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When Pampers announced the launch of their new Size 9 nappies, it should have been a moment of celebration. For so many families with children who have additional needs, this is a breakthrough - an answer to a problem we have been navigating for far too long. Yet, instead of championing the positive impact this will have on the SEND community, the media and social commentators have focused on all the wrong things. The headlines and hot takes have largely revolved around fears of rising obesity rates, questioning why children “that old” still need nappies, and reinforcing outdated expectations of childhood development. The real story, the one that should be making waves, is how this product will provide dignity, comfort, and practical support for families who have struggled to find suitable solutions for their children’s needs. For many children with disabilities or medical conditions, potty training isn’t as straightforward as it is for their neurotypical peers. Some may never be fully continent due to their conditions, and others might take much longer to reach that milestone. Until now, families have had limited options - often forced to rely on ill-fitting products designed for adults, expensive specialist brands, or battling through frustrating supply issues with NHS provisions. Pampers’ decision to expand their size range acknowledges a reality that has long been overlooked by mainstream brands, and that is something to be applauded. The availability of Size 9 nappies doesn’t encourage parents to “keep” their children in nappies longer than necessary, nor does it suggest a societal failure in potty training. It simply means that those who genuinely need them now have a more accessible, affordable, and appropriate option. That is the real story here - the one that deserves attention and support. To the parents who feel relieved by this news: I see you. To the children who will benefit from the dignity of a well-fitting product: you deserve this. And to the critics who are missing the point - perhaps take a moment to listen to the families who know this reality best. Pampers, thank you for taking this step. Let’s hope this is just the beginning of more brands recognising and catering to the diverse needs of all children.

If we're lucky, Mother’s Day is often filled with flowers, cards, and breakfast in bed. It’s a day of celebration, appreciation, and love. But for mothers of children with additional or complex needs, I think that today carries a different weight. It’s a day to reflect on the strength it takes to show up, day after day, through exhaustion, uncertainty, and challenges that many don’t see or understand. Parenting is hard. Parenting a child with complex needs is something else entirely. It’s advocating in every space you enter. It’s learning medical jargon you never wanted to know. It’s navigating therapies, appointments, and sleepless nights. It’s being the one who holds everything together when you’re barely holding on yourself. And the hardest part? We don’t always talk about it. We put on a brave face. We say, “I’m fine” when we’re not. We smile through the tough moments because admitting the truth feels too heavy, too raw. But the reality is, some days, I just want to curl up in a ball and hide from it all. I want a moment where the weight isn’t so crushing, where the mental and emotional exhaustion doesn’t feel like it might swallow me whole. But mothers like us don’t get that option. We keep going. We keep showing up because our children need us to. And so today, on Mother’s Day, I want to take a moment to acknowledge and celebrate the mothers who push through the hard days, the ones who show up when it feels impossible, and the ones who hold on even when they don’t know how they’re doing it. To every mother raising a child with additional needs: you are seen, you are valued, and you are stronger than you realise. Today, I celebrate you. Not just for the love you give, but for the strength you show. Because showing up, even on the hardest days, is the greatest act of love there is. Happy Mother’s Day to all the warriors, the advocates, the caregivers, and the mums who keep going, no matter what. You are incredible.

A young boy kneels up on his play mat, a cochlear implant visible on his right ear Today, I wanted to share a bit about our journey raising our amazing deaf son and how it has transformed our lives in ways we never anticipated. If you’re part of the complex parenting world like we are, you’ll know that every child brings their own unique set of joys and challenges. Our son’s deafness has been a journey of discovery, acceptance, and growth for our entire family. When we first found out our son was deaf, it felt like the world came crashing down around us suddenly. This wasn't the version of parenthood we'd envisioned. There were so many questions and uncertainties. How would we communicate? What support was available? Would he be happy and thrive? It was a steep learning curve, but looking back, it’s incredible to see how far we've come and how much we've learned. One of the biggest blessings has been discovering the amazing provisions and support systems out there. From early intervention services to specialist schools with an entire BSL curriculum, we've encountered so many dedicated professionals who have helped us along the way. We quickly learned that being deaf isn’t a barrier to a full and vibrant life, it’s just a different way of experiencing the world. We've started learning British Sign Language (BSL), and it’s been a fantastic experience for all of us. Learning BSL wasn’t just about communication; it was about embracing a new culture and community. One of the most challenging aspects has been dealing with societal misconceptions. So many people seem to think that being deaf is something that needs to be “fixed.” But our son isn’t broken; he’s perfect just the way he is. It’s frustrating when people assume that a cochlear implant or hearing aids are the only solutions. While these can be beneficial for some, and Elias does have a cochlear implant, they’re not the be-all and end-all. We’ve had to educate friends, family, and even strangers about deafness. It’s been eye-opening to realise how little most people know about the deaf community and its rich culture. Yes, our son might communicate differently, but he’s thriving, happy, and full of life. And isn’t that what really matters? Every milestone our son reaches feels like a huge victory, not because he's “overcoming” deafness, but because he's growing and learning like any other child. Whether it's showing recognition of a new sign, mastering a new gross motor skill, or simply making new friends, we celebrate his achievements with pride. Raising a deaf child has taught us patience, resilience, and the importance of advocating for what’s right. It’s shown us that different doesn’t mean less, and it’s given us a deeper appreciation for all the unique qualities that make each person special. To all the parents out there navigating similar paths, know that you’re not alone. Embrace the journey, educate those around you (as best as you can, with the energy you can spare), and remember that your child is perfect just as they are. Our son has enriched our lives beyond measure, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.

