A Different Seat Is Not Enough

I popped into a coffee shop for brunch today. Two carers came in with their young disabled clients — both lovely young people, probably in their late teens. They sat nearby, one ordered drinks with the staff, and then… nothing. For the next half hour, not a single word was exchanged — not between the carers, not between the young people, not between the carers and their clients. The young people sat quietly, looking around, clearly aware of their surroundings but disengaged. It struck me how little they were actually getting from the experience. Yes, technically, they were “out in the community.” But were they included in the experience? Were they supported to enjoy it? To communicate, to choose, to connect? From where I was sitting, it seemed like it was just a change of scenery — just a different seat. It reminded me of my time working in a residential school for autistic children with complex communication needs. When we took the students out for a coffee or a meal, we made sure it was a genuinely meaningful experience. We used photos, symbols, or signs to help them choose what they wanted. We chatted — to them, to each other — modelling natural communication. We celebrated their choices, their attempts to connect, and yes, sometimes their chaos too! Of course, it wasn’t always easy. There were ketchup-squirting incidents, spontaneous food grabs, sudden exits, and all the unpredictable moments that come with real-life learning. But through all that, our young people were participating. They were experiencing the joy, the messiness, and the connection that comes with sharing a meal or a drink out in the world. That’s what inclusion looks like. Not quiet compliance. Not just “being there.” Real inclusion means communication, choice, and shared experience. Because everyone deserves more than just a different seat.

When Behaviour Is Misunderstood

I'm writing a report about a 4 year old autistic boy I saw a couple of weeks ago. We had discussed that he was being completely misunderstood by his mainstream school but reading the reports and the behavior logs is making

me feel really angry. Harry is a four-year-old boy who started school in September. He is autistic, with high sensory sensitivities. School is too noisy. Too crowded. Too unpredictable. He doesn’t understand what’s going on. So — he bites. He hits. He kicks. He spits. He’s not being “naughty”. He’s trying to survive. His world at school feels overwhelming. The lights are bright. Chairs scrape. Voices echo. Children rush past him in a blur. His brain can’t filter or prioritise — everything comes in at once. And because he experiences the world through monotropism — that intense, focused way of thinking and feeling — sudden transitions feel unbearable. When he’s deeply immersed in one activity, being told to stop and move to another is like being yanked out of a warm bath into a snowstorm. His body reacts before his words can form. That’s not defiance — it’s distress. Yet adults might say, “He needs to make good choices.” Or, “He has to apologise for hurting people.” But how can he “make good choices” when his nervous system is in survival mode? When he’s overloaded, confused, and scared? Expecting logical reflection from a dysregulated child is not fair — it’s like asking someone to swim while they’re drowning. Hs behaviour is a nueral response, not under hos cognitive control. He doesn’t need consequences. He needs connection. He doesn’t need a lecture. He needs safety, understanding, and co-regulation. When we start from compassion — when we understand why behaviour happens — we stop seeing a “problem child” and start seeing a child with problems he cannot yet express.

Stop the parental-blame culture: A call for kindness to parents this World Kindness Day

