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Let me paint you a picture. It's a Saturday morning. We're in Morrisons. Elias is doing his Thing — the hum. The beautiful, resonant, full-body hum that he produces when he's happy, which sounds somewhere between a didgeridoo warming up and a small engine failing. He is ecstatic . He is also, periodically, smacking himself cheerfully on the side of the head, because apparently that's where the good sensory feedback lives, and honestly, fair enough. And I, his devoted, exhausted, deeply caffeinated mother, am doing my  Thing. Scanning. Always scanning. I am basically a human perimeter defence system at this point. Eyes flicking left, right, ahead. Clocking every raised eyebrow, every micro-expression, every person who glances our way for a millisecond longer than feels comfortable. My jaw is set. My shoulders are up somewhere near my ears. I have the energy of someone who has already rehearsed seventeen different responses to seventeen different comments that haven't happened yet and probably won't. I am ready . I am vigilant . I am a lioness, and Elias is my cub. Suddenly, the man by the milk catches my eye. He looks at Elias. He looks at the joyful, rhythmic head-slapping. He looks back at me. And he smiles . Not a pitying smile. Not a "bless you, you poor thing" smile. Just a smile. Like he's seen a small boy enjoying himself enormously and found it delightful. Which, to be fair, it is. Elias is excellent  at enjoying himself. And I, warrior mother, defender of my child, ready for anything, am completely, utterly thrown. I probably blinked at him like a startled owl. I may have done an awkward half-nod. I definitely moved away faster than necessary, because kindness I wasn't braced for is somehow harder to receive than the hostility I'd already mentally pre-fought. This is the absurdity of it, isn't it? We prepare so hard for the worst that we sometimes can't even receive  the best. When you have a child with additional needs, you develop what I like to think of as Protective Parent Syndrome. A condition characterised by a permanent low-level threat assessment, a hair-trigger for perceived judgement, and an absolutely exhausting  internal monologue that runs on a loop every time you leave the house. That woman looked over. Why did she look over? Is she going to say something? What will I say if she says something? But what if she's not even thinking what I think she's thinking? What if she's just wondering if we have the same coat? (Spoiler: she was wondering about the coat). The mental load of it is staggering. We are simultaneously trying to support our children, read the room, manage sensory environments, anticipate needs, and fight an imaginary army of disapproving strangers who, more often than not, simply do not exist. We are exhausted by a war that mostly isn't happening. And the thing is, and I want to say this gently because I know how hard-won this realisation is, most people are fine. Actually fine. Not performing fine. Not biting their tongue fine. Just fine. They see Elias humming with the frequency of a tuning fork and they think: oh, happy kid.  They see him doing his little percussive head thing and they think: children are wonderfully weird, aren't they.  They see the two of us navigating the world on our own particular terms and they think, (if they think anything at all): good for them. Some of them, the ones who know, give you The Nod. Fellow parents of kids with additional needs, you know the one. It says: I see you. I've been in that Morrisons. I've scanned those faces. You're doing brilliantly.  It contains multitudes. It has kept me going on days when very little else has. And some of them are just genuinely happy to see a little boy living his best life. Because children experiencing pure joy are, objectively, one of the nicest things in the world to witness, even when that joy is expressed via unconventional sound effects. So here's what I'm working on. Notice I said working on , not cracked , because let's be honest. 1. Notice the armour going on. The moment the shoulders creep up and the jaw sets and the scanning starts, notice it. You don't have to immediately put it all down, but just noticing creates a tiny bit of space between you and the threat response. You are not in danger. You are in a soft play café with slightly sticky tables. 2. Let good things land. When someone smiles, let the smile actually arrive. Don't immediately explain it away or brace against it. Someone was kind. You can receive that. You're allowed. 