If you’re a parent, you’ve probably found yourself googling, “Why won’t my child sleep?”  at least once (or let’s be real - several hundred times). Sleep struggles rank high on the list of universal parenting stressors. But when you’re raising a child with complex needs, that list doesn’t just shuffle around - it completely rewrites itself. Take my son, Elias, for example. He doesn’t just resist sleep; he turns bedtime into an impromptu concert. Vocal stimming (or, as I like to call it, “3 am karaoke” ) is his jam. When he’s winding down - or waking up absurdly early - he doesn’t just murmur or babble. He sings. Loudly. At the top of his lungs. And while I love his voice (truly, I do), after a long, stressful day, the sheer volume  can be… let’s say, “challenging.” I’ve even resorted to sleeping with earplugs. But here’s the thing: I don’t actually worry about it. Not anymore. Because once upon a time, we weren’t sure if we’d ever hear Elias’s voice at all. After heart surgery, he had a paralysed vocal cord, and there was a real fear that his little coos and giggles - his potential future words - might never come. And so, when I find myself this close  to asking the universe for a little bedtime peace and quiet, I remind myself: his voice is a gift. Reordering the Worry List Parents of children with additional needs develop a unique skill: worry triage . Some concerns that keep other parents awake at night barely register for us. Meanwhile, things that might not even cross another parent’s mind are at the top of ours. For example: “Is he hitting his milestones on time?”  - That’s the least of our worries.  We celebrate progress on his  timeline. “Is he a picky eater?”  - That’s the least of our worries.  If he’s eating at all, we’re thrilled. “Should I be worried about screen time?”  - You guessed it.  The least of our worries. If a show helps him regulate and learn, bring on the episodes. Instead, our top worries might look more like: How do we advocate for the right therapies and interventions? Is he comfortable, safe, and getting what he needs? How can we navigate the medical system without losing our sanity? And honestly? Once you’ve been through hospital stays, medical uncertainties, and the exhausting dance of fighting for the right support, things like bedtime battles and loud vocal stims don’t seem like problems. They seem like privileges . Finding the Joy in the Noise That’s not to say that I don’t, on occasion, dream of a night where I don’t have to press an earplug in deeper at 3 am But I wouldn’t trade Elias’s beautiful, loud, unfiltered joy for the world. Because when you’re raising a child with complex needs, you come to understand something that’s hard to explain to those outside this journey: every challenge is wrapped in gratitude. So if my biggest “problem” tonight is that my child is humming to his hearts content instead of sleeping? Well, that’s the least of my worries.