In the run-up to World Kindness Day (13 November), and in my role as a speech–language therapist working with children with SEND and their families, I want to draw attention to a deeply troubling phenomenon: the institutional and systemic culture of parental blame. The research of Luke Clements (Cerebra Professor of Law and Social Justice, University of Leeds) and colleagues highlights that many local authorities act as if parents are the problem, rather than the system failing the family. ([Cerebra][1]) In this blog post I’ll explain what the research shows, why this matters for families — especially those I see in my clinic — and why government and local authorities must adopt kinder, more supportive practices. What the research shows Clements and Aiello’s study — Institutionalising Parent-Carer Blame (2021) — analysed 143 local authority children’s services assessment protocols and surveyed 92 parent-carer led groups. ([lukeclements.co.uk][2]) Their findings are stark: Many local authority protocols do not distinguish between families seeking support for a disabled child and families where there is suspicion of neglect or abuse. In effect, all are subjected to a “child protection” lens, regardless of need. ([lukeclements.co.uk][3]) * For example: 80 % of the protocols required assessors to confirm if the child’s bedroom has been seen, regardless of any evidence of neglect. 87 % required the child to be interviewed alone, regardless of any evidence of abuse. ([lukeclements.co.uk][2]) * Surveyed parent-carer groups reported that 86 % considered the assessment process “extremely unsatisfactory and intrusive”. Many parents described it as “humiliating”, “bullying”, “devastating” or akin to “the police turning up at your door with a warrant”. ([Special Needs Jungle][4]) * The research concludes that national and local social care policies create a default assumption of parental failings when disabled children and their families engage with services. They term this “institutionalised parent-carer blame”. ([Cerebra][1]) In short: parents seeking support for their child’s additional needs frequently feel treated as if they are doing something wrong. The system appears to assume fault, rather than starting from a place of support. Why this matters -- and what it looks like in the clinic As an SLT working with children who have communication needs, autism, selective mutism, demand-avoidance profiles and sensory differences, I see families who are exhausted, anxious, and worried about being judged. The research shines a light on structural practices that amplify these pressures. Here’s how it shows up: * A parent brings a child for support. The child is working hard but still struggling. The parent is doing their best. Yet the local authority’s default assessment sets the tone: “Why isn’t this working? What are you doing wrong?” * Families feel they must defend themselves, rather than feel heard. The process becomes adversarial, and energy is spent on survival rather than progress. * Parents may avoid seeking help in the first place for fear of being judged, labelled “ineffective” or having their parenting scrutinised. That delays intervention, which we know is time-sensitive for communication and language outcomes. * The psychological toll matters. When families feel blamed, their capacity to co-regulate, support and advocate is eroded. For children with complex needs (language, sensory, executive function), the family environment is key. A blaming stance undermines trust and collaboration. On World Kindness Day, the call is timely. Kindness in professional-system interactions isn’t a fringe “nice to have”; it is essential for effective partnership and for safeguarding the wellbeing of both children and their parents. What needs to change: A kinder, more effective system Drawing from Clements’ research and my own experience in therapy, here are key shifts needed from local authorities and government: 1. Shift from blame to support * Assessment protocols must clearly distinguish: disabled children needing support ≠ children in need of protection. Many protocols do *not*. ([lukeclements.co.uk][3]) * Guidance should emphasise *what the child and family need* rather than *what the parent did wrong*. 2. Ensure assessors have appropriate expertise * The research found that national guidance (e.g., Working Together 2018) does not require assessors of disabled children to have disability-specific expertise. ([essl.leeds.ac.uk][5]) * Local authorities must train assessors in disability, communication needs, sensory processing and neurodivergence, so families aren’t treated generically. 3. Revise local protocols to remove intrusive default practices * Practices like unannounced home visits, bedroom inspections, interviewing children without parent present (when no safeguarding concern) create trauma and distrust. ([Cerebra][6]) * Protocols should only authorise these steps when there is credible evidence of safeguarding concern, not as a default. 4. Embed parent-carer voice and partnership * Families often feel excluded or infantilised. The system must engage parents as partners, recognising their expertise about their child. * Parent-carer needs assessments (as required under Children and Families Act 2014, section 97) are being denied in too many cases. ([UK Parliament Committees][7]) 5. Embed kindness as system value * Kindness here means: respectful language, recognising stress and effort, acknowledging systemic barriers, offering clear pathways, timely support, and reducing fear of blame. * On World Kindness Day and every day, local authority communications, policies and frontline staff should reflect a stance of help not judgement. Why this matters for children’s outcomes When parents feel supported rather than blamed, children benefit: * Engagement in therapy and services is better. * Families are more likely to ask for help early. * Co-regulation and trust at home improve, enabling children’s progress in communication, interaction and emotional regulation. * Reduced stress in the family system means resources can go into *learning*, not *defending*. In other words: kindness is not soft; it is strategic. A call to action So, to local authorities, regional children’s services, government, and to all of us in allied professions (SLTs, social workers, educational psychologists, OT etc): * Acknowledge the problem: that parental blame is institutionalised. The evidence from Luke Clements and team is clear. ([Cerebra][8]) * Review your policies and practices today: Are they assuming parenting fault? Are they treating families of disabled children like they are under suspicion, rather than support? * Replace standard assessment-pathways with support pathways: one for families requesting routine support, another (distinct) for safeguarding/child-protection where concerns exist. * Engage with parents, ask them what they experience, involve them in redesigning assessment protocols. * Make kindness explicit: embed it in training, supervision, policy documents, front-line practice. In my clinic: What I’ll be doing As an SLT, I pledge to: * Use language in my reports and conversations that reflects a supportive partnership with parents: “How can we help together?” rather than “What’s wrong with how it’s being done?”. * Advocate for families when I see assessment pathways that feel punitive or intrusive. * Share with parents the research by Clements & Aiello so they feel validated and understood that the system may be working against them, not with them. * Encourage local authority teams and school-based colleagues to adopt kinder practices, and offer evidence of the impact of parenting-blame on therapeutic outcomes. Conclusion On 13 November, as we celebrate World Kindness Day, let’s extend kindness where it matters most: to the parents and carers of children with additional needs — the ones who often carry a heavy burden, who show up each day, who fight for their child’s communication, connection and learning. Kindness from the system means recognising that **parents are not the problem**. The problem is a system that treats families as if they are under suspicion rather than deserving of support. The research by Luke Clements and colleagues gives us the evidence; now it’s time for the policy-makers, local authorities and professionals to act. Let’s stop the parental blame. Let’s start genuine partnership, genuine support, and genuine kindness. References Clements, L. & Aiello, A. (2021). *Institutionalising parent-carer blame: The experiences of families with disabled children in their interactions with English local authority children’s services departments.* Cerebra Legal Entitlements & Problem-Solving (LEaP) Project, School of Law, University of Leeds. Clements, L. (2021, July 22). “Urgent change is needed to stop the institutional culture of parent-carer blaming.”Special Needs Junglw. [1]: https://cerebra.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2021/07/Final-Parent-Blame-Report-20-July-21-03.pdf?utm_source=chatgpt.com "Institutionalising parent carer blame" [2]: https://www.lukeclements.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/Institutionalising-Parent-Blame-webinar-PP-handout.pdf?utm_source=chatgpt.com "Institutionalising parent blame" [3]: https://www.lukeclements.co.uk/institutionalising-parent-carer-blame/?utm_source=chatgpt.com "Institutionalising Parent-carer Blame" [4]: https://www.specialneedsjungle.com/urgent-change-needed-stop-institutional-parent-carer-blaming/?utm_source=chatgpt.com "Urgent change is needed to stop the institutional culture of ..." [5]: https://essl.leeds.ac.uk/download/downloads/id/923/challenging-parent-carer-blame-interim-research-report-1-disability-and-human-rights-training-and-guidance-for-disabled-childrens-assessors-2022.pdf?utm_source=chatgpt.com "Challenging Parent Carer Blame: Interim implementation ..." [6]: https://cerebra.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2021/07/Final-Parent-Blame-Report-20-July-21-02.pdf?utm_source=chatgpt.com "Institutionalising parent carer blame" [7]: https://committees.parliament.uk/writtenevidence/107835/pdf/?utm_source=chatgpt.com "Written evidence from Luke Clements, Cerebra Professor ..." [8]: https://cerebra.org.uk/research/institutionalising-parent-carer-blame/?utm_source=chatgpt.com "Institutionalising Parent-carer Blame"