3. Remind yourself what you're actually protecting. You want to protect your child from judgement and unkindness. Completely valid. But you're also, inadvertently, protecting yourself from experiencing the good stuff: the solidarity, the sweetness, the strangers who genuinely just think your kid is great. Don't armour yourself against that too. 4. Save the energy. Because here's the uncomfortable truth: the armour is heavy . Carrying it everywhere means you arrive at every outing already half-depleted, which makes the actual hard moments, the ones that occasionally, really do happen, harder to navigate with grace. Pick your battles. Don't pre-fight the ones that exist only in your head. 5. Live in his moment, not yours. Elias is not worried about the man in the milk aisle. Elias is humming. Elias is radiant . While I am running threat assessments, he is simply being alive in the most committed, whole-hearted way possible. Sometimes the most useful thing I can do is put down the perimeter defence and just be there with him, in the hum, in the joy, in the Morrison on a Saturday morning. That's where the good stuff is. The world is not always kind. I know that. There will be days, and there have been days, when someone does say something, when the look is  what you feared it was, when you need every bit of that fierce protective love to show up and handle it. But it happens less than we expect. And in the meantime, we are spending an enormous amount of our finite, precious energy guarding against shadows. Elias is happy. Elias is loud  about being happy, in the best possible way. And somewhere in the milk aisle, a stranger thought that was worth smiling at. I'm trying to let that be enough. I'm trying to put the armour down, just a little, and smile back.

There is a deceptively simple question at the heart of the government's long-awaited SEND reform. It is the question every parent of a child with special educational needs has been asking for months, and the one Education Secretary Bridget Phillipson was still conspicuously failing to answer on Laura Kuenssberg's BBC programme just hours before the Schools White Paper landed. Will my child lose support? Today (Feb 23), we finally got the White Paper itself. And while the government is hoping that a £4 billion headline figure will drown out the harder questions, families looking for a clear commitment (for an honest, unambiguous answer) will search the document in vain. The semantic sleight of hand continues. The assurance that "effective support" will not be taken away is not the same as an absolute guarantee that no child will lose an element of present provision. That distinction matters enormously, and the government knows it. What the White Paper Actually Says Titled Every Child Achieving and Thriving , the White Paper does at least put flesh on the bones of what had been circulating in leaks since Thursday. Here is what we now know: Children in Year 3 or above currently will keep their EHCP until at least age 16, and those in Year 2 or below will be reassessed when they transition to Year 7. The new system will not come into force until at least September 2030, following a 12-week public consultation and a rollout beginning in September 2029. No child with a special school place when the reforms start being introduced in 2029 will lose it. These protections sound reassuring... until you read the small print. Around one in eight children and young people who currently have an EHCP will move to new support plans between 2030 and 2035 when their needs are reviewed. The DfE projects the proportion of pupils with an EHCP will drop from 5.8% today to around 4.7% by 2034/35. That is not a bureaucratic rounding error. That is tens of thousands of children. At the centre of the new architecture is a plan called an Individual Support Plan (ISP), which will sit below the EHCP tier. The reforms are expected to introduce a plan with legal footing for all children with SEND called Individual Support Plans (ISPs), and it is understood they will apply to children who have been assessed as needing specialist support. The ISPs will have multiple tiers ("targeted" and "targeted plus") and children will not need a diagnosis to access them, which the government presents as progress. Challenges to ISPs will be through normal schools and local council complaints procedures. Yes. Read that again. The legal route to challenge a decision about your child's support, which is currently through an independent tribunal, will (for ISP holders) be replaced with a complaints process run by the very bodies that made the decision in the first place. SEND parents will recognise this model immediately. It is the model that failed them before. The Money: Big Numbers, Hard Questions The government has led with the £4 billion investment figure and is hoping it does the heavy lifting politically. The breakdown is as follows: a new Inclusive Mainstream Fund worth £1.6 billion over three years, provided directly to early years, schools and colleges; and £1.8 billion over the same period to create an "Experts at Hand" service, a bank of specialists (SEND teachers, speech and language therapists etc.) available in every local area, accessible regardless of whether a child has an EHCP. A further £200 million will go to teacher training, and another £200 million to help local