Finding the right childcare is a challenge for any parent, but when your child has additional needs and attends a specialist school, the search for wraparound care can feel like an Olympic-level event. Whether you need before- or after-school care to fit around work, or you just want your child to have a safe and engaging space outside of school hours, getting the right setup can be tricky. So, how do you find the right provider? How does government funding even work for wraparound care? And how do you make sure everything runs smoothly? Let’s break it down. Step 1: Finding the Right Childcare Provider Not all childcare providers are set up for children with additional needs, so the first step is doing some research. Here’s where to start: Look for Specialist Providers  – Some after-school clubs and childminders have experience with children who have additional needs. Your child’s specialist school may have a list of recommended providers, so ask them first. Word of Mouth is Gold  – Other parents are the best source of information! Join local SEND (Special Educational Needs and Disabilities) groups on Facebook or WhatsApp and ask who they use for wraparound care. Have an Honest Conversation  – Once you’ve found a provider, call them up and be upfront about your child’s needs. Ask about staff training, accessibility, and whether they’ve cared for children with similar needs before. A good provider will welcome the chat and work with you to ensure the right support is in place. Step 2: Setting Up Wraparound Care with Government Funding If your child is eligible for government funding (like the 30 Hours Free Childcare  scheme or Tax-Free Childcare ), you’ll want to make sure you can actually use it for wraparound care. Check the Provider is Registered  – Funding usually only applies to Ofsted-registered  settings, which means not all after-school clubs or childminders will accept it. Ask upfront! Sort Out the Admin  – Some providers will need you to sign contracts or provide additional paperwork. If you’re using Tax-Free Childcare , you’ll need to pay through your government account to benefit from the top-up. Coordinate with the School  – If your child’s specialist school offers after-school care, they may already accept funding, making things easier. If not, they might be able to signpost you to an approved provider. Step 3: Making Sure It Works for Your Child Once you’ve got the right setup, it’s time to ensure your child feels comfortable and happy in their new routine. Trial Sessions  – If possible, ease your child into the new setting with a few short visits before they go full-time. Care Plan in Place  – Share important details about your child’s needs, routine, and any medical requirements. Some providers will create a care plan with you to make sure everything is covered. Build a Relationship with Staff  – Regular check-ins can help everyone stay on the same page. If something isn’t working, don’t be afraid to tweak the setup. Finding the right wraparound care for a child with additional needs takes time, but once you get it right, it can make a huge difference for your whole family. A good setup means your child gets the support they need, and you can work (or just breathe!) knowing they’re safe and happy.

The financial independence and security of disabled people are under threat as high street banks and building societies withdraw trust accounts, a service critical for managing their money safely. This alarming trend is leaving some of society's most vulnerable individuals and their families grappling with uncertainty and potential hardship. The Importance of Trust Accounts Trust accounts are specifically designed to safeguard the assets of individuals who are unable to manage their own finances. They allow appointed trustees to administer funds on behalf of beneficiaries, ensuring stability and protection against financial abuse. Moreover, assets held in a trust account are exempt from means-testing for benefits and are eligible for tax relief, making them a lifeline for many families. However, since COVID-19, most major banks have stopped offering trust accounts, citing high costs and compliance challenges. Real-Life Impact: Frozen Funds and Hardship The repercussions of this withdrawal are devastating. Nationwide Building Society, one of the last major providers, recently announced the closure of its trust account service, blocking many accounts pending closure. This has left families unable to access funds critical for daily essentials and support. Take the case of James Trotman, who faced the heartbreaking reality of cancelling Christmas plans for his disabled son after Nationwide froze the £28,000 in his son's trust account. Despite submitting all the requested paperwork, the family endured weeks of delays before accessing their funds. Another family found themselves unable to replace a broken laptop essential for care due to similar account restrictions. These stories underscore the severe consequences of trust account closures, leaving families feeling unsupported and adrift. A Shrinking Pool of Options As the trust account market dwindles, families are left with limited alternatives. Metro Bank remains the only high street provider offering trust accounts, albeit with a £5 monthly fee for balances below £25,000. Cater Allen, a private banking arm of Santander, also provides trust accounts, but access is restricted to referrals via solicitors or financial advisers. This lack of accessible options disproportionately impacts individuals with complex or additional needs, who often rely on trustees to manage their financial affairs securely. The Call for Regulatory Action Campaigners and legal experts are urging regulators to step in. The Financial Conduct Authority (FCA) acknowledges the issue but emphasises that banks can choose which products they offer. While the FCA has engaged with disability charities and account providers, meaningful solutions remain elusive. As a financial planner, this issue strikes a particularly personal chord because the cornerstone of my work is to ensure that every client, especially the most vulnerable, has access to secure and reliable financial solutions. Recent regulations, such as the Consumer Duty introduced by the Financial Conduct Authority (FCA), place a heightened emphasis on protecting vulnerable clients and ensuring fair outcomes for all consumers. The closure of trust accounts is more than an administrative inconvenience, it’s a direct threat to the financial security and dignity of disabled people. Without viable alternatives, families face an increased risk of financial exclusion and abuse. To address this crisis, a concerted effort is needed. Regulators must provide clear directives to banks, ensuring that vulnerable individuals are not left without essential financial services. Banks, in turn, should prioritise accessibility and compliance solutions over profit margins. The withdrawal of trust accounts highlights the urgent need for a more inclusive financial system. Vulnerable individuals and their families deserve not only protection but also the confidence that their financial future is secure. Anything less is unacceptable. 𝗣𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 - This article is for general information only and does not constitute advice. The information is aimed at retail clients only.

