles and chapters and has written four books: The Rules of Estrangement (Random House); When Parents Hurt: Compassionate Strategies When You and Your Grown Child Don’t Get Along (HarperCollins) The Marriage Makeover: Finding Happiness in Imperfect Harmony (St. Martin’s Press); and The Lazy Husband: How to Get Men to Do More Parenting and Housework (St. Martin’s Press). He is also the co-editor, along with historian Stephanie Coontz, of seven online volumes of Unconventional Wisdom: News You Can Use, a compendium of noteworthy research on the contemporary family, gender, sexuality, poverty, and work-family issues. His books have been translated into Chinese, Korean, Russian, Polish, and Croatian.

Reprinted from CCF Brief Reports

A briefing paper prepared for the Council on Contemporary Families by Molly A. Martin, PhD, Department of Sociology and Criminology, The Pennsylvania State University

Birth outcomes are strongly linked to income but proving a direct cause-and-effect relationship has been challenging. Our new study, published in Demography, uses the economic boom from Pennsylvania’s Marcellus Shale natural gas development as a “natural experiment” to examine how community-level income gains affect pregnancy behaviors and birth outcomes.

In our research examining birth outcomes before and after the Marcellus Shale boom (2007-2012), we found that a $1,000 increase in average community income led to a 1.5 percentage point decrease in low birthweight births and a 1.8 percentage point increase in expectant parents receiving adequate prenatal care. These benefits accrued across the study site and were also significant in high-poverty areas, suggesting economic development may help reduce adverse birth outcomes among high-risk, disadvantaged communities.

Our study analyzed over 78,000 births in Pennsylvania school districts above the Marcellus Shale geological formation, comparing births in areas that industry experts predicted – before the first well was drilled – to be the best for natural gas extraction with births in areas predicted to be less productive. This geological data allowed us to predict where the economic boom would be greater based on the characteristics of the underlying rock formed 39 million years ago – long before residents made choices about their health behaviors, health care and family goals.

We focus on the economic impacts of natural gas development in Pennsylvania because they were large: gains of over $14 billion between 2008 and 2010 in corporate spending, job growth, and local tax revenue. These gains were important because Pennsylvania was still recovering from the Great Recession. Yet the environmental hazards of Marcellus Shale development, like water contamination, air pollution, and forest disruption, are also important. More research is needed to examine the environmental and health risks of hydraulic fracturing and other oil and gas industry practices.

We used the geological variation of the shale to identify cause-and-effect relationships. With a pre-drilling map of the Marcellus Shale geological formation created by the oil and gas industry, we classified school districts into “treatment” and “comparison” groups based on the predicted economic value of the shale for gas production.

Among the 282 Pennsylvania school districts above the Marcellus Shale, 184 are in the treatment group and 98 are in the comparison group. Relative to the comparison districts, community income in the treatment districts increased by $1,825 per household per year. New York treatment districts did not experience these community income gains because “fracking” is banned there.

We made our causal estimates more accurate with additional steps. First, we accounted for a host of other differences between the treatment and comparison groups and changes that both groups experienced over time. Finally, we examined siblings born before and after the economic boom to control for family characteristics, like the parent’s genetic predispositions, childhood experiences, personality traits and preferences. Together, these approaches allowed us to isolate the effects of community income gains on birth outcomes.

Our findings show that community-wide income gains can improve infant birth outcomes even in the presence of potential environmental risks from natural gas development. Our research design controlled for area-wide hazardous exposures, which prior research demonstrates are harmful for infant health. Notably, we did not find greater water pollution, air pollution, or other environmental hazards in treatment districts relative to comparison districts.

This means our quasi-experimental groups based on pre-drilling information really captured potential income, not drilling itself or its repercussions. Treatment districts did receive more income, but they were just as likely as comparison districts to experience the environmental hazards associated with drilling and gas production. By design, our study was able to isolate the effect of community income gains.

Our study provides strong causal evidence that raising community-level income can lead to reduced rates of low birthweight births. This is notable because low birthweight is an important early life indicator that strongly predicts infant mortality, inhibited cognitive development, and numerous physical health challenges and diseases. In fact, low birthweight and its subsequent childhood risks have long-term consequences like lowered educational attainment, lower lifetime earnings, and shorter lifespans, which has led some scholars to speculate that low birth weight is a key mechanism in the transmission of poverty across generations.

We found that income appears to affect birth outcomes through multiple pathways beyond maternal health behaviors like smoking, gestational weight gain, and prenatal care use. Thus, our work suggests that economic development and other policies that increase community income could reduce the incidence of low birth weight and, thereby, improve population health beyond infancy.

_____________________________________

For More Information, Please Contact:

Molly A. Martin, PhD
Department of Sociology and Criminology
The Pennsylvania State University
mam68@psu.edu

Citation: Martin, M. A., Green, T. L., & Chapman, A. (2024). The Causal Effect of Increasing Area-Level Income on Birth Outcomes and Pregnancy-Related Health: Estimates from the Marcellus Shale Boom Economy. Demography 11691517.  https://doi.org/10.1215/00703370-11691517

Link: https://sites.utexas.edu/contemporaryfamilies/2025/03/05/community-income-brief-report/

As cannabis becomes more widely accepted and legalized, a little-known but increasingly common condition is catching many families and healthcare providers off guard: Cannabinoid Hyperemesis Syndrome (CHS). In our recent publication, our research team explores this troubling syndrome, which is characterized by severe, repeated vomiting triggered by long-term and frequent cannabis use.

Though still unfamiliar to many, CHS is on the rise, particularly among youth. In fact, emergency department visits for the condition in the U.S. and Canada have doubled between 2017 and 2021. This trend reflects both the increased availability of high-potency cannabis products and the growing normalization of regular use. In fact, 18% of U.S. 12th graders reported using cannabis in the past month.

CHS does not start dramatically. In the early “prodromal” phase, young people may wake up feeling nauseated and mistakenly believe that using more cannabis helps. Over time, however, they can progress to the hyperemetic phase. This stage is marked by uncontrollable vomiting, abdominal pain, dehydration, and weight loss due to the inability to retain food or fluids. Many affected youth find only temporary relief through long, hot showers or baths, a curious but now well-documented hallmark of CHS. Recovery typically begins only after cannabis use is completely stopped. However, that is often a difficult step for those already using the drug to cope with stress or anxiety.