authorities manage the transition. £1.6 billion is a big number on paper. But as Special Needs Jungle's analysis points out, money alone cannot change an organisation's culture. And the previous implementation grant given to local authorities from 2014 to 2018, to implement the last round of SEND reforms, largely went to consultants and achieved minimal lasting impact. The government should explain precisely how it will ensure this time is different. NASUWT general secretary Matt Wrack was characteristically blunt, saying the idea that SEND provision could be adequately overhauled with "this low level of funding" was "ridiculous." Meanwhile, local government SEND deficits are projected to reach £6 billion by March 2026; a structural hole that the new money does not come close to filling. The Art of Not Answering (Continued) Before the White Paper was published, Phillipson sat down with Kuenssberg and was asked directly: will any child who currently has an EHCP lose their support? She could not bring herself to say no. "We will strengthen and put in place better support for children," she said. The government would "spend more money, not less." The reforms would "transform support for children and families." Journalistic scrutiny highlighted a key semantic fault line: the assurance that "effective support" will not be taken away is not the same as an absolute guarantee that no child will lose an element of present provision. And now that the White Paper is public, we can confirm that the semantic caution was warranted. The government has not given that guarantee. It cannot, because the document itself projects that a significant minority of current EHCP holders will transition to new, less legally robust plans. Phillipson said in the paper that the plans will take children with SEND "from sidelined and excluded to seen, heard and included." Fine words. But when Marsha Martin, who runs Black SEN Mamas (a support network for Black mothers of SEND children) spoke to ITV News, her concern was blunter: "It almost seems as though what they are putting in place might stand to exacerbate the issues that we currently have. All we have actually asked for is that there is better adherence to the laws by local authority and that local authorities are held to account." What Parents and Campaigners Fear — And Why the White Paper Doesn't Resolve It The Autistic Girls Network's CEO, Cathy Wassell, was among those who reacted to the White Paper's direction with alarm. She described the announcements as "a betrayal of the very principle of inclusion," adding: "Autistic girls often spend primary school masking their struggles. They only get identified when they hit the 'secondary crash.' Slashing support now is like removing a life jacket just as the child is pulled into the deep end." Her point about secondary transition is particularly relevant given what the White Paper confirms: those who do have an existing EHCP will have to have their needs reassessed between each different phase of their education. Yet we already know that in 2025, only 46.4% of new EHCPs were issued within the statutory 20 weeks. Forcing children back through an assessment system that already takes twice as long as the law requires, at precisely the most turbulent and vulnerable moments of their education, is not a reform. It is an additional hurdle. The campaign group Save Our Children's Rights called the reforms "an absolute disaster," warning that limiting access to EHCPs could leave "some children and young people with no legally enforceable right to an accessible education that meets their needs." James Watson-O'Neill, chief executive of Sense , welcomed the funding but warned: "A shocking number of children are being failed by a baffling and underfunded SEND system. Too many are falling through the cracks — at the cost of their happiness, wellbeing and future life chances. If their children's legal rights are weakened any further or there's an attempt to cut spending, the consequences could be devastating." Teaching unions also pushed back. Teachers' voices have been "conspicuously absent" from the decision-making, according to unions, who also question whether mainstream schools that are already overstretched, have the capacity or culture to become genuinely inclusive overnight, however much money is promised. There is also a social justice dimension that deserves more attention than it has received. Worries persist that parents with higher incomes and the capacity to navigate a complex system are more likely to secure support for their children. A tiered system with school-managed ISPs and a complaints-based challenge mechanism (rather than an independent tribunal) will be much easier to navigate for those with resources, time, and confidence. The families who fought hardest to get EHCPs are disproportionately those who can afford to. The families who will lose most from a weaker system are disproportionately those who cannot. A System in