Two curious toddlers peek over their crib In the UK, conversations surrounding disability, additional support, and accessibility often hinge on language. Words like “special needs,” “complex needs,” “additional needs,” and “disabled” are widely used, but each term carries weight, history, and nuance. While language evolves to reflect societal values, the debate around these terms often exposes deeper discomforts, misunderstandings, and stigmas. The Rise and Fall of “Special Needs” “Special needs” was once the standard term for describing children and adults requiring extra support in education, healthcare, or daily life. It was introduced as a softer, less clinical alternative to older terms like “handicapped” or “mentally retarded,” which carried overtly negative and dehumanising connotations. Over time, however, “special needs” has fallen out of favour. For many, it feels euphemistic, vague, and infantilising. Critics argue that the term distances individuals from their lived realities and perpetuates a sense of “otherness.” In addition, its broad application often fails to capture the diversity of needs or experiences. In professional and advocacy circles, terms like “complex needs” or “additional needs” are increasingly preferred, as they centre the specific requirements of individuals without the emotional baggage associated with “special needs.” These terms also avoid patronising connotations and encourage a focus on the practical support required rather than perceived deficits. Why Avoiding “Disabled” Feels Tempting The word “disabled” has long been fraught with stigma. For many, it evokes stereotypes of inability, dependence, and exclusion. This discomfort often leads people to avoid the term altogether, opting instead for language that feels more “positive” or “empowering.” However, avoiding “disabled” can inadvertently reinforce the stigma. Disability rights activists argue that rejecting the term implies that being disabled is inherently negative or shameful. The social model of disability, widely embraced in the UK, reframes disability as a societal issue rather than an individual failing. According to this model, people are disabled not by their conditions but by barriers in the environment—whether physical, social, or attitudinal. Using “disabled” unapologetically aligns with this perspective, shifting the focus from the individual’s differences to society’s role in ensuring inclusion and accessibility. Why Language Still Matters Despite progress, terms like “disabled” or “complex needs” still carry negative connotations for many, highlighting ongoing societal challenges. These challenges include: Misrepresentation : Media and cultural portrayals often perpetuate stereotypes, depicting disabled people as either pitiable or inspirational, with little nuance in between. Ableism : Deeply ingrained biases favouring non-disabled people fuel assumptions that disability equates to lesser worth, productivity, or potential. Euphemism Treadmill : As language evolves, new terms are created to replace old ones deemed offensive, but the stigma often transfers to the new term over time. What Is the “Correct” Term? The short answer is: there isn’t one. The “right” term depends on context, personal preference, and the specific needs being described. For instance: Some people embrace “disabled” as a statement of identity and empowerment. Others prefer “person-first” language, such as “person with a disability,” to emphasise the individual over their condition. Parents and caregivers may lean towards “complex” or “additional needs” to describe their child’s situation in a way that feels less stigmatising. The key is to respect individual preferences and use language that is clear, accurate, and contextually appropriate. Reclaiming and Redefining Terms Ultimately, society’s discomfort with terms like “disabled” reflects deeper issues of exclusion and ableism. Changing the narrative requires more than just updating language; it requires fostering understanding, dismantling barriers, and promoting inclusion. By embracing terms like “disabled” in a neutral or positive light, we can challenge outdated stereotypes and affirm the value of every individual. Similarly, terms like “complex needs” and “additional needs” serve as tools for specificity, ensuring that support systems are tailored to diverse realities. Language will continue to evolve, but the goal remains constant: creating a society where no one feels diminished or excluded because of the words used to describe them. Let’s move beyond semantics and focus on building a world that works for everyone - because ultimately, that’s the most inclusive language of all.