This issue is worsened by the fact that cannabis today is not what it used to be. THC concentrations, the main psychoactive compound in cannabis, have quadrupled in recent decades, making negative side effects more likely. High-potency cannabis use among youth has been linked to increased risk of depression, anxiety, paranoia, psychosis, and even self-harm. While occasional use doesn’t typically cause CHS, daily or weekly use over an extended period, especially with high-THC products, can be enough to trigger the syndrome.

Contrary to widespread belief, cannabis is not always calming. In some individuals, especially youth, THC can disrupt the body’s natural stress response and gastrointestinal system. Because the brain continues to develop until around age 25, frequent high potency THC exposure during this critical period can interfere with neural growth and the formation of brain circuits responsible for attention, memory, and learning.

One of the biggest challenges with CHS is that it is often misdiagnosed or overlooked entirely. Many physicians are unfamiliar with it, and youth may not disclose cannabis use due to stigma or fear of judgement. This can lead to unnecessary ER visits, expensive imaging tests like MRIs and CT scans, and incorrect diagnoses such as eating disorders like bulimia. But CHS-related vomiting is involuntary, driven by physical factors and not body image concerns.

Treatment is not straightforward either. Standard anti-nausea medications are often ineffective. Some emergency rooms have found success using topical capsaicin cream or medications like haloperidol, which target different pathways involved in CHS. However, the only reliable long-term solution is quitting cannabis use. That is often easier said than done, particularly for youth who may be using it to cope with underlying emotional challenges. For individuals who persist with cannabis use despite clear information linking it to their CHS symptoms, it may be appropriate to involve addiction specialists, substance use counselors, or rehabilitation services. This continued use could also indicate that cannabis has a higher potential for dependence than commonly believed.

So, what can we do? Addressing CHS requires a coordinated response that spans prevention, clinical care, research, public health, and policy. The first step is education. Prevention efforts should begin early, with school-based awareness programs, public health campaigns, and healthcare messaging that clearly communicate the risks of frequent cannabis use, including CHS. Parents, educators, and counselors should also be involved in recognizing early symptoms, such as morning nausea or reliance on hot showers to ease discomfort.

Public health messaging also needs to keep pace with the changing cannabis landscape. As legalization increases access and normalizes use, information about the potential harms of chronic cannabis consumption must be more visible. CHS should be included in these messages to ensure both users and healthcare providers are informed.

Early recognition by clinicians is essential. When youth present with repeated vomiting, abdominal pain, or unexplained gastrointestinal symptoms, CHS should be considered. Screening questions about cannabis use and symptom relief from hot water can be useful diagnostic tools.

There is also a clear need for more research. Studies are needed to better understand the causes of CHS, its risk factors, and the most effective treatments. Randomized controlled trials and population-based research will help inform evidence-based care.

CHS may still be underrecognized, but with coordinated action, its impact on youth health can be significantly reduced.

Dr. Jamie Seabrook is a Professor in the Department of Epidemiology and Biostatistics at Western University, with cross-appointments in the Department of Paediatrics, as well as the Brescia School of Food and Nutritional Sciences. Dr. Seabrook is also a Scientist with the Children’s Health Research Institute, Lawson Research Institute, and London Health Sciences Centre Research Institute in London, Ontario, and a Faculty Associate of the Human Environments Analysis Laboratory. Dr. Seabrook’s research focuses on the social determinants of child health disparities and youth substance use. In 2019, Dr. Seabrook received the Award for Excellence in Research at Brescia University College affiliated with Western University. You can follow them on X: @Jamie_Seabrook1

In April, the Centers for Disease Control generated headlines when it reported that autism now affects one in 31 American children, up from 36 in 2022 and a 2006 estimate of one in 110.  Secretary of Health and Human Services Robert Kennedy responded by promising to track down the “environmental toxins” that have turned a supposedly “preventable disease” into an epidemic that “dwarfs” the Covid pandemic. By contrast, many medical authorities have interpreted the increase as an artifact of broader diagnostic criteria, greater public awareness, and increased screening. Others suggest the increase is real but dispute Kennedy’s claim about the magnitude and causes.[1]

The polarized response to the CDC report, however, threatens to obscure our broader understanding of the cultural, environmental, historical, and institutional factors that shape both autism’s incidence and its meaning. While the neurological differences associated with autism likely have deep biological roots, the way autism is recognized, described, evaluated, and responded to is very much a product of culture, history, and institutional frameworks.

What we now call “autism” is not just an age-old biomedical reality. It is also a cultural construct, assembled over time through layers of observation, classification, and interpretation, and filtered through the differing scientific, social, emotional and moral assumptions prevailing in various societies through the ages. Cultural context determines which traits are pathologized, which are celebrated, and which are simply ignored. In some cultures, avoiding eye contact is considered polite, while in others it is a red flag. Behaviors labeled autistic in one society may be seen as eccentricity or even giftedness in another.

What we understand as autism today is the product of evolving cultural attitudes about difference, normality, and disability. This is not to deny a real neurological base for many of these behaviors, nor to discount environmental factors. Chemical pollutants—airborne particulates, endocrine-disrupting compounds, pesticides—have all been linked to increased autism risk. Nutritional deficiencies in pregnancy and early childhood may also play a role, as may maternal metabolic conditions like obesity and gestational diabetes. These exposures, acting during critical windows of brain development, may subtly alter neural circuitry in ways that heighten sensitivity to social, sensory, and cognitive stressors. And as today’s children experience more screen time, less unstructured play and interaction with peers, and earlier academic pressure than previous generations, this may exacerbate traits that become problematic in overstimulating or inflexible environments.

In the United States, however, such contextual factors are often overlooked. The American model of diagnosis and treatment heavily favors biological explanations—rooted in genetics and brain imaging—over social, cultural, or relational ones. Clinicians are trained to identify codifiable disorders; insurers reimburse for diagnosable conditions; research grants disproportionately fund genetic studies over sociocultural ones.

This biomedical model has real benefits—it has driven research, legitimized neurodivergence, and improved access to services. But it also narrows our view. It risks over-pathologizing differences, underplaying environmental contributors, and overlooking the importance of community, culture, and support systems in shaping outcomes.

