SEND reform - warning from a social worker with lived experience of battling the system
As both a parent and a social worker, I am deeply concerned about how these reforms are going to work in practice and what they will actually mean for children like my son.
On paper, the idea of tailored, needs-led support is hard to argue with. But plans alone do not create inclusion. People do. Culture does. Training does.
If teaching staff are expected to fully understand neurodivergence and disability, that education cannot come from a single inset day or a one-day awareness course. It must be embedded throughout teacher training, from the very beginning of a PGCE, not bolted on at the end.
Understanding autism, ADHD, sensory processing, trauma, masking, executive functioning, these are not ‘add-ons’. They are central to teaching in today’s classrooms.
This requires a fundamental culture shift.
My husband and I have been fighting for support for our son since he was in reception. He is now in Year 4. He has diagnoses of Autism and both inattentive and hyperactive-impulsive ADHD. Academically, he achieves at, and often above, expected levels of learning. The issue is not his intelligence or ability. The issue is the environment.
As part of his recent education, health and care plan review, his mainstream primary school stated:
“It is the school’s view that we are not able to fully meet X’s needs within our current resources (including adult support) and environment.”
This is not because staff do not care. Many of them do. But care without capacity is not inclusion.
The reality is that most mainstream classrooms are busy, noisy, overstimulating environments. Class sizes of 30. Constant transitions. High cognitive demand. Limited adult support.
For a neurodivergent child, this can mean surviving the school day rather than thriving in it.
Our local specialist school costs £80,000 per year. That is an eye-watering figure. Yet when we asked our education, health and care coordinator for professional guidance about what type of setting might best meet our son’s needs, and which schools currently have vacancies, we were sent only the “local offer.”
Why is there no middle ground?
Why are there so few provisions with smaller class sizes, flexible environments, and appropriately trained staff that would meet children’s needs without requiring a move to an £80,000-a-year specialist placement?
Why are families forced into adversarial tribunal processes simply to secure environments where their children can access education?
These plans risk becoming more bureaucratic layers unless we address the structural issues underneath:
- Class sizes
- Teacher training
- Funding models
- Sensory environments
- Staffing ratios
- Genuine partnership with parents
As a social worker, I understand systems. I understand resource pressures. But I also understand rights. Disabled children are entitled to an education that meets their needs, not one that asks them to constantly adapt to environments that overwhelm them.
We do not need more paperwork.
We need better-designed classrooms.
We need teacher training that embeds neurodiversity from day one.
We need graduated provision between mainstream and high-cost specialist placements.
And we need local authorities to offer meaningful professional guidance, not simply a list.
Until then, families like mine will continue fighting.