Ah, January. A time for fresh starts, gym memberships we’ll never use, and the soul-destroying moment when you realise the Christmas decorations have to come down. While the rest of the world is pledging to drink more water or master sourdough bread (again), parents of children with complex needs are setting their sights on slightly more realistic  goals. Here’s a little peek into my New Year’s resolutions list—a blend of ambition, grit, and the occasional unrealistic fantasy of drinking a cup of tea while it’s still hot. 1. Master the EHCP Process Without Losing My Sanity The Education, Health, and Care Plan (EHCP): the holy grail of paperwork. Our review is coming up early January, so my resolution? This year, I’m going in armed with coloured tabs, sticky notes, and a playlist of motivational 90s R&B classics. If you see me muttering, “I will  secure Section F funding” like a mantra out in public, mind your business. By December, I hope to add “semi-pro legal advocate” to my LinkedIn profile and get through a meeting without saying, “With all due respect…” in a tone that means exactly the opposite . 2. Complete the DLA Application Without Needing Therapy We need to reapply for DLA, Motability Scheme and renew our Blue Badge this year. Completing these forms is akin to writing a PhD thesis on your child’s life while simultaneously questioning whether you even know how to hold a pen. My goal this year is to finish it without crying into my keyboard or wondering if the assessor has secretly been hired by MI6 to weed out anyone too soft for this process. Pro tip: Every answer is either “it takes forever,” “needs 1:1 support,” or “I haven’t slept since 2021.” 3. Finally Organise (or create?) the Medical Binder Right now, my “system” for Elias’s medical paperwork involves shoving random letters into a drawer and hoping the nurse won’t notice me panic-flipping through it during appointments. 2025 is the year I become that  parent—you know, the one with a colour-coded binder, laminated tabs, and a smug sense of superiority. Will it take two months of bingeing organisational TikToks? Absolutely. Will it last beyond April? Absolutely not. 4. Remember Self-Care Is Not Just Drinking Coffee Alone in the Car Don’t get me wrong—I love a good solo coffee. But this year, I’m levelling up. Maybe I’ll actually book that haircut I’ve been rescheduling since 2022. Maybe I’ll read a book that isn’t a sleep study guide. Or maybe I’ll just lock myself in the bathroom and scroll TikTok in peace. Baby steps. 5. Convince Family Members I’m Not a Walking Resource Center This year, my resolution is to gently remind extended friends and family that while I can  explain Elias’s feeding schedule, sensory needs, and the intricacies of mobility equipment, it’s not my only personality trait. Please, let me eat my roast potatoes in peace without discussing the latest medical device catalog. 6. Stop Buying Sensory Toys Like I’m Hosting a Pop-Up Shop Do we really need another squishy toy or light-up fidget spinner? Probably not. Am I going to buy it anyway when I see it on sale? Also no—this year, I’m saving those pennies for something practical, like therapy resources or my caffeine addiction fund. 7. Laugh More, Worry Less This one’s a cliché, but it’s staying on the list. Life as a parent of a child with complex needs is full of curveballs, late-night Google rabbit holes, and moments where you wonder how on earth you’re holding it all together. But it’s also full of joy, milestones, and unexpected giggles during the hardest days. So, here’s to 2025: a year of progress, paperwork victories, and hopefully a warm cup of tea or two. And if all else fails, there’s always next January. What’s on your resolution list this year? Let me know in the comments, especially if it involves surviving EHCP meetings with your sense of humour intact!

