It began with a phone call that felt like a lifeline. A new teacher was coming, they said, and maybe this would be the one to understand. We clung to that hope. We paid for another assessment, scheduled more therapy, spent weekends in waiting rooms and weekdays in meetings where the promise of change hovered just out of reach. Each time we met the demands, the finish line shifted. Another intake. Another form. Another program. We chased every next thing, hearts tethered to the belief that this time would be different.
We emptied savings on private reports to convince the system they deserved care. We rearranged our lives around appointments, stepping back from work and from rest. It was exhausting, trying to prove again and again that our children’s needs were real.
Support that dissolves when the story changes
I remember when a friend’s daughter faced a crisis and the school rallied around her. Messages poured in. Teachers bent rules. Care was visible and warm. I celebrated with her, holding back the sharp truth, that this care lasts only while the story fits. Kindness with a ticking clock in a system ruled by scarcity. The system loves stories with neat endings. It loves struggle that resolves into progress.
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This broke me: a parent’s experience of school advocacy
Parenting is not a monolith. Neither is disability. Every family walks a different path, shaped by bodies, resources, identities, and institutions. This piece reflects one perspective—mine—as a disabled parent navigating systemic harm, health collapse, and the fierce love that remains. It is not…
The unspoken sorting of children
In the halls of our schools, there is a quiet sorting. Some children are pitied, some are pushed, and some are punished. My children do not fit any neat category. They are gifted and disabled, astonishing and overwhelmed. The system struggles with complexity. It wants a label it can file away. And if it thinks you might survive without support, it will make you prove it until you collapse.
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Grievability and legitimacy in BC Schools
Disabled children are being pushed out of public education—and their families are picking up the pieces. This post examines who is seen as worthy of support, what it costs when systems abandon care, and why the quiet exodus from schools is not a…
What the system really wants
We did everything asked of us, yet our children were punished for behaviours born of unmet needs. What the system wants is not access, but assimilation. It wants difference to disappear. When I asked for understanding instead of independence goals, I was met with a smile that masked judgment, as though accepting my children as they are meant giving up on their futures.
The cost of being left behind
This is the price we pay: savings drained, health diminished, trust shattered. IEPs written and ignored. Weeks at home because schools refuse to adapt. The problem is not our children. It is the institutions that withdraw when needs endure. Our children need people who stay, care that holds, and systems that see them as worthy without conditions.
Until we demand this, the goalposts will keep moving. And the cost will be borne by the children who deserve steady, unwavering care.
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Maybe tomorrow: reflections on goal post shifting and the economics of access
There were accommodations on paper and endless lip-service meetings. But none of it happened in the classroom. And every time we did what was asked—another intake, another form, another plan—the goalpost moved again. We weren’t asking for miracles. We were asking to be…