Toward a More Integrated and Human-Centered Approach to Autism

The dominant American model tends to frame autism primarily in biological, genetic, or neurological terms. While such explanations have yielded important insights, they also risk portraying autism as fixed and unchangeable—something to be managed rather than understood and accommodated. As a cultural construction, autism is not simply a universal neurobiological fact an experience shaped by how societies define normalcy, support difference, and distribute care. To move forward, we need a more integrated and humane framework—one that takes into account the neurological distinctiveness of autism while also recognizing its variability, plasticity, and responsiveness to context. This means broadening the scope of scientific inquiry to include not only genes and brain scans, but also the environments in which children grow, the relationships that shape development, and the social systems that allocate support.

Only by embracing complexity—biological, developmental, cultural, and relational—can we build a public health and educational framework that protects vulnerable developmental windows, affirms neurodiversity, and ensures that those who think and feel differently are not just “managed,” but understood, supported, and valued in a pluralistic society. Autism is not a disease to be eradicated but a way of being in the world—a developmental difference shaped by biology, environment, and experience. It comes with challenges, but also with insight, creativity, and perspective that can enrich families, communities, and cultures.

This reframing doesn’t deny the reality of suffering or romanticize neurodivergence. Rather, it recognizes that meaningful support must begin with truly listening to the experiences, voices, and needs of autistic individuals themselves. In this spirit, our institutions, policies, and practices should no longer ask: “How can we change the autistic person?” but instead, “How can we change the world to better include and uplift him or her?”

Because autism exists on a broad and diverse spectrum, no single description—or intervention—can capture the full range of experiences. One person on the spectrum may be nonverbal and require round-the-clock care, while another may hold a Ph.D. and still struggle with sensory overload, anxiety, or social nuance. This variability is a defining feature of the condition. It reflects the wide range of ways in which autistic traits—such as differences in communication, social interaction, sensory processing, and behavior—manifest across individuals and across the lifespan.

For this reason, any meaningful approach to autism must begin with individualization. Support systems must move beyond generic programming to meet people where they are, adapting interventions to reflect not only severity of need, but also personal strengths, preferences, communication styles, and cultural context.

In education, this means that two students with the same diagnosis may require very different supports—one might need assistive technology to communicate, while another benefits most from sensory-friendly classrooms and flexible schedules. In clinical care, some individuals may thrive with behavioral therapies, while others will require trauma-informed counseling, medication management, or occupational supports. In the workplace, one person may need a quiet space and modified hours, while another may benefit from mentorship and clear, structured feedback.

Moreover, to truly individualize support, autistic voices must be central in the design of care. Whether through self-advocacy, family input, or person-centered planning, those receiving support must be empowered to help shape it. Respecting autonomy, building trust, and tailoring environments are not just best practices—they are ethical imperatives.

Autism is a spectrum not just of needs, but of humanity. It demands a flexible, responsive, and deeply personal approach—one that treats autistic individuals not as diagnostic categories, but as whole people, deserving of care that reflects their uniqueness.

A society that embraces autistic people as they are—not as problems to be fixed, but as people to be known—will be a society better attuned to the full range of human possibility. In the end, perhaps the real question is not what autism is, but what kind of society we are willing to build around it.

[1] For a careful fact check of the competing claims, see https://www.factcheck.org/2025/04/rfk-jr-misleads-on-autism-prevalence-causes/

A leading authority on the history of families, children, and the life course, Steven Mintz is professor of history at the University of Texas at Austin and the author and editor of 17 books, including the forthcoming The American Child: The Transformation of Childhood since World War II (with Peter N. Stearns).  A past president of the Society for the History of Childhood and Youth and of H-Net: Humanities and Social Sciences Online, he has  been a visiting scholar at Harvard, a fellow at Stanford’s Center for Advanced Study in the Behavioral Sciences, and a CCF national co-chair.

Reprinted from National Women’s Law Center July 31, 2024

Mothers working full time and year-round make only 71 cents for every dollar paid to full-time, year-round working fathers.¹ This wage gap robs these mothers of $1,667 every month, or $20,000 a year. That extra $20,000 could pay for seven months of rent,² seven months of family groceries,³ and five months of childcare.⁴ The wage gap persists across all education levels and in nearly every occupation, robbing mothers of the money they need to provide for their families.

The wage gap is worse for many mothers of color.
Racial inequities can compound the maternal wage gap.⁵ For example, Latina mothers and Native mothers working full time, year-round are paid just 51 cents for every dollar paid to white, non-Hispanic fathers.
Black mothers working full time, year-round are paid only 52 cents for every dollar paid to white, non-Hispanic fathers. These losses to the wage gap add up to tens of thousands of dollars lost each year, with Latina and Native mothers typically losing $39,000, and Black mothers typically losing $38,000 annually compared to white, non-Hispanic fathers.⁶

Two-thirds of mothers are breadwinners or co-breadwinners for their families.⁷
The loss of tens of thousands of dollars to the wage gap each year means less money for food, rent, education, and other necessities, as well as less, or no, money for retirement or for financial emergencies. Larger annual losses from the intersectional discrimination of the wage gap faced by Black mothers is especially devastating, as Black mothers are even more likely to be primary breadwinners for their families than their white, non-Hispanic counterparts: 68.1% of Black mothers are primary breadwinners for their families compared to 37.2% of white mothers.⁸ Furthermore, in 2023, the unemployment rate for Black mothers was 5.3%, but only 3.0% for mothers overall, meaning Black mothers face additional barriers to making ends meet.⁹ When including part-time and part-year workers, the wage gap for mothers is even worse.
Two out of every three working mothers work full time and year-round, which leaves a significant number out of our analysis if we limit it to full-time, year-round workers. When looking at workers regardless of how many hours or weeks they work, working mothers are typically paid only 63 cents for every dollar paid to all working fathers.¹⁰ And yet again, that figure is deeply compounded by race. When including all workers, regardless of the number of hours or weeks they work, Native and Latina mothers are each paid a paltry 41 cents for every dollar paid to white, non-Hispanic fathers. And Black mothers are paid 48 cents for every dollar paid to white, non-Hispanic fathers.¹¹

Educational attainment does not close the wage gap.

