Today started with heartbreak and ended with something far softer. Something hopeful. Something that reminded me just how much difference the right environment can make for a neurodivergent child.
Chloe came out of school in floods of tears because she’d lost her koala. Not just a cuddly toy, but her emotional support koala, given to her by someone she cherishes but rarely gets to see anymore. Anyone who parents a child with SEN needs will understand how a moment like this can unravel an entire day. The teachers searched with us, but after 20 minutes of turning the place upside down we had to accept she was nowhere to be found, and may have been accidentally taken home by another child. Chloe was crushed.
She cried all the way home, then wen’t into a silence that is so unlike her usual bubbly self. We ordered McDonalds to try and distract her, but she barely ate. She was convinced, despite our best efforts to reassure her Koala would be found, that she would never see her again.
Imagine my genuine surprise when a few hours later, at two minutes to 6 on a Friday night, an email popped up from Chloe’s head teacher. She’d stayed behind after everyone had gone home. She’d kept looking. She’d found the koala tucked behind a bookcase. She had wrapped her in a blanket and placed her carefully on Chloe’s desk, then taken the time to send me a photo so Chloe could start her weekend feeling safe again.
It stopped me in my tracks. Not because a toy had been found, but because someone truly saw my child. Someone understood what that koala represents. Someone recognised that emotional regulation often hinges on things adults might overlook. She cared enough to act on it.
This is the difference between a school that gets it and one that doesn’t.
A school that gets it knows that behaviour is communication. They know regulation tools matter. They know transitions can be hard, that attachment objects are not indulgences, or ‘just a toy’ that small gestures are often the doorway to trust. They look past the surface and respond to the need beneath it.
A school that doesn’t get it, one who in times like these feels the need to point out ‘You know the risk of bringing toys into school, we can’t accept responsibility for keeping them safe’ often leaves families feeling unheard, dismissed or blamed. We know this because six months ago we were living that reality. We were deep in school refusal. Daily battles, tears, mistrust, emotional fallout that drained every bit of energy we had. Despite the efforts of some of the teachers, Chloe was not understood. Every morning felt like a mountain we could never quite climb.
I share this story with enormous gratitude for how far we have come, but also with full awareness of how painful it is when you are still stuck in that other place. I remember the knot in my stomach every morning. I remember feeling judged. I remember wondering if things would ever get better. If you’re there now, my heart is with you. We’ve lived that chapter. It shapes you.
I am not sharing this to boast or to pretend we’ve reached some final destination. We may well find ourselves back there again one day. Parenting a neurodivergent child is a journey filled with ups, downs and unexpected turns. Schools change. Staff change. Needs change. Life changes.
But right now we’re somewhere safer. Chloe feels understood. We feel heard. And moments like this remind us that good teachers and good schools do exist. They are out there doing acts of quiet kindness after hours on a Friday. They’re creating pockets of safety where our children can breathe. They’re showing what is possible when a whole school team truly understands SEN.
So this is a thank you. A quiet thank you to the teachers who stay late to look for a lost toy. To the staff who listen rather than judge. To the schools that see the whole child and not just the surface behaviour. Your care reaches further than you know. It helps rebuild trust. It helps children heal. It helps families exhale.
For anyone still battling, please know you are not alone. You deserve this level of understanding. Your child deserves it too. Hold on to hope. Things can change. We are proof of that.
And to those who get it, thank you. Today we felt the impact of your kindness and it meant everything.