Crisis — But the Wrong Solution? None of this is to pretend the status quo is acceptable. The system is broken, and has been for years. More than £10 billion a year is spent in England, but children with SEND are still under-achieving, disengaged from education and disproportionately excluded from mainstream schools. Councils are projected to hold £6 billion in high needs deficits. Families are pulling their children out of school at record rates, some 150,000 children were educated at home in England during the last academic year, up from 92,000 in 2023. The case for genuine, ambitious reform of SEND is overwhelming. Nobody serious disputes that. But as education law specialists have pointed out, the whole reason for the growth of EHCPs is simply because they have been "necessary", mainstream schools cannot deliver the support many pupils need within existing resources. That is not a legal issue, but a factual one. Redesigning the legal framework does not change that underlying reality. It simply changes who is legally responsible for acknowledging it. The Question That Remains The White Paper is now public. The big numbers are out. The architecture of the new system is now on the record; EHCPs for the most complex needs, ISPs for everyone else, a transition beginning in 2029. And yet the central question that parents have been asking remains unresolved. Will my child lose their support? For a child in Year 2 with an EHCP today, the honest answer is: we don't know. They will be reassessed at Year 7. That assessment will be made under new criteria, by a system that is already failing to hit its own statutory deadlines, using a complaints mechanism rather than an independent tribunal if families disagree with the outcome. The government's answer is that the £4 billion will transform mainstream schools, making them so genuinely inclusive that fewer children will need statutory plans. That is possible. It is also, frankly, optimistic to the point of wishful thinking, given that a similar ambition underpinned the 2014 reforms — and we know how that turned out. Bridget Phillipson has said this is a "watershed moment." Perhaps. But watersheds can flow in either direction. And for the families who have already fought (and too often lost) in the current system, the promise of a better one in 2030 will need rather more than warm words and big headline figures to be convincing. The question she still can't answer tells you everything about why those families are right to be worried. If you are a parent or carer affected by SEND reform, you can find information, support and guidance on the new proposals at IPSEA (Independent Provider of Special Education Advice) at ipsea.org.uk. You can also contact your MP directly to share your family's experience, and respond to the 12-week public consultation on the new system when it opens.

When I first noticed Elias making his way from our cosy family living room gatherings to hang out alone in the kitchen, I'll admit I had a bit of a wobble. There we'd all be, gathered together (me probably overthinking our BSL storytelling technique), and off he'd go, determined as a miniature explorer setting off for uncharted territory. Except his Everest was the kitchen floor, and his motivation was... well, I had no idea. Cue the parental guilt spiral I'd perfected over the years. Was he upset with us? Did he feel left out? Had I done something wrong? Should I encourage him back? Was this "a sign"? (That phrase that haunts every parent of a complex needs child at 3am.) I spent ages hovering awkwardly between the living room and kitchen, trying to strike that impossible balance between respecting his space and making sure he knew he was welcome with us. I'd pop my head round the corner like some sort of anxious meerkat, trying to catch his eye. He'd glance at me with an expression that clearly said, "I was fine until you showed up," and I'd retreat, slightly wounded. Then one day, someone on his team said something that should have been obvious but felt revolutionary: "Elias is processing so much just to navigate his world; visual information, physical positioning, spatial awareness. Being around people requires even more energy. He might just need to recharge his batteries." Recharge his batteries. Of course. I thought about all the times I've desperately needed to escape to a quiet room after a long day, or how I'd rather have a root canal than attend a networking event. And Elias? He's constantly taking in visual information, managing his body in space, communicating in a language most of the world doesn't speak, and navigating a physical environment that wasn't designed for him. Why had I assumed he wouldn't need downtime even more than I did? The kitchen wasn't a rejection. It was his sanctuary. His quiet space. His "please leave me alone for ten minutes while I decompress from the utterly overwhelming experience of being a small human in a world that requires so much of