Although educational attainment is one of the primary paths towards economic stability, it does not close the wage gap for mothers. To the contrary, a higher share of mothers (48%) than fathers (42%) have attained a bachelor’s degree or more. Mothers with at least a bachelor’s degree are still paid only 74 cents for every dollar paid to fathers with comparable educational attainment.¹²
For many mothers, additional gains in education actually widens their wage gap. For example, among parents with less than a 9th grade education, mothers working full time, year-round are paid 75 cents for every dollar paid to fathers with less than a 9th grade education. Yet, mothers with a master’s degree are paid only 70 cents for every dollar paid to fathers with a master’s degree. In fact, mothers need to earn a bachelor’s degree ($65,000) to make more than fathers who hold a high school diploma ($50,000), and they must earn a doctorate ($101,000) to make more than fathers who hold only a bachelor’s degree ($95,000).¹³

Occupational segregation contributes to the wage gap.¹⁴
Nearly 3.2 million mothers work in the 40 lowest paying occupations, including caregiving occupations like childcare workers, home health aides, and personal care aides, as well as service industry occupations like waitresses, hostesses, and cashiers.¹⁵ These critical jobs are perpetually undervalued, with workers often making below $16 per hour while supporting families. Nearly two-thirds of mothers working in low paid occupations (63.0%) are mothers of color, and mothers of color are overrepresented in the low-paid workforce: mothers of color make up 6.8% of the overall workforce but 9.6% of the low-paid workforce.¹⁶
This occupational segregation alone does not explain the wage gap, however, as mothers typically make less than fathers even within the same occupations. Among full-time, year-round workers in low-paid jobs overall, mothers are paid 70 cents for every dollar paid to fathers, and again these figures are worse for many mothers of color. Among full-time, year-round low-paid workers:

Latina mothers are paid just 53 cents for every dollar paid to white, non-Hispanic fathers;

Black mothers are paid just 56 cents for every dollar paid to white, non-Hispanic fathers; and

Native mothers are paid just 58 cents for every dollar paid to white, non-Hispanic fathers.¹⁷

The maternal wage gap persists because mothers continue to face a range of structural barriers that result in lower pay, including discrimination, an ongoing care crisis, increasing restrictions on access to abortion and reproductive health care, occupational segregation, and more. The racist and sexist wage gap continues to rob mothers—especially mothers of color—of tens of thousands of dollars a year, money that could have been used to build economic security for them and their families. It is long past time to start paying mothers what they are owed and to stop robbing their families of the financial security they need.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The author would like to thank Gaylynn Burroughs, Sarah Javaid, Eun Kim, Erin Longbottom, Marissa
Moore, Marybeth Onyeukwu, Maria Patrick, Vasu Reddy, Jordan Reynolds, Katherine Sandson, Jasmine
Tucker, Arvia Walker, and Hilary Woodward for their design, review, and dissemination of this factsheet.

FOOTNOTES

1 National Women’s Law Center (NWLC) calculations using U.S. Census Bureau, 2022 American Community Survey (ACS), using IPUMS-USA, available at https://usa.
ipums.org/usa/sda/. Mothers and fathers are women and men with at least one of their own children under the age of 18 at home. Respondents to the ACS selfidentify as either male or female. Employed respondents are all over the age of 16. Median earnings include all workers who earn at least $1. Full-time, year-round is defined as workers who usually work at least 35 hours per week and at least 50 weeks per year.
2 U.S. Census Bureau, 2022 American Community Survey, Table DP04: Selected Housing. Median rent in 2022 was $1,300 per month. https://data.census.gov/table/
ACSDP1Y2022.DP04?q=DP04:%20SELECTED%20HOUSING%20CHARACTERISTICS.
3 NWLC calculations using U.S. Department of Agriculture, Food and Nutrition Service, USDA Food Plans: Cost of Food Report for Low, Moderate, and Liberal Food Plans
for MAY 2024, https://www.fns.usda.gov/cnpp/usda-food-plans-cost-food-monthly-reports. Figure is based on a low-cost monthly meal plan for a family of 4 including
one male and one female ages 19-50, one child ages 2-3, and one child ages 4-5 for a total of $807 per month
4 NWLC calculations using Appendix I from Child Care Aware, Catalyzing Growth: Using Data to Change Child Care https://www.childcareaware.org/catalyzinggrowthusing-data-to-change-child-care-2022/. The average price of child care for one toddler in full time care in 2022 was $10,853.
5 Respondents to the ACS self-identify their race and whether they are of Hispanic, Latino, or Spanish origin. Please refer to the ACS questionnaire for further detail.
6 National Women’s Law Center (NWLC) calculations using U.S. Census Bureau, 2022 American Community Survey (ACS), using IPUMS-USA, available at https://usa.
ipums.org/usa/sda/.
7 Center For American Progress, Breadwinning Mothers are Critical to Families’ Economic Security (March 2021), available at https://www.americanprogress.org/
article/breadwinning-mothers-critical-familys-economic-security/ This analysis uses a 5year data sample collected from 2015-2019.
8 Center For American Progress, Breadwinning Mothers are Critical to Families’ Economic Security (March 2021), available at https://www.americanprogress.org/
article/breadwinning-mothers-critical-familys-economic-security/ This analysis uses a 5year data sample collected from 2015-2019.
9 Unemployment rate – Women with own children under 18 ” https://beta.bls.gov/dataViewer/view/timeseries/FMUP4078853 and ”Unemployment rate – Black or African American women, With own children under 18” https://beta.bls.gov/dataViewer/view/timeseries/FMUP4092254 from the Bureau of Labor Statistics’ Marital and family labor force statistics from the Current Population Survey
10 National Women’s Law Center (NWLC) calculations using U.S. Census Bureau, 2022 American Community Survey (ACS), using IPUMS-USA, available at https://usa.
ipums.org/usa/sda/.
11 National Women’s Law Center (NWLC) calculations using U.S. Census Bureau, 2022 American Community Survey (ACS), using IPUMS-USA, available at https://usa.
ipums.org/usa/sda/.

12 National Women’s Law Center (NWLC) calculations using U.S. Census Bureau, 2022 American Community Survey (ACS), using IPUMS-USA, available at https://usa. ipums.org/usa/sda/.

13 National Women’s Law Center (NWLC) calculations using U.S. Census Bureau, 2022 American Community Survey (ACS), using IPUMS-USA, available at https://usa. ipums.org/usa/sda/.

14 US Department of Labor, “Still Bearing the Cost” (March 2024) https://www.dol.gov/sites/dolgov/files/WB/media/BearingTheCostReport2024.pdf

15 National Women’s Law Center (NWLC) calculations using U.S. Census Bureau, 2022 American Community Survey (ACS), using IPUMS-USA, available at https://usa. ipums.org/usa/sda/

16 National Women’s Law Center (NWLC) calculations using U.S. Census Bureau, 2022 American Community Survey (ACS), using IPUMS-USA, available at https://usa. ipums.org/usa/sda/

17 National Women’s Law Center (NWLC) calculations using U.S. Census Bureau, 2022 American Community Survey (ACS), using IPUMS-USA, available at https://usa. ipums.org/usa/sda/

Have you ever wondered how much we say during sex without uttering a single word? While verbal communication often steals the spotlight, our new study dives into the quieter, subtler world of nonverbal cues and their impact on intimacy. We analyzed the sexual communication patterns of 78 participants, uncovering fascinating insights into what we share—and don’t share—during our most intimate moments.