When School Hurts: Why Some Children Can’t Attend — and Why Punishing Families Makes It Worse

There’s a growing narrative that children missing school are simply refusing to attend — and their parents need to “get a grip.” But that story ignores thousands of children whose non-attendance is rooted in trauma, anxiety, sensory overload, or unmet SEND needs. These children are not skipping school. They are avoiding pain. When a Child’s Body Says “No More” For many neurodivergent children — especially autistic students, those with sensory processing differences, PDA profiles, or mental health difficulties — school can be overwhelming: • Noise that feels like physical pain • Rigid behaviour systems that punish distress • Social pressures they can’t navigate • Environments that feel unsafe or unpredictable They want to learn. They want to succeed. But their nervous system is in survival mode. Calling this “school refusal” is misleading. Often, it is school-induced trauma. The Harm of a One-Size-Fits-All Attendance Push Current political messaging treats all non-attendance as the same kind of problem. The result? ✅ Children in crisis are fined, labelled, and pushed harder ✅ Parents who are advocating nonstop for support are blamed ❌ The root issues — lack of appropriate provision — remain untouched Children become statistics instead of individuals. What These Children Need Instead ✔ Trauma-informed, flexible education ✔ Sensory-safe environments ✔ Recognition of anxiety and neurodivergence ✔ Collaboration with parents (not punishment) ✔ A placement that fits the child — not the other way around Attendance improves when school is a place a child can actually cope. A Better Narrative We must stop treating these families as the problem. They are doing everything they can to protect their child. The real issue isn’t that these children won’t go to school. It’s that the school system hasn’t yet found a way to welcome them. Let’s fix the system — not the children.

Natioanl Internet Day: The Value of Online Friendships for Autistic Children

For many children, friendships are built on the playground, in classrooms, or through after-school clubs. But for autistic children, these environments can be overwhelming. Social interactions face-to-face often involve **fast-changing conversations, background noise, unwritten social rules, and non-verbal cues that are hard to interpret in the moment. This can make forming and maintaining friendships exhausting. That’s why online friendships can be so valuable. The internet offers autistic children a space where social demands are reduced, and connections can be made in ways that feel manageable and meaningful. Why online friendships can be easier 1. Time to process Online communication gives children time to think, process what’s been said, and decide how to respond. There’s no pressure to reply instantly, unlike in face-to-face conversations. 2. Clarity in communication Written messages remove many of the hidden social cues that can be confusing. Tone of voice, facial expressions, and body language are replaced with clear words, emojis, or shared images. 3. Shared interests first Many online communities are built around hobbies or passions — whether that’s gaming, art, books, or special interests. Autistic children can connect with peers who share their enthusiasm, which makes it easier to build rapport and feel understood. 4. Reduced social anxiety Without the sensory overload of a busy classroom or the unpredictability of group play, children often feel safer and calmer when communicating online. This lowers barriers to participation and self-expression. 5. Control and safety Online spaces allow children to step back, log off, or mute when they need to. This sense of control is empowering, especially if day-to-day life feels unpredictable. Why these friendships matter: Online friendships are real friendships. They provide companionship, support, and belonging. For autistic children, they can be a lifeline — a way to practise social skills, build confidence, and feel less isolated. Of course, safety is essential, and children need guidance to stay secure online. But with the right boundaries in place, online spaces can open doors to connection that may feel closed in the offline world. On this National Internet Day, let’s celebrate the internet not just as a tool, but as a bridge — one that helps many children find friendship, community, and understanding in ways that work best for them.

When the talking stops at home too!

