I think a lot about lobsters, wrestled from the sea and placed in cold water that slowly heats—do they wonder if it’s getting hot in there? How do they decide where the line is and begin to panic? Is it a thought or pure instinct?
In kindergarten, my son arrived with a history of trauma and an urgent need for one-to-one assistance. The school delayed any intervention in favour of a “wait and see” approach, even after we provided clear descriptions of his needs and the accommodations that help. One staff member scoffed at our ideas about how he could be accommodated.
The people at the meeting seemed nice. They said trust us—they’d had years of experience—so we took a chance, ignoring our worries and hoping it would be alright.
Boiled alive
When his distress escalated into an attempt to strangle his teacher, the school suspended him—or, as they put it, asked him to stay home. Then there were meetings. At one, with almost a dozen people, a counsellor from the district asked why I would want my son at school if I thought it was harming him. Because he has a right to learn! They never asked why they created the conditions to harm him. Why they wouldn’t listen to us in the first place and allowed this to happen.
After relentless advocacy and countless appointments with school and medical and community services, I convinced the school to allow my son to return for one-hour-a-day and to provide support. He attended in a small resource room labelled “closet” on the floor map; it had no windows, no teacher, and ever-changing support staff whose games and gentle interactions tried to rebuild trust.
I cut my work hours in half, sitting on the bare floor outside that windowless room, because the school required my presence at all times if he was to remain.
By the end of the year, he never fully rejoined his peers—he was never light hearted again.
My son has since dropped out of Grade 7 from burnout, after many years on this merry-go-around.
Back burner
Neurodivergent girls can face even longer delays in receiving support. “H” designations seem to be granted to boys with ease, yet our own application was denied—deemed “not serious” despite letters and medical evidence. A child missing weeks of school due to anxiety and inability to eat should never be dismissed. It took 20 months to receive an IEP for my daughter after we presented evidence of need.
“A board must ensure that an IEP is designed for a student with special needs, as soon as practical after the student is so identified by the board.” journals.uvic.ca
School Act Section 168(2)(a), MO 638/95
But whatever the law requires, the personal judgments of a few individuals overrode the expertise of medical professionals—deputizing themselves to assess the seriousness of a diagnosis. Our fate decided by a few ad hoc decisions made in haste.
The emotional, financial, and relational cost runs into millions in damages, and we feel like war victims, endlessly repairing wounds inflicted by those sworn to protect our children.
Hot water
Research confirms that early, targeted support strengthens the entire classroom community. This enriches learning for everyone.
When schools deny resources to the most vulnerable, we punish everyone: classmates are traumatised and receive reduced attention, teachers shoulder unspoken guilt, and families bear the burden of repairing institutional harm.
By refusing to resource neurodivergent kids with proper staffing, training, and accountability, we condemn whole classes to bear the fallout.
I heard through the grape vine that a parent had kept their kid home because the dysregulation my child experienced had traumatised the child. A pink slip was sent home, vaguely describing an incident. Parents whispered about us.
Each empty desk and every whispered hallway glance is testament to decisions made in distant offices—choices to decline extra support requests, delay hiring support workers, or deny staff training that cascade into trauma for families forced into first-responder roles.
Stop the fire
One of a principal’s core responsibilities is to operate within the budget they receive from the district. I can’t help but wonder whether that creates a conflict of interest when they must choose between meeting student needs and balancing financial metrics. Does it send the district into a tizzy when they request emergency staffing? Is there any clear guidance on how asking for extra support impacts a principal’s performance evaluation or compensation?
Districts co-manage funding with the province, sharing general operating dollars intended to ensure equity across BC. Meanwhile, special-purpose grants must compete with capital projects and local board priorities. Even as enrolment rises, shortfalls persist. Per-student funding in British Columbia remains nearly $1,000 below the Canadian average, yet we’re told education budgets are at record highs. When the provincial government unveils “increases,” experts point out that most of those dollars are already spoken for by inflation and prior commitments.
Political shifts since the early 2000s—from austerity measures to ad-hoc program announcements—have cemented a scarcity mindset, despite clear capacity to invest more in public education. Growing diversity, higher support needs, and widening socioeconomic gaps only make this outdated model more untenable.
If we’re to stop this slow boil, we must fund education properly, realign incentives so that seeking support reflects strong leadership rather than failure, and make supplemental grants transparent and accessible. Only then can our schools live up to their promise of safety and inclusion.
If you’d like to join the conversation, please reach out.
