When Schools Fall Short: A Rant About SEN, Communication, and the Children Left Behind

As a mother, I will always advocate for my child—loudly, unapologetically, and relentlessly. I will sit in every meeting, challenge every dismissal, and question every system that tries to make them feel “too much” or “not enough.” I know my child better than any report or checklist ever could, and I refuse to let their needs be ignored, misunderstood, or minimised. No matter how many times I’m brushed off or made to feel like a nuisance, I will keep showing up—because my child deserves to be supported, respected, and truly seen.



Let me just say it plainly: our primary schools are letting down children with special educational needs, and it’s exhausting to watch—especially as a parent who is trying everything to advocate for their child.


We’re told the system is inclusive. We’re told teachers are trained. We’re told there’s support. But what happens when the reality is anything but?


You chase referrals. You sit in meetings. You pour your heart out explaining your child’s needs, their triggers, their beautiful, complex brain. And what do you get?

A nod. A generic plan. Maybe a printout from a website.

But what you don’t get is real communication. You don’t get real understanding.

And you certainly don’t get consistency.


How can a child thrive when one adult supports them and another brushes off their needs as “naughty behaviour”?

When the class SENCO is overstretched and no one else seems to be listening?

When school reports mention “disruptions” but fail to ask why they’re happening?


This isn’t about blaming individual teachers—many of them are wonderful, overwhelmed people doing their best. But the system they work in? It’s broken.

It relies on silence, on children conforming, on parents not pushing back.

And when your child doesn’t fit neatly into the system’s box, they’re nudged out. Slowly, subtly, and unfairly.


Let me tell you this:

If your child masks all day and then breaks down at home? That’s not a “good day” at school.

If your child starts refusing to go in because “no one listens”? That’s not a behaviour issue—it’s a crisis.


I’m tired of the school emails that dodge responsibility. I’m tired of being made to feel like that parent because I speak up.

And I’m absolutely done with the gaslighting that suggests it’s all in our heads, or worse, in our parenting.


And don’t even get me started on the endless cycle of blame-shifting between services.

You go to the GP—“That sounds like something for school to handle.”

You speak to school—“We can’t refer, you’ll need to go through CAMHS.”

CAMHS? “Not our remit—try Early Help.”

Early Help? “We need more evidence from school.”

School again? “We’ve done all we can without a diagnosis.”

And round and round and round we go—while your child struggles every single day in a system that prioritises admin over action.


It’s like everyone’s trained to dodge the issue.

No one wants to be the one who takes responsibility—because that means funding, support plans, and effort. And heaven forbid anyone be inconvenienced for the sake of a child’s wellbeing.


Meanwhile, you’re the one doing the job of five professionals. Chasing emails. Organising meetings. Reading legal codes at midnight. Explaining your child’s needs to strangers for the tenth time this term. And while the professionals argue about who’s responsible, your child is the one falling through the cracks.


It shouldn’t be this hard.

We shouldn’t have to scream just to be heard.

And our children should not be collateral damage in a game of “not my problem.”


Parents of SEN children aren’t asking for gold-plated services.

We’re asking for respect, for collaboration, and for professionals to genuinely see our children as more than a “problem to manage.”


So here it is:

Primary schools need to do better.

They need to talk to us—not at us.

They need to train staff properly.

They need to stop relying on “inclusion policies” that look great on paper and fail in practice.


Because our kids deserve more than tick-box compassion.

They deserve support that actually supports.

They deserve to feel seen, safe, and understood—every single day.

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