When a child who previously spoke at home suddenly stops talking, even though they can still communicate in brief written messages, it often signals high levels of stress, anxiety, or burnout. A sudden or gradual loss of speech at home suggests something has shifted. Children don’t choose silence lightly; it usually reflects that speaking has become too effortful or overwhelming. Speaking requires social and cognitive energy. If a child is burnt out, anxious, or overloaded, stopping speech can be a protective mechanism — a way of conserving energy and avoiding further stress. Selective mutism vs situational shutdown – If she can still text, that shows her thoughts and language are intact, but the mode of communication has shifted. This is sometimes seen in autistic burnout, selective mutism, or after a prolonged period of masking. Home is usually a “safe” space. If she can’t use speech even there, it may be a sign that her emotional reserves are severely depleted. That could spiral into withdrawal, low mood, or avoidance of school demands. If her energy is being used up coping with school, she may have nothing left for home. Loss of speech at home often precedes or accompanies emotionally based school avoidance, because it signals that her system is overwhelmed. “Burnout” signs – Exhaustion, reduced tolerance of demands, communication shutdown, withdrawal, or appearing “flat” are all red flags that her nervous system is overloaded.

The key message: this is not “just refusing to talk” — it’s a sign of communication shutdown linked to stress or burnout. Supporting her early (by reducing demands, validating her feelings, giving her choice of communication methods, and working with school to lower pressure) can help prevent escalation to full school refusal.

When the Standard Route Doesn’t Fit: Advocating for Your Child’s Needs

Parents are often encouraged to “work with the school” or to “trust the process” when challenges arise in education. While collaboration is important, there are times when following the standard route does not meet a child’s individual needs. Professionals naturally rely on established pathways and familiar strategies. These approaches are designed to support the majority of children, and in many cases they are effective. However, children with additional needs do not always fit within those standard models. When a child’s presentation is complex, trying to apply generic solutions can inadvertently cause harm. A good friend of mine, Sylvia made a useful analogy, she said, imagine a child who requires a kidney operation being offered an alternative procedure simply because it is easier or more familiar for the hospital to provide. We would never agree to that, knowing it would not address the child’s medical needs and could cause harm. Similarly, placing a child in an educational environment that cannot meet their needs may compromise their mental health and wellbeing. The law is clear that every child is entitled to a suitable, full-time education that meets their individual needs. When this is not happening, it is reasonable and necessary for parents to question the system and advocate for alternative provision. This is not about resisting support or being “difficult”; it is about safeguarding the child’s right to an education that is both appropriate and sustainable. Parents are the experts in their own children. You hold unique knowledge of their strengths, challenges, and the impact that environments have on them. Professionals bring valuable skills and experience, but they may sometimes try to apply standard approaches that simply do not fit. In those moments, it is essential to remember: • It is not the child’s role to be reshaped to fit the system. • It is the system’s responsibility to adapt around the child. By keeping the child’s best interests at the centre, parents and professionals together can move away from “square peg in a round hole” solutions and towards tailored, lawful, and truly supportive education.

Why Dyslexia Assessors Need to Understand Spoken Language – Especially Developmental Language Disorder (DLD)

When most people think of dyslexia, they think of difficulties with reading, spelling, and written expression. But underneath these challenges often lies a deeper issue: how a child understands and uses spoken language. That’s why it is vital for professionals carrying out dyslexia assessments to have a solid grounding in spoken language development, particularly in recognising *Developmental Language Disorder (DLD). The latest framework for identifying and diagnosing dyslexia places greater emphasis on oral language skills. This shift reflects decades of research showing that literacy difficulties do not exist in isolation. Reading and writing are built on a foundation of spoken language: vocabulary, grammar, sentence structure, and narrative skills. If those foundations are shaky, literacy learning is likely to be difficult – even when phonics teaching has been strong. Spoken language and literacy are tightly interwoven: * Phonological awareness – the ability to recognise and manipulate the sounds of words – depends on robust speech and listening skills. * Vocabulary knowledge supports reading comprehension. Without enough words, children can decode text but not understand it. * Syntax and grammar underpin sentence-level understanding and writing. * Narrative skills help children follow stories, summarise information, and structure their own written work. Without exploring spoken language, an assessor might only see the “tip of the iceberg” – the reading and spelling struggles – while missing the broader communication profile. Developmental Language Disorder (DLD) affects around 1 in 14 children. It is a lifelong condition characterised by significant difficulties with understanding and/or using spoken language, not explained by another condition such as hearing loss or intellectual disability. Children with DLD may: * Struggle to learn and retain new vocabulary. * Find complex sentences difficult to understand. * Produce shorter, less grammatical spoken sentences. * Experience word-finding difficulties. * Struggle with storytelling, sequencing, and organising information. These same children are at heightened risk of literacy difficultie, including dyslexia-like profiles. But crucially, the underlying reason is not only phonological. It’s also about language processing. For a dyslexia assessor, recognising the signs of DLD is essential for several reasons: 1. Accurate diagnosis – Distinguishing between a primarily phonological dyslexia profile and a broader language disorder avoids mislabelling. 2. Appropriate recommendations – A child with DLD will need more than just phonics interventions; they may also require speech and language therapy, vocabulary enrichment, and curriculum support. 3. Fair access to support – Identifying DLD ensures children receive the right adjustments in school, EHCPs, and exams. 4. Joined-up working – Assessors who understand spoken language can communicate more effectively with speech and language therapists and educational psychologists. Recognising the interplay between dyslexia and spoken language isn’t just about more accurate assessments. It’s about equity. Many children with DLD have been overlooked in the past, dismissed as “slow to pick up reading” or “not trying hard enough.” By embedding spoken language into dyslexia assessment frameworks, professionals can open the door to earlier identification, targeted support, and better outcomes. Dyslexia assessors who understand spoken language – especially DLD – see the whole child. They move beyond surface-level literacy difficulties to uncover the deeper language needs that drive them. The new framework acknowledges this reality, and children will benefit. Come to see Rebecca at Small Talk, she is a level 7 Dyslexia assessor who understands DLD.