me." What the Experts Say It turns out this is incredibly common among children with complex needs, particularly those who are deaf, have mobility differences, or have multiple support needs. The National Deaf Children's Society emphasises that deaf children often experience something called "concentration fatigue". The mental exhaustion that comes from constantly concentrating to gather visual information, lipread, or use BSL. They need breaks from visual processing just like hearing children might need breaks from noisy environments. Contact (the charity for families with disabled children) emphasises that every child's needs are different, and learning to recognise what your child needs, even when it looks different from what you expected, is one of the most important skills you can develop as a parent. They've got some brilliant resources on their website about supporting children's emotional regulation and sensory needs. The Council for Disabled Children also highlights that respecting a child's need for space and autonomy, even when it feels counterintuitive, builds trust and helps them develop self-awareness about their own needs. That's actually a life skill we're nurturing, not a problem to fix. These days, I've learned to read the signs. When Elias makes his way to the kitchen, I let him go. I check he's safe (our kitchen is now basically Fort Knox), and then I leave him to it. Sometimes he's there for five minutes, sometimes twenty. Sometimes takes a toy. Sometimes he just sits and watches the light patterns on the floor. And that's absolutely fine. I've stopped taking it personally. Well, mostly. I'm still working on not feeling a tiny bit rejected when he leaves mid-storytime, but I'm getting there. We're now in the process of making the kitchen more "his" space. Independent access to toys, comfy surfaces and clear sightlines so he can see if someone's entering the room (because surprising a deaf child is never fun for anyone). Here's the thing I didn't expect: watching Elias advocate for his own needs, in his own way, fills me with pride. He knows what he needs, and he goes to get it. That's actually remarkable. How many adults do you know who can do that? And on the days when he does choose to stay with us in the living room for longer? Those moments feel even more special because I know he's choosing to be there, not staying because he thinks he has to. Plus, I've learned to be more intentional about how I engage with him. When I do go into the kitchen, I make sure I'm in his line of sight, I check if he wants company (his body language is pretty clear these days), and I respect his answer either way. For Other Parents on This Journey If you're watching your child make their way to their own preferred spot and feeling that familiar pang of worry or rejection, here's what I wish someone had told me earlier: It's not about you. I know, I know; everything feels like it's about us and our parenting. But sometimes a kitchen is just a kitchen, and your child needing space is just them being a person with needs. Trust them. They're communicating something important, even if it's not in the way you expected. Listen to what they're showing you. Make it safe and accessible. If they've chosen a space, help make it somewhere they can safely and independently be. For us, that meant thinking about sightlines, floor surfaces, accessible storage, and removing anything hazardous at his level. Get support. Contact's helpline (0808 808 3555) has been a lifeline for me on the tough days. They get it. The National Deaf Children's Society also has brilliant support for families. And your local Family Information Service can point you toward support groups and services in your area. Give yourself grace. It takes time to understand your child's needs, especially when they differ from what you expected or what the parenting books say. You're doing brilliantly. These days, I sometimes join Elias in the kitchen, sitting quietly at the other end, doing my own thing. No pressure, no expectation, just two people existing in the same space. Sometimes he makes his way over and settles next to me. Sometimes he doesn't. Both are lovely. And you know what? I've discovered that I quite like the peace of the kitchen too. Turns out we're more alike than I thought. So here's to all our kitchen explorers, bedroom dwellers, and garden gazers. Here's to the children teaching us that connection doesn't always mean proximity, and that love means respecting needs even when they're different from ours. And here's to us parents, slowly learning that sometimes the best thing we can do is simply let them be. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go check why the kitchen is suspiciously quiet. (Spoiler: he's fine. He's always fine. But I'm still a parent, so I'll check anyway.) Got a kitchen explorer of your own? Or a bathroom dweller? Or a hallway inhabitant? Share your stories in the comments, we'd love to hear them.