They say, "Comparison is the thief of joy." And as a parent of a child with complex needs, this phrase feels more like a life lesson learned on repeat. There’s this constant temptation to look at other kids – whether on the playground, at family gatherings, or even online – and feel the pang of comparison. You see the milestones, the milestones your child might not be hitting, and suddenly, what could have been a moment of celebration turns into one of self-doubt, frustration, and even grief. But the truth is, even kids without complex needs are different. Every child has their own unique timeline, their own story, their own strengths and quirks. But still, it’s so hard not to compare. So, why do we do this to ourselves? The “Milestone Trap” For parents of kids with complex needs, the “milestone trap” is everywhere. You hear parents talking about their child's first steps, their first words, their latest accomplishment in school. It can feel like a gut punch when your own child’s journey doesn’t look the same. It’s not just a matter of pride or competition – it’s the world’s reminder of just how different your journey is. And that hurts. It’s okay to admit that it hurts. But here’s the thing we sometimes overlook: even among typically developing children, timelines vary! Some kids walk at nine months; others at eighteen. Some start talking in full sentences before they turn two, while others might be more reserved. Each child is different, and those differences don’t make them any less incredible. The Social Media Mirage If you’re a parent in the digital age, you know what it’s like to scroll through social media and see a feed full of perfectly curated family moments. "Look at my kid winning an award," "Here’s our family holiday," "First day of school pics." It’s almost designed to make us feel like we’re not doing enough, that we’re somehow missing out. But what we don’t see are the struggles, the hard days, the meltdowns, the unspoken challenges that every family faces. Social media is a highlight reel, not the full picture. In the world of complex parenting, we don’t always get as many “highlight reel” moments. And maybe that’s what makes our journey even more special. We learn to find joy in the small victories, to appreciate the moments that don’t look as polished or Insta-worthy. Choosing Your Own Joy Here’s the hard-won wisdom I’ve gathered along this journey: we are our children’s biggest advocates and cheerleaders, but we also need to be our own. That means letting go of the pressure to measure up to someone else’s journey and focusing on our own child’s unique path. It means celebrating every victory – big, small, and everything in between. It means accepting that different doesn’t mean less. It means knowing that joy can come from unexpected places, from milestones that may not appear in a baby book but are just as worth celebrating. A Community of Strength In complex parenting, we learn that we’re not alone in feeling this way. If comparison is the thief of joy, community can be its antidote. There are other parents who get it, who know what it’s like to walk this path. Lean on them. Share your struggles, your victories, and even your quiet moments of joy. When we lift each other up, we find strength we didn’t know we had. So, let’s remind ourselves: our children are on their own timelines, and so are we. We’re not here to measure up to anyone else. We’re here to love, support, and celebrate our kids for exactly who they are, complex needs and all. And that, my friends, is where the real joy lives.

When I think of the phrase “it takes a village,” I think of all the people, resources, and support systems that hold us up as parents, particularly when the path gets challenging. Raising a child with complex needs has made me deeply aware of how essential a strong support system is. And that’s why I was so moved by my recent encounter with Black Mothers Matter , a charity organisation that understands just how important “the village” is. I had the privilege of meeting Yomi and Sonah, two of the founders of Black Mothers Matter at K&L Gates’ Black Women in Business panel discussion. Hearing about their work was inspiring and emotional – they embody what it means to stand up for families who may not have all the support they deserve. They’re a community-driven charity, providing resources, a listening ear, and advocacy for Black mothers and families facing challenges. The way they step in, both for those in need of practical support and those just needing to be heard, resonated deeply with me. Black Mothers Matter fills a void that many of us can relate to. Sometimes, all it takes is knowing there’s someone there to help you get through – someone who understands and is ready to lift some of the weight. They’re building that village for countless women and families, which is a lifeline, particularly in moments that feel lonely and overwhelming. I think back to the days when I was sleeping in uncomfortable hospital chairs, eating stale rusks, and getting through one minute at a time. Those moments would have been so much easier if I’d had a community like Black Mothers Matter to reach out to. But what makes Black Mothers Matter even more special is that it’s not just about helping people survive; they’re helping them thrive. They’re working toward systemic change, advocating for equal care, and uplifting communities that are often overlooked. For anyone parenting a child with complex needs, this means so much. It’s about the big things, like access to healthcare, but also the small things – the words of encouragement, the handholding, the sense that someone sees you and understands. So, if you’re reading this and you’re a parent who could use a bit of a village, or if you’re looking to support a cause that truly matters, I encourage you to check out Black Mothers Matter. They’re doing the hard work, and they’re changing lives in a way that only a community-driven organisation can. Let’s give them the props they deserve and help them reach more families, creating a village that lifts us all up.

