Narrative in a nutshell: sharing hopes, fears, and dreams with self-advocates.

Roets et al. (2007) wrote a think-piece, not an experiment.

They asked: what happens when professionals stop telling the "fix-the-deficit" story and instead collect hopes, fears, and dreams straight from adults with intellectual disabilities?

The authors used poststructural theory—a lens that treats every story as built by culture and power—to show how clinician talk can silence self-advocate talk.

The paper finds no new data; it finds a new mandate.

When support plans begin with the person’s own narrative, the plan looks less like repair and more like partnership.

Symons (2023) extends the same anti-ableist thread into 2023 behavior-analysis journals, telling researchers, "Pick problems that matter to disabled people, not just to clinicians."

Pellicano (2013) gives a living example: one English self-advocacy group stayed alive by letting members with ID share governance power—proof that narrative control can move from paper to practice.

Baixauli et al. (2016) seems to contradict: their meta-analysis says autistic children tell weaker stories. The gap is only apparent—Griet urges us to value the story’s meaning, not its grammar score.

Shyman (2016) turns the lens on ABA itself, warning that our field’s love of "normal" can accidentally reinforce ableism; Griet’s paper hands us the tool to stop that reinforcement—first-person story first.

You write behavior plans every week. Swap the first section from "Client presents with deficits" to "Client states their own hopes." You still measure behavior, but now the measurement serves a story the client owns. That single shift can cut stigma, boost engagement, and keep you aligned with ethical code sections on assent and dignity. Try it in your next team meeting—ask the adult you support to open the meeting with their own goal, not yours.