This study builds on a growing body of research around sexual communication. While much of the existing literature focuses on what we say outside the bedroom, but we examined how we express pleasure, discomfort, and needs in the moment. Spoiler: nonverbal communication plays a starring role.

The Art of (Not) Saying It

When it comes to communicating during sex, participants revealed a preference for letting their bodies do the talking. Many shared that moans, gasps, or even subtle shifts in body position often feel safer and more effective than verbal cues. Why? For some, it’s about sparing their partner’s feelings. As one woman shared, “I’m very responsive with arching my back or moaning. I try to let him know he’s doing a good job with that instead of vocally because I’m not super good at getting what I want to say across correctly, and nonverbal signs aren’t usually miscommunicated between us.”

Others reported that nonverbal communication creates a deeper, more intuitive connection. “As one man explained, “I try to refrain from verbal communication during sex because it takes away from the moment. I’ll pay attention to her and the things that she’s enjoying, while also taking action to make myself comfortable.” Many participants felt that tuning into nonverbal cues allowed for a more seamless, instinctive connection between partners.

However, the study also highlighted a reluctance to express anything negative. One women admitted she would rather endure discomfort than risk offending their partner by saying, “That doesn’t feel good.” This echoes broader societal norms that prioritize affirming men’s sexual prowess while minimizing women’s needs.

Why We Hold Back

The reluctance to communicate isn’t just about politeness. It’s rooted in deeper social dynamics. Participants cited concerns about fragile masculinity, relationship stability, and even personal insecurities as barriers to open communication. Women, in particular, described how societal expectations of femininity often pressure them to prioritize their partner’s experience over their own comfort or pleasure. One woman explained, “I’ve told him that [my not orgasming is] not a huge deal. I don’t want him to feel like he is doing something wrong because I’m not getting off.” Her statement shows how societal expectations of femininity can pressure women to prioritize their partner’s experience over their own pleasure.

Interestingly, male participants were less likely to report withholding negative feedback. While this could reflect traditional gender norms around emotional expression, it also raises questions about how men and women perceive their roles in sexual encounters.

What This Means for Intimacy

Nonverbal cues aren’t inherently better or worse than verbal communication, but they do highlight the complexity of intimacy. The study suggests that building trust and comfort with a partner is key to fostering open communication—whether it’s spoken or silent. As one participant shared, “When I feel safe with my partner, it’s easier to say what I need or want.”

Let’s Keep the Conversation Going

The next time you’re navigating an intimate moment, remember: sometimes it’s not about the words you say, but the signals you give and how open you are to receiving them.

Our sexual experiences are shaped not just by what we do, but by how we communicate in the moment. Nonverbal cues—whether a lingering touch, a slight shift, or even shared eye contact—can deepen connection and foster understanding in ways words sometimes cannot. But that doesn’t mean silence is always golden. Building intimacy requires a willingness to bridge the gap between action and expression, creating a space where both partners feel seen, heard, and valued.

At the heart of it all is a simple but powerful truth: great sex isn’t about perfection or performance. It’s about paying attention, not just to what your partner needs, but to what you’re experiencing together in real time. By leaning into this awareness, we can cultivate intimacy that feels not only satisfying but transformative.

So, as you move forward in your relationships, consider this: what’s the balance between your verbal and nonverbal communication? Are you creating space for honesty and connection? And how can you ensure that both you and your partner feel safe to express yourselves fully, in whatever ways feel most natural?

Because when it comes to great sex, it’s not just what’s said that matters. It’s about what’s understood and felt.

Alicia M. Walker is Associate Professor of Sociology at Missouri State University and the author of two previous books on infidelity, and a forthcoming book, Bound by BDSM: Unexpected Lessons for Building a Happier Life (Bloomsbury Fall 2025) coauthored with Arielle Kuperberg. She is the current Editor in Chief of the Council of Contemporary Families blog, serves as Senior Fellow with CCF, and serves as Co-Chair of CCF alongside Arielle Kuperberg. Learn more about her on her website. Follow her on Twitter or Bluesky at @AliciaMWalker1, Facebook, and Instagram @aliciamwalkerphd

Anna Gjika is Assistant Professor of Sociology at the State University of New York at New Paltz. Her research explores the relationships between gender, violence, youth, and technology, particularly as they pertain to sexual harm and sociolegal responses to gender-based violence. Her work has been published in Crime, Media, Culture, Gender & Society, the Journal of Interpersonal Violence,and Social Media & Society,among others. She is the author of the award-winning book, When Rape Goes Viral: Youth and Sexual Assault in the Digital Age (2024, University of California Press). You can find her on BlueSky: @gjikaphd.bsky.social and Twitter: @GjikaPhd
Here I ask her 3 questions about her new book, When Rape Goes Viral: Youth and Sexual Assault in the Digital Age.

AMW: In your book, you critique surveillance-oriented approaches to teens’ digital activities and instead emphasize peer cultures, gender norms, and sexual ethics. How might families and educators shift from surveillance to fostering critical conversations that address these underlying issues?

AG: In my interviews for the book, young people stated that risk messages and surveillance responses from their parents and schools were often unhelpful and counterproductive, ignoring the primacy of technology for their identity and relationships. For teens, like for many of us, digital platforms are important for everyday communications, connecting with friends, developing and maintaining romantic relationships, and for the exploration and performance of gender and sexual identities. Rather than equipping youth with the skills necessary to navigate this social landscape, we are advising them – and young women, in particular – to protect themselves by limiting their digital engagement. This can contribute to reinforcing victim-blaming attitudes, and ignores common situations where individuals are coerced to share intimate images, or where images are created without the knowledge or consent of the victim. Monitoring teens’ devices and online activity can also normalize privacy invasions and even non-consent. It can send the message that love and care are expressed through surveillance, which young people may then go on to mirror in their own relationships and digital practices. Surveillance responses also generally communicate to teens that they are untrustworthy, which makes them more hesitant to reach out for help when they need it.