A recent survey highlighted in a Sky News report has shed light on a troubling reality for parents of children with special educational needs and disabilities (SEND). According to the findings, a staggering three out of four parents have been forced to either leave their jobs or reduce their working hours due to a lack of support from schools and local authorities. This is an issue that disproportionately affects mothers, with many bearing the brunt of caregiving responsibilities. Why Are So Many Parents Leaving the Workforce? The survey, conducted in collaboration with the charity Support Send Kids, reveals that insufficient educational and childcare options are among the key reasons behind this employment crisis. Nurseries and schools often lack the training and resources to adequately meet the needs of SEND children. While some children have access to special schools, these institutions are stretched beyond capacity. Many families face reduced school hours or years-long waits for placement, leaving parents with little choice but to stay home. The Broader Impact on Families and the Economy This crisis isn’t just a family issue; it has serious economic implications. Hannah Peaker, director of policy and advocacy for the New Economics Foundation, warns that the exclusion of parents from the workforce—especially mothers—could harm economic recovery. Early years education, including specialised support for SEND children, is an investment with high social and economic returns. Failure to support families in this way is a missed opportunity for both personal and economic growth. The Department for Education in England has acknowledged the increasing strain on the system and has committed to measures like expanded early years childcare and online SEND training for educators. However, parents and advocates argue that these efforts are falling short. Local authorities are reportedly “gatekeeping” special educational needs services, further compounding the issue. Moving Forward: A Call for Change The survey paints a clear picture of a broken system, one that leaves both children and their families struggling. The adversarial nature of SEND provision means that parents often face a long and difficult battle for adequate support. For parents like Abigail, being forced out of the workforce isn’t just a financial burden—it’s a failure of the system to meet the needs of its most vulnerable citizens. To truly support families with SEND children, significant reform is needed. This includes increasing funding for special schools, providing better training for educators, and ensuring that local authorities do not withhold services. Furthermore, employers must recognise the need for greater flexibility, offering remote work options or shorter shifts to accommodate parents navigating this challenging landscape. The lack of support for SEND families has reached a tipping point. It’s time for policymakers, educators, and employers to work together to create an inclusive and supportive environment that allows all parents the chance to balance work and family life.

Hospital stays are never easy, but when your child is only two years old and has complex needs, they become a unique test of patience, strength, and endurance. This past week, Elias has a last minute admission for intracranial pressure monitoring, a procedure that requires him to stay connected to a laptop tracking his brain activity for 48 hours. For Elias, this meant being confined to a hospital bed, something that’s hard for any toddler to understand, let alone a child with complex needs. Confined and Restless Despite his gross motor delay, Elias is always on the move in his own unique way. He’s curious, full of energy, and constantly exploring the world around him. So you can imagine how difficult it is to keep him still when he’s suddenly hooked up to machines and monitors. He doesn’t understand why he can’t play like he usually does, and seeing him confined like this is heartbreaking. Other kids in the ward can walk around, play, and explore, but Elias is tethered to wires, stuck in bed, with only a few toys or videos to keep him occupied. Being non verbal it's impossible to explain why he has to stay still when he’s barely old enough to comprehend the situation makes things even harder. The Battle for Sleep and Food As for me, the sleep situation is…well, barely worth calling sleep. The hospital provides a chair that doubles as a bed, but it’s about as comfortable as you’d imagine. After an hour or two, your back feels like it’s been through a workout, and the constant worry about Elias means I’m only ever half-asleep, always alert for the next beep or buzz from the machines, the hourly observations from the nurses background noise to my insomnia. Eating isn’t much easier. The focus is entirely on Elias, so finding time to eat real food seems impossible. Today, I’ve survived on two rusk biscuits and the leftovers of a tuna sandwich Elias didn’t finish. You do what you have to do, but taking care of yourself becomes a low priority in the face of all that’s going on. Decoding the Screens : The Numbers Game And then there’s the screen. The laptop hooked up to Elias’ brain displays numbers—so many numbers. The doctors come in and glance at them, nodding or frowning, but not saying much. So, of course, I find myself fixated on those numbers, trying to make sense of them on my own. What do they mean? Are they normal? Should I be worried? Enter Doctor Google . Suddenly, I’m frantically typing terms into my phone, diving into medical journals and forums, trying to decode every number on the screen. Before I know it, I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole, convincing myself of the worst possible outcome. It’s maddening, and the more I read, the more anxious I become. Instead of giving me peace of mind, I’m driving myself crazy, trying to be an amateur neurologist. The Loneliness of It All Adding to the stress is the loneliness that comes with hospital stays. At the end of each day when my partner has to go home, that sense of isolation hits me hard. The hospital may be full of doctors and nurses, but when you’re the sole parent at your child’s bedside, it can feel incredibly lonely. You’re the one responsible for comforting your child, deciphering the machines, and dealing with all the emotions, without the reassuring presence of someone to share the load. Holding On to Resilience Despite the exhaustion, hunger, and endless Google searches, you find a way to keep going. As parents, we somehow summon strength in the most difficult moments. Yes, I’m tired. Yes, I’ve driven myself mad trying to understand those numbers on the screen. But all that matters is Elias getting through this safely and comfortably. So, for now, I’ll keep going, one uncomfortable night at a time, knowing that the end of this hospital stay is getting closer, and that’s what we’re holding out for.