Why Connection Matters More Than Compliance for Neurodivergent Children in School For many neurodivergent children, school can bring both opportunities and challenges. Too often, classrooms focus on compliance—sitting still, following instructions, fitting into a narrow mould—rather than connection. Yet, connection is what truly helps children feel safe, learn, and thrive. Compliance: The Traditional Focus Rules and routines help schools run smoothly. But when the emphasis is on compliance alone, neurodivergent children can be pressured to: Sit quietly, even if movement helps them regulate. Make eye contact, even if it feels uncomfortable. Produce work on demand, even if anxiety blocks their words. This can lead to masking, burnout, and a deep sense of being “wrong” for who they are. Connection: The Human Foundation Connection means seeing and valuing a child as they are. It creates trust, safety, and respect—the conditions every child needs before they can learn. When children feel connected, they are calmer, more open to challenge, and more able to see school as a supportive place. Why Connection Works Better Safety before learning – The brain learns best when it feels safe. Trust builds resilience – Knowing an adult is on their side helps a child bounce back. Respect fuels motivation – Being valued encourages children to engage authentically. Authenticity lasts longer – Connection fosters lasting growth, not short-term compliance. Small Shifts That Make a Big Difference Listen before directing. Adapt environments to meet sensory and communication needs. Invest in relationships, not just routines. Celebrate differences as strengths. Compliance may bring short-term order, but connection builds lifelong confidence and learning. When schools put connection first, neurodivergent children don’t just cope—they truly thrive. Because education should be about nurturing human beings, not just producing compliant students.We MUST mobe on from an out-dated victorian-based system which just tries to prepare for the work force!

He told us!

Today something extraordinary happened in school. I was visiting one of my clients, a 7-year-old boy who is “minimally speaking.” He uses an iPad with TD Snap to support his communication. Usually, our sessions focus on exploring language, giving him opportunities to express himself, and helping school staff see just how much he can understand and share. As I unpacked my bag, he reached in and pulled out my iPad. Immediately, his teaching assistant told him off: “That’s not yours.” But I stopped her. Something in the way he held it told me this wasn’t about being cheeky or mischievous. I wanted to see what he would do. He opened the music app and began scrolling. Then he stopped and deliberately chose a very sad song. As it played, tears rolled down his face. He leaned into me, held my hand, and buried himself in my chest. In that moment, he was communicating in the most powerful way he could. We didn’t know what he was trying to tell us, so I called his mum. And then everything made sense. His grandmother was seriously ill in hospital and not expected to survive. No one had told him — because they thought he wouldn’t understand. But he knew. He felt it. And he found a way to show us. This was a lesson in listening. Not listening with ears alone, but listening with openness to all the ways a child might express themselves — through AAC, through gesture, through music, through tears. Too often, when a child is minimally speaking, people assume they don’t understand, or that they can’t possibly grasp abstract concepts like illness or loss. But this little boy reminded us that communication is so much bigger than words. He *told us* in the only way he could, and it was clear, true, and deeply human. Every child deserves to be heard. Every form of communication deserves to be valued. And sometimes, when we stop correcting and start listening, we discover that children have been telling us their truths all along.

