This week I was working in a primary school supporting a young person when another child in the nurture provision became increasingly distressed. It was one of those moments that many school staff will recognise. The child's emotions were escalating, their body language was changing, and they were moving beyond frustration into genuine distress. As I stood nearby, I heard repeated phrases: "Finished." "That's enough." "You need to stop." The adults were trying to help. I have

The other evening, my son clapped at me and my partner to get our attention. Not a gentle clap., not an excited clap, the same clap he uses in the classroom. For a moment, I found myself wondering how many adults would have described that behaviour as rude. Then I started thinking about where he had learned it. Children spend much of their lives being interrupted by adults. We ask them to stop what they are doing, stop what they are saying, stop what they are thinking about a

In the past few weeks, I’ve been supporting a parent through a Local Authority appeal after a “no to issue” decision for her child’s EHCP. It’s a familiar story — a child with clear, complex needs, already excluded from one early years setting, now due to start Reception in September. A child who is, quite literally, at risk of exclusion before he even walks through the door. And yet the system that is supposed to protect him seems to be doing the opposite. What has struck me

This morning I received an email reminding me that communication with my son’s specialist teacher should go through school. It was polite, professional, and rooted in policy — but it left me thinking far beyond the message itself. I understand the need for boundaries. I understand why services want clarity and structure. But I also know, both as a parent and as a professional, that children’s needs don’t always fit neatly into organisational lines of communication. And someti