First published in: The Wilde Life // Feb 6, 2021 // 4 min read
Despite the abundance and memes like the one above, there are some of us who are filled with dread at the prospect of school starting.
Not because we are overprotective, helicopter parents who wrap our kids in cotton wool.
Not because of the thought of making school lunches every day (although admittedly that isn’t something I relish doing).
It’s because, for some children, school is torture. And no parent wants to put their child through that.
The start of school is the most anxious time of the year for me as a parent. My son is 6 years old and last year was his first year of full-time school. He was formally suspended 9 times and sent home early on countless other occasions. I spent the better part of last year in school meetings, advocating for his needs and working as collaboratively as possible with his teachers and school administrators. But I am fighting against a system that is outdated and riddled with inequality (this is not a personal opinion; it is professional insight) and it is physically, mentally and emotionally exhausting. It’s no wonder I’m losing sleep over the prospect of more of the same.
My son is intelligent, curious, friendly, kind and caring. The idea that he would struggle in school never even crossed our minds. Before he started school he was a model child at day care and at home. When he first started to display challenging behaviour it came completely out of the blue. Nevertheless we acted quickly, engaging a psychologist, paediatrician and OT. This wasn’t our first rodeo. His older sibling was already diagnosed with ADHD, identified as gifted and was being assessed for ASD (none of which were picked up by the school, but that’s another story).
We had always known that our oldest wasn’t a typical child – from the day they were born they followed their own path. But it never occurred to us that our youngest was also neurodivergent. In hindsight, this is probably because understanding him and his needs is easy for us as neurodivergent parents.
Unfortunately, schools are generally not set up to accommodate neurodivergent children (or any other children who don't fit predefined norms) and few teachers have any real understanding of their needs. It makes perfect sense that school is a trigger for my son and others like him. Unless some drastic changes are made to the school environment and education system as a whole, this will always be the case.
My son received an ADHD diagnosis in March last year and will be assessed for ASD later this year. His ADHD diagnosis and treatment made no difference to his school experience. Neither will an ASD diagnosis. Last year, he had a full-time aide whose role was to support his social-emotional needs (he doesn’t need curriculum support). The school had support and training from myself, his psychologist and specialist school services. A diagnosis will not increase or improve the support he receives. Nor will it prevent the school suspending him.
Frustratingly, schools lean on a loophole in the Disability Discrimination Act to justify suspensions and refuse to acknowledge the abundance of evidence that suspensions are ineffective at best and damaging at worst. They pay lip service to inclusion and whole-child development but fail to translate this into practice. This is hardly surprising. Educational policy and practice has always been decades behind the research and as long as the focus is on outdated standardised testing it will remain that way.
I am trying my best to be optimistic about the coming year and I am making a deliberate effort to be positive about school around my son. I am desperately hoping things will be different, but I would be lying if I said I really believe they will be. I am already preparing mentally for the inevitable phone calls, meetings and suspensions. But at least I know what to expect; maybe I won’t feel so much stress and anxiety this time around.
Working with the school will always be my priority, but I am not afraid to be “that” parent, to push back and rock the boat. At the start of this journey I tempered my approach because I felt a professional duty to the teachers and school to do so. But now I know that my duty – both professionally and personally – is to advocate for inclusion and systemic educational change.
Whatever happens this year, I will continue to be an advocate for change. For all children, not just my own.
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