Year 7 Can Feel So Awful for Teens with Selective Mutism

For many children, starting secondary school is a mixture of excitement and nerves. But for teenagers with selective mutism (SM), the transition to Year 7 can feel overwhelming – even terrifying. Families often describe this first year of secondary school as the hardest part of the journey. Why is that? The Leap from Primary to Secondary In primary school, children usually have the safety of one classroom, one teacher, and a familiar group of peers. By the end of Year 6, even if speech is limited, routines are well established. Staff know the child’s patterns, friends often “translate” or advocate, and anxiety may be held at a manageable level. Then suddenly, in Year 7: * Multiple teachers and classrooms** – moving around the site, following different routines, coping with changing expectations. * Larger peer groups – hundreds of new faces, many of them older and more confident. * Higher demands – answering questions in class, speaking in front of new people, navigating group work, oral presentations. * Reduced adult awareness – teachers may have little or no training in selective mutism, and support strategies from primary school don’t automatically transfer. Identity and Social Pressure Adolescence brings new layers of complexity. Year 7 is often when young people become intensely aware of peer judgment. For teens with SM, this can amplify the fear of speaking: “What if I mess up? What if people laugh?” Silence can feel safer, but it also risks misunderstanding, exclusion, or even bullying. At the same time, teenagers are searching for independence and self-expression. Being unable to use their voice in school can feel especially painful when friends are experimenting with identity, humour, and social belonging. Loss of Familiar Safety Nets Selective mutism often thrives on familiarity. Leaving behind primary staff who “got it” can be devastating. In secondary school, there’s rarely a key adult who sees the child all day. Instead, responsibility is split across many teachers, meaning no one person fully understands the young person’s needs. This can make SM look like “shyness” in some lessons and “defiance” in others, leading to inconsistent – and sometimes unhelpful – responses. The Pressure of Performance Secondary school places increasing emphasis on verbal performance – oral presentations, group projects, reading aloud, role play. For a teenager with SM, these tasks aren’t just uncomfortable, they’re physiologically impossible in moments of high anxiety. Without adaptations, every day can feel like a minefield of demands. What Helps? The transition doesn’t have to be traumatic. Some strategies that make a difference include: * Planned transition** – early visits, meeting key staff, a buddy system. * Key adult in school** – a safe person the teen can check in with daily. * Consistent information-sharing** – all teachers need to understand SM and use supportive strategies. * Adapted communication** – alternatives to speaking (writing, apps, gesture) and gradual exposure plans, never forced speech. * Peer awareness** – sensitive education for classmates to reduce stigma and encourage understanding. * Parental partnership** – open communication between home and school, so anxieties don’t spiral unseen. Final Thoughts Year 7 is often the toughest point for teens with selective mutism because it combines huge environmental change, social pressure, and the challenges of adolescence. But with preparation, understanding, and support, it doesn’t have to be a breaking point. Instead, it can be the start of a new chapter – one where the young person is recognised for their strengths and given the scaffolding they need to find their voice.

Why cutting SEN Services and EHCPs is a false economy

The government’s recent proposals to scale back Special Educational Needs and Disabilities (SEND) services — including reducing access to Education, Health and Care Plans (EHCPs) — pose serious risks. What might appear as cost‐cuts now will likely lead to greater losses in opportunities, wellbeing, and public finances in the long run. Evidence & key data Here are some of the latest statistics and findings that underline why maintaining, not cutting, these services is crucial: • Rising numbers of EHCPs: Since 2018 the number of EHCPs has increased by about 80%. As of the latest reports, around 1 in 20 school‐age children in England have an EHCP. (The Guardian) • Requests for assessments denied or delayed: In 2024, 15.2% of decisions on requests for EHC needs assessments were not communicated within the statutory six weeks. Of the requests, about 65.4% proceeded to full assessment, meaning over one quarter were refused initially. (Explore Education Statistics) • Tribunal & appeal outcomes: o For the 2023-24 academic year, there were ~21,000 registered SEN appeals — up 55% from the previous year. (GOV.UK) o Of those appeals, 27% were over refusal to secure an EHC assessment; 59% concerned the content of EHCPs. (Schools Week) o When cases proceed to decision, an overwhelming majority of appeals are decided in favour of the families/claimants. (GOV.UK) • Appeal rates & “missed” opportunities: The official appeal rate (actual appeals filed vs all appealable decisions) in 2024 is reported around 5.3%, though some estimates suggest the real rate could be considerably higher, due to many opportunities being lost (e.g. through procedural issues or failure to inform families of rights) in annual EHCP review processes. (Research Briefings) Why these cuts are harmful Using this data, here are concrete reasons why cutting EHCPs/SEN services is counterproductive: 1. Legal risks & costs The number of appeals is already rising dramatically. When local authorities refuse EHCP assessments or produce EHCPs that don’t meet needs, they frequently lose in tribunal. That not only causes delays for children but means authorities incur legal costs, administrative burdens, and are legally compelled to rectify deficits. 2. Delayed intervention = more costly support later Evidence shows that early intervention and proper support reduce later need for crisis services (mental health, social care, more intensive schooling or special settings). When EHCPs are delayed or denied, children are more likely to disengage or develop secondary difficulties, increasing costs to the state in the form of remedial education, health interventions, or social services. 3. Educational & wellbeing losses Without EHCPs or adequate support, children risk falling behind academically, experiencing anxiety, exclusion, or other negative outcomes. These are not just “soft” harms — they often translate into poorer life chances, increased health/mental health burden, and lower productivity over time. 4. System pressure & backlog The surge in appeals and increasing number of children with unmet needs puts strain on both families and the tribunal system. Delays, backlogs, and rising conflict saps resources and trust. For example, many parents are now waiting much longer for assessments or for tribunal outcomes. (Special Needs Jungle) 5. Equity & inclusion Denying or reducing access disproportionately affects the most vulnerable children — those with more complex needs, younger children who may have fewer voices, and families with less capacity to navigate bureaucratic or legal processes. Cuts tend to exacerbate existing inequalities. Conclusion The statistics show that: • A large number of assessment requests are being refused or delayed. • Appeals are increasing, and families win the vast majority of them. • Legal obligations are being stretched — and failures carry costs, both financial and moral. Cutting EHCPs and SEN services may appear to reduce spending in the short term, but the evidence points to greater costs later — in legal fees, crisis interventions, lost potential, inequality, and societal wellbeing.

