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.
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