Find a curated collection of expert articles, guides, and tools designed to support you at every stage of parenting. Empower yourself with knowledge and practical advice to navigate the complexities of raising children with confidence. OurResources . Filter by Content Select Content Apply Filters Reset Filters Filter by Tags Select Tags Resource Top tips for an inclusive Easter egg hunt For disabled people with complex needs, it’s often not the activity itself that’s the challenge, but the barriers around it. Blog Learning to Love Your Child's Solo Adventures How to help your complex needs child when all they want is space and solitude. Blog Why Speaking Up Matters An unexpected diagnosis can change everything. Why voices like Jesy Nelson's matter, and why no parent should face this alone. Blog Ruling Out the Worst When your child is non-verbal, you must rule out the worst before you can focus on the small. This is the reality of complex needs. Blog Put Your Armour Down, Mama Parenting a child with additional needs means expecting the worst. But what if most people are actually, quietly, rooting for you? Blog Why Hospital Staff Are Central to Family Care My first birthday as a parent was spent in ICU with Elias. But a cake and group of nurses reminded me that hospital staff hold families together Article BBC: Postcode Lottery of Parenting Early childhood, an important stage in determining a child's long-term future, is also a period that can get lost in our national politics. Blog Finding the Right Team for Your Child Finding the right team for your child is everything. When amazing people come and go, it’s personal—but the right ones become family. Blog The SEND White Paper: Families Are Still in the Dark. The government finally published its SEND White Paper. But the one question every parent needed answered? Still unanswered. Blog What having a disabled child really does to a relationship It's not a lack of love that strains a reltionship after diagnosis; it's exhaustion, grief and doing an impossibly hard job Blog Why Inclusive Grottos Matter More Than We Realise A signing Santa. A child fully included. One small thing that made Christmas magic feel possible for our family. Blog Celebrating Parenting on a Different Path When your parenting journey changes course, so do your friendships. Here’s how I learned to grieve, grow, and guard my peace Load More...

Explore our range of services at Complex Parenting for expert guidance and resources tailored to every stage of SEN parenting. From newborn care to teen challenges, find comprehensive support to empower your parenting journey. Our Services . At CPG, we provide a range of support services tailored to the unique needs of parents raising disabled children with additional or complex needs. Our offerings include: Initial Consultation . Access to like-minded parents, who offer advice, guidance, and strategies to address specific challenges faced by parents and their children. CommunitySupport . A supportive online community where parents can connect, share experiences, offer peer support, and find solidarity with others facing similar challenges. EHCPSupport . Strategies for effectively advocating for your child's educational rights and negotiating with educational authorities and healthcare professionals. AdvocacyAssistance . Guidance and support to help parents navigate the complexities of the healthcare, education, and social service systems, advocating for their child's rights and access to appropriate services and support. ResourceHub . A curated collection of educational materials, articles, tools, and resources designed to empower parents with knowledge and practical solutions for navigating various aspects of parenting. ParentalCoach . One-on-one coaching sessions to help parents develop practical strategies, coping mechanisms, and self-care practices to enhance their resilience and well-being. ContactUs . Want to know more? Get in touch below. First Name Last Name Email Message Send Thanks for submitting!

Discover expert EHCP support at Complex Parenting. Our dedicated page offers guidance and resources to help parents navigate the Education, Health, and Care Plan process, ensuring the best outcomes for your child's education and development. EHCPSupport . We understand the importance of advocating for your child's educational needs through the process of writing an Education, Health, and Care Plan (EHCP). We’re proud to offer first-hand expertise and support to parents undertaking the crucial task of writing an EHCP. We offer guidance and support to parents navigating this complex process, ensuring they have the tools and resources needed to effectively communicate their child's strengths, challenges, and specific requirements. “Drawing from my own experience in this process, I understand the difficulties parents face and the importance of clarity, persistence, and advocacy. Through personalised consultations, I provide guidance on articulating your child's unique needs, accessing relevant assessments, and navigating the bureaucratic complexities involved in EHCP development. With my support, parents can approach the EHCP process with confidence, armed with the knowledge and strategies needed to effectively advocate for their child's educational rights and ensure that their needs are accurately reflected in the plan. Together, we can navigate this journey with strength and determination, securing the best possible outcomes for your child's future.” Ellis Reid How to Apply for an EHCP in the UK: A Guide for Parents and Guardians Applying for an EHCP can be challenging. We’re here to help navigate the process and secure the right support for your child.