The Words We Don’t Say: Why the quietest gestures can be the loudest form of communication

Communication Is So Much More Than Talking: This week in a group session, something happened that really struck me. One of the children I support had recently been in hospital. He still had an NG tube in place, and when it was his turn to share, he spoke about how awful it had been — the endless injections, the procedures, the sheer exhaustion of it all. As he spoke, another boy in the group quietly reached out. This boy always carries three special objects in his left hand. Without a word, he pushed them across so my client could hold them. My client kept those objects with him for the rest of the session. It was such a simple act, but so deeply significant. That gesture said: *I care. I see you. I want to help you feel better.* It was empathy and connection, communicated without speech. What stayed with me even more was that when I spoke afterwards with the two TAs in the room, they hadn’t noticed what had happened. For them, the moment passed by. But to me, it was the very heart of the session. This is the reminder I took away: **communication is so much more than talking.** * For parents, it’s encouragement to notice those quiet acts between children — the way they share a toy, sit a little closer, or offer something meaningful. These are powerful ways of expressing care and belonging, even when words are hard to find. * For professionals, it’s a call to slow down and watch closely. Not every child will communicate in ways that are loud, verbal, or obvious. Sometimes, the deepest messages are in the small gestures we might otherwise miss. Sometimes, the most powerful things said are the things that never need words.

When Language Blooms: The Everyday Magic of Speech and Play

As a speech and language therapist, I spend much of my time thinking about what happens when communication is hard work. I spend hours analysing why words don’t come, why sentences don’t form, why interactions stall. But every now and then, I’m reminded of just how miraculous – and frankly astonishing – language development is when it all goes to plan. This week my 23-month-old granddaughter gave me one of those moments. While deep in imaginative play with a train set and some toy animals, she came out with: “This teddy too big put zebra in.” At first glance it might sound like a jumble of words, but look more closely and you’ll see all the ingredients of early grammar bubbling up beautifully: She’s working with size concepts (“too big”). She’s problem-solving in real time, narrating her play as she works it out. She’s stringing together four-plus words in a sequence that has logic, flow and intent. For a child not yet two years old, this is nothing short of amazing. It’s her brain showing that the building blocks of grammar – subject, size/quality, action, solution – are falling into place through play, not drills or flashcards. Why this matters Language isn’t something analytical language processors learn by rote; it grows out of real experiences, meaningful relationships, and playful problem-solving. When a toddler is surrounded by responsive adults, stories, songs, and conversation, their brain soaks it up and begins weaving words into ideas. What my granddaughter did in that moment was more than just talking – it was thinking out loud, using language to organise the world. The professional and the grandmother collide As a professional, I could break her utterance down into developmental milestones, sentence complexity, semantic categories and syntax. As a grandmother, I just sat in awe. Both parts of me agreed on one thing: this is a small miracle. A reminder We sometimes forget how extraordinary it is that humans learn to talk at all. In less than two years, a child moves from cooing and babbling to making themselves understood with strings of words that capture ideas, jokes, and stories. So when it all comes together like this – a toddler, some animals, and an unprompted sentence that captures a whole scene – I can’t help but celebrate. Language development is a marvel. And every now and then, the children in our lives gift us a moment that reminds us why.

When should you worry about your little one?

'Oh don't worry he's fine!' Just wait and see!' Parents often have an instinct when something isn't quite right but are fobbed off by well meaning family or friends. Let's have a look at when should you seek help? We strongly recommend that you seek help from a speech-language therapist if your child: By 12 months • doesn’t babble with changes in tone – e.g. dadadadadadadadada • doesn’t use gestures like waving “bye bye” or shaking head for “no” • doesn’t respond to her/his name • doesn’t communicate in some way when s/he needs help with something By 15 months • doesn't understand and respond to words like "no" and "up" • says no words • doesn't point to objects or pictures when asked “Where’s the...? • doesn’t point to things of interest as if to say “Look at that!” and then look right at you By 18 months • doesn’t understand simple commands like "Don't touch" • isn’t using at least 20 single words like "Mommy" or "up" • doesn’t respond with a word or gesture to a question such as “What’s that? or “Where’s your shoe?” • can’t point to two or three major body parts such as head, nose, eyes, feet By 24 months • says fewer than 100 words • isn’t consistently joining two words together like "Daddy go" or “ shoes on” • doesn’t imitate actions or words • doesn’t pretend with toys, such as feeding doll or making toy man drive toy car By 30 months • says fewer than 300 words • isn’t using action words like “run”, “eat”, “fall” • isn’t using some adult grammar, such as “two babies” and “doggie sleeping” 3-4 years • doesn’t ask questions by 3 years • isn’t using sentences (e.g., "I don't want that" or "My truck is broken") by three years • isn’t able to tell a simple story by four or five years If you’ve noticed one or more of these warning signs in your child, it’s important that you ignore hose well meaning people and seek help. Many NHS areas have a drop-in session. We have sessions with the Speech and language Therapy assistant to screen to see if further assessment is needed.