Perhaps most importantly, solutions that aim to restrict digital practices do not get at the causes of that behavior, which is what we need to understand to effectively support young people. They also fail to address one of the most harmful and underdiscussed effects of the digital turn, which is the way it has compromised our relationship with consent and ethics. By making the capture and sharing of information easy and routine, social media and mobile technologies have seriously eroded notions of consent in digital praxis and communication. And they have helped blunt human decency and concern for others by, instead, prioritizing and rewarding the sharing of information for likes and attention, which helps normalize abuse as a strategy for improving one’s status.

What I learned from my conversations with teens about image-based abuse is that when they are creating and/or sharing intimate images, whether consensual or not, whether real or fake, they are doing so with specific goals in mind. Sometimes their motivation is to bully or humiliate. More often, as my research shows, their digital activity is heavily driven by a desire to perform a valued identity (e.g., hetero-masculinity) and gain status and approval from their peers. I think the first step for us as parents and educators should be to identify what those motivations are in a non-judgmental way by asking young people to explain their thinking where problematic or abusive digital practices are concerned. Were they responding to pressure? Was it curiosity? A desire to show off to one’s friends? As I argue in the book, the explanations teens provide will tell us about how they understand gender, how boys and girls relate to each other, sexually, their thinking on consent, and the peer norms and power dynamics that inform their sexual and digital practices. I think from there, we can open further conversations about sexual ethics, gender inequality and harm, about consent and bodily autonomy, as well as privacy and ethical technological engagement. Such efforts would take young people’s voices and experiences seriously, while helping them consider the ethical implications of their digital activity and providing them with multiple strategies to better negotiate the digital landscape.

AMW: Your research highlights how digital cultures and platforms play a paradoxical role, both enabling image-based sexual abuse and providing crucial evidence to support survivors. Can you explain this tension and discuss how we might navigate these dual realities ethically and effectively?

AG: Image-based sexual abuse, which refers to the nonconsensual creation and/or distribution of private sexual images, including deepfake images, would not be possible at the present scale without digital technologies. We use our phones and various apps to create these images, which we then digitally distribute across social media platforms, online forums, and so on. These same platforms enable harm not only through the original violation, but also through the continuing and compounding trauma of the subsequent circulation, viewing, commenting, and downloading of images and videos they make possible. The scale and unbounded nature of social media often expose survivors to additional abuse and victimization through public shaming, intimidation, and harassment, further multiplying the harmful effects for many. That most platforms fail to regulate such behavior, and often reward perpetrators with likes and followers, also works to normalize and further sanction such abuse.

At the same time, every interaction with new technologies creates a digital trail that can be used as evidence by survivors and criminal legal actors. Smartphones and archives of one’s digital activity can provide proof of crime and corroborating evidence, which have historically been major obstacles in criminal justice responses to sexual violence and image-based abuse. For survivors not interested in engaging with the legal system, or in cases where law enforcement fails to investigate, digital platforms can also go some way in providing victims with spaces where they share their experiences and find validation and support. As I detail in the book, this potential is not always realized, and factors such as gender, race, class, sexual orientation, and age, among others, continue to inform and complicate both legal and social responses to survivors.

We have a long way to go towards navigating image-based abuse ethically or effectively. Despite improved efforts in recent years, how law enforcement treat victims and perpetrators of digital abuse remains inconsistent, especially where adolescents are concerned. We need more robust regulation of tech platforms and search engines to ensure measures such as content moderation, easy image removal, de-platforming of harmful apps, and investment in technologies that help identify abusive content (e.g., hash and watermarking). In the criminal legal system, we can redirect resources towards and improve processes for collecting digital evidence, which is often timely, invasive, and laborious, delaying justice for survivors. I also think we need to standardize practices with a focus on trauma-informed care around how digital evidence is used in investigations and proceedings, considering how such evidence might further traumatize victims. And I think we need to be much more critical about our reliance on digital evidence where sex crimes are concerned because while useful, the digital trail can also open survivors to increased scrutiny, deepening some of the system’s existing inequalities.

AMW: When Rape Goes Viral suggests that online sexual violence among teens mirrors broader societal values around gender and sexuality. Can you elaborate on how the book connects individual digital behaviors of teens to wider cultural attitudes, and what this reveals about our society’s implicit messages on gendered violence and accountability?

AG: Adolescents’ values and behaviors do not emerge in a vacuum. When young people participate in sexual violence, including digital abuse, they are telling us something about the cultural values and beliefs that shape their views and experiences of gender, sexual norms, and sexual victimization. If teens think such behavior is funny or normal, then that indicates that parents, educators, mentors, and the broader culture has provided them with specific scripts and narratives to normalize and sanction sexual harm. We know from a substantial body of research that dominant heteronormative discourses help excuse and minimize sexual violence by representing heterosexual relations as predatory, framing boys and men as natural sexual aggressors and women as gatekeepers of male sexual desire. We also know that often, we rely on victim-blaming narratives and rape myths to excuse sexual violence and perpetrator accountability – this is what is commonly referred to as rape culture.

One of my goals in speaking with young people was to tease out how many of these norms they have internalized, and the answer is most of them. In the book I offer extensive quotes from teens showing their essentialist understandings of gender, and their perception of heterosexual relations as hostile and exploitative, consisting primarily of male entitlement and female objectification. Both young men and women talked about the value of women’s bodies – and images of women’s bodies – as currency in young men’s masculinity performances and peer groups and seemed resigned to this reality. Rarely did girls frame nonconsensual image sharing as abusive. Rather, along with male participants, they fell back on traditional conceptions of gender and heterosexuality that posit boys as sexually aggressive and untrustworthy (e.g., boys will be boys), and girls as responsible for protecting themselves, to excuse sexual and image-based abuse and minimize their harm. They also often drew on victim-blaming narratives to trivialize the sexual violence, such as focusing on the victims’ intoxication and ‘irresponsible’ behavior to implicate them in their victimization.

One of my favorite sections of the book is when I compare these responses – especially the victim blaming and rape myths – with the responses of the parents, school officials, police officers, and attorneys involved in the high-profile cases discussed in the book, as well as reactions by the broader public, which I was able to document through social media postings and media interviews. The overlaps are striking, laying bare the connections between teens’ explanations and the rape-supportive attitudes expressed by parents, communities, and the media in the aftermath of the assaults. The sympathy voiced for the young offenders, juxtaposed against the vitriol and bullying directed at the young victims communicates to teens that sexual violence is trivial and normative, that we are not interested in holding perpetrators accountable, which works to further sanction such violence.