When Words Aren’t Needed: How hand squeezes, half-smiles, and song clips can carry the strongest messages.

When people think about communication, the first thing that usually comes to mind is *talking*. We place so much importance on spoken words that it can feel as though communication hasn’t really happened unless something has been said out loud. But that’s not true. Communication is so much more than words. I’ve been reminded of this very personally in recent weeks. My father has had a stroke. He can’t speak, and he has no use of the right side of his body. And yet yesterday, he still communicated powerfully. A look, a half-smile, and the gentle squeeze of my hand said far more than any words could. I knew what he meant, and I felt his love and reassurance in that simple moment. This same lesson is clear in my everyday work with children. Many of the children we see at Small Talk don’t use “mouth words” much—or at all—but that doesn’t mean they aren’t communicating. Quite the opposite! One young man I work with doesn’t use speech, but he plays song clips to show people what he wants and how he is feeling. A burst of a favourite tune is his way of saying, *“That’s me. That’s how I feel right now.”* Other children use their eyes, their faces, their hands, their movements, or their laughter to make themselves understood. Parents often tell me their biggest wish is to hear their child *say* words, and I completely understand that. Spoken language is valuable, and we will always support children to develop it if it’s possible for them. But it’s also important to notice and celebrate all the other ways they are already communicating. Research shows that most of what we understand in communication comes from non-verbal signals—things like facial expressions, gestures, body language, tone, and eye contact. Words are just one part of the picture. So, the next time your child looks at you with a twinkle in their eye, hands you a toy, shares a sound clip, or pulls you towards what they want—see that for what it is: real, powerful communication. Responding to these signals not only strengthens your connection with your child, it also lays the foundation for any spoken language that may develop later. Sometimes the deepest messages are spoken without words at all.

Why do some children lie?

Ive just had a very familiar conversation with a parent about their potentially autistic child. He lies about small things like what he has at home but also big things such as his father hitting him. Safe-guarding concerns are always flagged. But why does this happen? Understanding the Behaviour Autistic children can display complex stress responses when overwhelmed, distressed, confused, or when communication breaks down. These responses can include: 1. Fight • May appear argumentative, accusatory, or defensive • Can present as firm insistence on a version of events to regain control 2. Flight • Avoidance of questioning or shifting into an alternate “reality” to escape distress • Storytelling can act as emotional escape when real-life stressors feel intolerable 3. Freeze • Shutdown, flat affect, or lack of reaction when asked about the allegation • May appear "unbothered" or robotic – often a dissociative response, not deception 4. Fawn • Saying what they think adults want to hear • Highly compliant with leading or suggestive questioning, even if inaccurate 5. Fibster Response (Confabulation as Coping) • Narrative may be inconsistent or fictional, yet genuinely believed by the child • Can arise from communication impairments, poor episodic memory, or unmet emotional needs 6. Funster Response (Fantasy as Self-Protection) • Uses humour or storytelling to deflect distress • Allegations may symbolise emotional hurt or relational fear, not literal events Why This Happens: A Neurodevelopmental & Trauma-Informed Lens • Language and communication difficulties (e.g. delayed echolalia, literal thinking) • Poor memory coherence (autistic children may struggle to sequence or recall personal events reliably) • Alexithymia (difficulty identifying or explaining internal emotional states) • High anxiety and prior invalidation (can fuel internal distress that is externalised as a fixed story) • Co-occurring demand avoidance or trauma (some stories may be an expression of fear, loss of control, or relational rupture) This does not mean the child is “lying” in the deliberate sense. It reflects a protective, stress-related survival response. Safeguarding Considerations 1. Take all allegations seriously. Even when stories appear implausible, always begin with appropriate safeguarding procedures. 2. Ensure the child is safe and regulated. Avoid confrontation. Use calm, validating language: “Thank you for telling us. You were right to speak up. We’re going to help you feel safe.” 3. Do not lead or overload the child with questions. Use trauma-informed communication. Where needed, seek support from a speech and language therapist (SLT) or clinical psychologist trained in autism. 4. Document factually. Record the child’s words verbatim, without interpretation or assumption. Note context, emotional state, and any communication differences. 5. Consider the child’s neurodevelopmental profile. Assess with input from autism and communication specialists before making judgements on credibility. 6. Use reflective supervision. For staff involved, explore emotional responses and unconscious bias to ensure safeguarding responses remain child-centred and non-punitive. Recommended Actions • Ensure the child is given a safe adult relationship where their voice is heard without pressure. • Involve SLT and/or clinical psychology to support narrative formation, memory reliability, and emotional literacy. • Review previous safeguarding records for patterns of distress, exclusion, or misinterpretation. • Plan ongoing support, particularly around emotional regulation, communication, and safe expression of concerns. Reference Framework • Department for Education (2023). Working Together to Safeguard Children • NICE Guidelines NG93 (2018). Autism spectrum disorder in under 19s: Support and management • Porges, S. W. (2011). The Polyvagal Theory: Neurophysiological Foundations of Emotions, Attachment, Communication, and Self-regulation • Bruce, S., & Thorne, K. (2021). Trauma-informed Practice for Children and Young People with DLD We talk talk about this enough!