Social media has further reinforced and amplified this message, not only by providing a platform for people to voice and distribute their views and opinions to broad audiences, but also by consistently rewarding and promoting shocking and humiliating content because it drives traffic and user engagement. By commodifying attention, these platforms foster an environment where users are incentivized to create or circulate harmful or abusive material to enhance their status online. We see evidence of this in the rapidly increasing rates of gendered, racialized, and homophobic violence online, including online abuse and harassment, cyberbullying, doxing, nonconsensual and deepfake image creation and sharing, and the growth of rape and humiliation porn, among others.

Teens are learning about gender norms, sex, and digital ethics at the intersection of this culture that dismisses sexual violence while rewarding digitally abusive behavior. They see celebrities, athletes, and politicians skate free on charges of sexual abuse, violent misogynists like Andrew Tate becoming TikTok superstars, and the online abuse of women skyrocket without intervention from tech platforms, but certainly with more followers for the perpetrators in the manosphere. Why would our youth be immune to these messages? It should not surprise us if some teens espouse these values, if they think sexual and image-based abuse is funny or harmless, when so much of our culture communicates this message to them. I hope that by making these connections explicit, my book provides parents, educators, and policy makers with key insights and a framework from which they can create targeted and effective educational and prevention interventions for youth.

Alicia M. Walker is Associate Professor of Sociology at Missouri State University and the author of two previous books on infidelity, and a forthcoming book, Bound by BDSM: Unexpected Lessons for Building a Happier Life (Bloomsbury Fall 2025) coauthored with Arielle Kuperberg. She is the current Editor in Chief of the Council of Contemporary Families blog, serves as Senior Fellow with CCF, and serves as Co-Chair of CCF alongside Arielle Kuperberg. Learn more about her on her website. Follow her on Twitter or Bluesky at @AliciaMWalker1, Facebook, and Instagram @aliciamwalkerphd

William Lopez is a Clinical Associate Professor at the University of Michigan School of Public Health and Faculty Associate in the Latina/o Studies Program. He is the author of Raiding the Heartland: An American Story of Deportation and Resistance, a follow-up to his award-winning first book, Separated: Family and Community in the Aftermath of an Immigration Raid. In addition to his academic research on the public health impacts of deportation, Dr. Lopez regularly contributes to the public discussions on deportation, diversity, and Latino culture in venues such as the Washington Post, CNN, San Antonio Express News, Detroit Free Press, and Truthout. He is on the Boards of Health in Partnership and The Latino Newsletter. He lives in Ann Arbor, MI, with his wife, two children, and pup. You can find him on Twitter: @lopez_wd and Instagram: @DrLopezOnImmigration. Here, I interview him about his new book, Raiding the Heartland: An American Story of Deportation and Resistance.

AMW: The book vividly documents the emotional and logistical labor shouldered by local organizers and everyday residents in the wake of these raids. What does this reveal about who is actually doing the work of “family preservation” in America today?

WDL: In the aftermath of worksite raids–and really, any form of detention and deportation–entire communities show up to support the families of those detained. Those with professional roles often go above and beyond what they are used to, working through the night and pushing themselves to use an entirely new set of skills. After worksite raids, in which dozens to hundred of people are detained, those who respond include journalists who travel hundreds of miles to cover a breaking story, lawyers who have never done immigration work but show up at raid sites, and certainly pastors and other religious leaders who open church doors to those who are too terrified to return home. 

But much of the labor after a raid goes unseen by the larger public and lasts far longer than the media is able or willing to cover. First and foremost, it’s families who support other families when someone has been removed. This work often falls to mothers, as fathers are more frequently detained in worksite raids. These mothers must counsel their children coping with the disappearance of a father, find ways to replace the income of the absent breadwinner, and figure out what to do without a driver to help with the logistics of the home. 

And let’s talk about educators. One thing this research made abundantly clear is that after families, our country’s teachers will bear the brunt of mass deportation. It’s teachers who deal with half empty classes after a worksite raid, teachers who comfort the students asking where all their classmates are, teachers who explain to students that the parents who dropped them off may not pick them up. It’s principals and superintendents who have to make sure that buses don’t drop students off in empty homes, who have to figure out if they throw away all the extra food uneaten in the cafeteria because students didn’t show up or if they hand deliver it personally to students homes, which we heard about multiple times. And it’s school districts who have to figure out what to do about the enormous gap in learning between their Latino and white students that show up when deportations increase. 

AMW: Much of the public conversation about immigration enforcement focuses on the border or urban areas. What does Raiding the Heartland reveal about how enforcement operates—and is resisted—in rural America?

WDL: Uneaten meals. 

If there’s one thing that sticks with me, that I hear about over and over in my work, it’s how many times people mention the meals left uneaten after someone is detained.  Over and over again, those left behind after an ICE arrest tell me about the violent and traumatic moment the father or the cousin or the neighbor is taken. Then they tell me about the moment after, the loud silence of the person’s absence, the work day, school day, or day of errands cut abruptly short, and the meal left uneaten. 

This image of the uneaten meal has become one of best, albeit painful, ways for me to understand and describe deportation in rural areas like Michigan, Ohio, Nebraska, or Iowa: it’s violent and traumatic, sudden, and shocking, and then utterly, bitterly lonely. It’s also intimately violating, happening during tender family moments sharing food with nephews and nieces or eating birthday cake at a party. After worksite raids, so many people are detained that there’s often no one around to offer help because everyone is desperately trying to take care of their own families. And because the Latino population is so small in many rural areas, unlike in the South, there are relatively few protests and media attention. 

I know this isn’t part of the question, but if there was one thing I worry about constantly, it’s that the advocacy and organizing energy built after the arrests in LA won’t transfer over to arrests and detentions in the Midwest because our Latino and immigrant populations are so much smaller. 

AMW: Your book title also calls these worksite raids an “American story.” How is this an “American story,” and not an “immigrant story”? 

WDL: So much thought goes into book titles that I’m glad you asked! You know, in my public health work, many of us who work on immigration issues are always making the case that these massive systems–like the deportation system–don’t just impact the health of immigrants. They shape the health of everyone in the US by changing the structure of families, economies, and even things like cross-race relationships. But our work is often seen as solely relevant to immigrants, or to Latinos, or to Spanish-speakers, or to other statistical minority groups. 

But deportation, especially the mass deportation the current administration is engaged in, impacts everyone in the US. It’s not something anyone can ignore. At the very least, mass deportation is going to take the buy-in of millions and millions of Americans, who will see their kids go to half empty classrooms, families separated by borders, due process disappear, and the arrests of protestors who oppose these. 

Not only that, but the scapegoating and removal of immigrants has always been part of American history. Some of the removal strategies we see now are not new, they are just being used on a larger scale.

So that this is an “American story” implies that mass deportation will affect us all. But it’s also meant to be a call out: we’ve been here before. We know how this goes. We know what strategies politicians use to spread fear about immigrants. And if mass deportation is going to happen, it’s going to take mass public consent. I like to believe the public will refuse to consent. We certainly are seeing this pushback throughout the country, most evident at the moment in LA. 

Alicia M. Walker is Associate Professor of Sociology at Missouri State University and the author of two previous books on infidelity, and a forthcoming book, Bound by BDSM: Unexpected Lessons for Building a Happier Life (Bloomsbury Fall 2025) coauthored with Arielle Kuperberg. She is the current Editor in Chief of the Council of Contemporary Families blog, serves as Senior Fellow with CCF, and serves as Co-Chair of CCF alongside Arielle Kuperberg. Learn more about her on her website. Follow her on Twitter or Bluesky at @AliciaMWalker1, Facebook, and Instagram @aliciamwalkerphd

When most people hear “BDSM,” they think of whips and chains, maybe a Fifty Shades reference, and then politely change the subject. What rarely gets discussed—but is central to how kink practitioners actually live—is the way BDSM communities foster connection, care, and growth in deeply intentional ways.

In our book Bound by BDSM: Unexpected Lessons for Building a Happier Life, Arielle Kuperberg and I set out not to document erotic practices, but to ask what else we might learn from people who participate in consensual kink. The answer, it turns out, isn’t about sex at all.

It’s about community and how radically different it looks when people stop pretending that happiness is a solo project.

When you’re seen as deviant, you build your own safety net

Many of the people we interviewed for the book spoke candidly about being misjudged. Friends and family didn’t always understand their desires. Therapists sometimes pathologized them. And pop culture offered little more than cartoonish stereotypes.

So, kink practitioners did what marginalized groups often do: they built community with each other. And not just social networks, but intentional, rule-governed, emotionally attuned communities, spaces where consent is explicit, identity is fluid, and power is discussed out loud.

In a world where most people fumble through relationship norms inherited from movies and childhood, BDSM practitioners are constantly customizing the script. They negotiate expectations. They check in. They reflect. And they don’t just do this with romantic or sexual partners. They do it with each other, as part of a larger social fabric.

One person we interviewed described their local scene not as a place to “play,” but as a place to be honest. “I can show up broken here,” they said. “I don’t have to pretend I’m okay to be welcome.”

What if more of us had spaces like that?

Community isn’t a bonus. It’s the point

In the vanilla world, we often treat community as an afterthought. You know, something you’ll get around to once you’ve handled your own healing, perfected your self-care, or completed your personal transformation.

But for many in the kink world, community is the container that makes growth possible. You don’t work through shame alone. You work through it with people who’ve done the same. You don’t figure out what boundaries you need in a vacuum. You learn by watching others, hearing their stories, and being offered tools.

That’s not some utopian fantasy. It’s a deeply practical, often messy, but remarkably effective way of being with others. It requires trust. It requires clear norms. And it requires a collective willingness to believe that people can change when they’re held, challenged, and supported.

It also flies in the face of how mainstream American culture talks about happiness.

The self-help model of happiness isn’t working

If you listen to the broader culture, happiness is something you earn through individual effort. Fix your mindset. Optimize your morning routine. Take time for yourself. Say no to others. Meditate more. Journal harder.

But as sociologists, we know that happiness is profoundly social. It doesn’t live inside your head, but within your relationships, your sense of belonging, your ability to be seen and accepted as you are.

The BDSM community offers a striking counter-narrative to the individualist pursuit of wellness. Instead of saying “you’re responsible for your own healing,” these communities say, we can do this together. Instead of self-help, they practice collaborative care.

One example? The practice of “aftercare,” where partners check in after an intense scene to see how everyone is feeling emotionally, physically, and relationally. Sometimes that means cuddling. Sometimes it means water, or silence, or reassurance. But the point is: you don’t just leave someone hanging after a vulnerable experience.

Imagine if we did that in other parts of life. After a hard conversation. After a breakup. After a job loss or a public embarrassment. What would it mean to live in a culture where we expect to be supported in the messy aftermath, not left to process it all alone?

Boundary work as collective responsibility

One of the most misunderstood things about BDSM is the centrality of boundaries. Not in a reactive, “you crossed a line” kind of way, but in a proactive, let’s agree on what we want and don’t want kind of way.

This kind of clear, mutual boundary-setting requires more than personal insight. It takes practice. Modeling. Community norms. And people who won’t shame you for naming what you need.

For many of our interviewees, learning to set and respect boundaries wasn’t something they figured out through therapy or reading a book. It happened in dungeons, discussion groups, and online forums. It happened by talking with others, seeing what worked, and building trust over time.

This kind of boundary literacy is a powerful skill, one that many “vanilla” people struggle with precisely because we treat boundaries as personal property rather than shared agreements.

Building better lives means building better communities

We didn’t write Bound by BDSM to recruit anyone into kink. We wrote it because we believe BDSM practitioners are doing something that matters, not just to them, but to the rest of us, if we’re willing to listen.

In a time when loneliness is epidemic, polarization is everywhere, and so many people feel disconnected, BDSM communities offer a working model of something else: intentional connection, co-created structure, and radical mutual care.

What would it look like to stop chasing happiness as a product of self-optimization and start building it together?

We think the kinksters might be onto something.

Alicia M. Walker is Associate Professor of Sociology at Missouri State University and the author of two previous books on infidelity, and a forthcoming book, Bound by BDSM: Unexpected Lessons for Building a Happier Life (Bloomsbury Fall 2025) coauthored with Arielle Kuperberg. She is the current Editor in Chief of the Council of Contemporary Families blog, serves as Senior Fellow with CCF, and serves as Co-Chair of CCF alongside Arielle Kuperberg. Learn more about her on her website. Follow her on Twitter or Bluesky at @AliciaMWalker1, Facebook, and Instagram @aliciamwalkerphd