The Final Straw

The Final Straw

By Cross and Ginger

Sometimes when we are so embroiled in something, it’s hard to see the wood for the trees.  The journey through suspicion, diagnosis, school, EHCP and attempting to remove the barriers to learning have all taken their toll.  Some days I’ve felt a bit like when I had newborns at home – just stepping through the basics and trying to keep everyone clean, dry and fed.  A sort of woolly absent feeling.  And then the tiniest thing snaps me back to reality. I think they are similar to what addicts describe as “moments of clarity.”

The other week, eldest child was off school.  He was off with a tummy bug, and overlaid with his sensory issues, life was tense as he wrestled with deeply unpleasant physical sensations he couldn’t control.  I took him with me on the school pickup, hoping that I could be in and out in less than fifteen minutes, and quickly back home again.  In that time, my poor child exploded from everywhere except his ears.  He was in the back and in the rear view mirror I could see him frantically stripping everything off.  I pulled into school, and decided that the very best thing I could do was grab my other younger children, strap them in any available seat, and leg it. So, somewhat splattered, I ran as fast as my crap bra would allow, and tried to get the other kids. And of course it was this very moment that one of their teachers insisted that she needed to speak to me urgently. Urgently. At that moment, the word had a different significance to me, but I took a deep breath and waited to hear what urgent thing couldn’t wait until the morning.

The teacher, unaware of the carnage in my car, slowly explained how she was concerned that we were often late, that it was really affecting my child’s education, and really I Could Do Better.  She was right about the lateness.  Except of course it wasn’t lateness as such. I live in mortal fear of being early, because being early means crowds and unstructured time, and both are like spiking a toddler’s juice with RedBull as far as my kids are concerned.  So we have a carefully timed routine to get to school at the very last minute, thus avoiding at least some of the meltdowns which come with transitioning activities. Sometimes, it doesn’t go to plan.  A sock may have a bump, a shoe may be too tight/lose/wrong, you get the picture.  And no amount of coaxing, bribery, cajoling and frankly, shouty crackers hissy fits will make things any better, it will only make them worse. On those mornings we are late.

On a different day, I would have kindly explained this for the eleventy millionth time, but this particular pick up didn’t have me in the mood for chat.  So I listened as politely as I could to the sterling suggestion of that I could get someone else to do the school run with the younger ones (how I wish!) but when she said perhaps we could “just put all the clocks back” I thought of the poomageddon awaiting me, and hurried away.  If I had stayed, I truly don’t know what might have come out of my mouth.  I suspect either language which would stop a train, or perhaps just a long high pitched scream.  Luckily neither happened.  The sight that met me when I got back to the car reminded me of Game of Thrones Red Wedding, except it was brown.  I cleaned up and sorted out as best I could, and after a good pressure wash, both car and kids were soon sparkly again.  But all the time I kept thinking “Put the bloody clocks back? She just doesn’t get it.”

I put it down to the ever increasing list of “not getting it” that kept happening at school, and burrowed further into the legal aspects of the onerous EHCP tribunal process.  We weren’t contesting placement, mainly because we hadn’t found an alternative and also because maybe deep down I thought that school might just catch on to themselves and “get it” if only I tried hard enough to explain.  His teaching ratio was changing from 1:2 to 1:15, and both his class and teacher would be different. Requests for more support were  explained away with “well he was using someone else’s TA this year so that can’t happen again” or just downright ignored.  Yet on I battled.

We were getting towards the end of term, each morning was a trial to get them all in, and each evening I’d be met with silent withdrawal and meltdown from a child who had clearly held it together all day.  On the day that all the children see the new classes for the next year, his new teacher stopped me at pickup.  She was trying to be reassuring but her words were like a cold hand around my heart.  She said “He’s had a great day and has been lovely and calm and focussed the entire time.”  I think I was meant to reply with “Brilliant, he will be fine despite everything changing and school cutting most of his support” but I was hit by a strange and unfamiliar feeling.  I didn’t recognise it at first, but I suddenly saw things differently.  They didn’t get it, they didn’t want to get it, they would never get it, and my child would inevitably fall to bits as soon as he was safe at home.  The rush of “Oh I absolutely cannot be arsed with this for a single second more” struck me dumb.  We went home, and haven’t been back to school since.

I didn’t pull my son out because of one single comment, but it absolutely was the final straw that broke my back.  Removing the weight of his school’s deliberate misunderstanding has been liberating.

Don’t forget to sign up to follow our blog if you wish the receive notice each time a new one is published.

If you have found this post helpful and you think others may too, please click one of the share buttons below.

Like this blog?  To see more of our blog posts please click here



6 thoughts on “The Final Straw

  1. This blog just really takes you through reality of what if really is like, with an array of humour, to the journey of realisation ‘they just don’t get it!’ We are currently sifting through a subject of information request and despite my attempts to request missing data, I have realised that after 2 years they didn’t get it. In fact, I feel so disempowered as she has been removed from the system, left with nothing and multiple failures along the way. We are fighting a bigger picture because majority of schools don’t get it and there are plenty of children suffering as a consequence. I feel thankful that we as parents can see it and can help our vulnerable ones, but there are so many who can’t 😢 this brakes my heart. Please keep blogging- you are very talented at doing it xx


  2. I don’t think most people get it until they’ve experienced it for themselves- i certainly didn’t! You would think that schools would learn from experience and believe us when we tell them what life is like for our kids?
    With class sizes growing and resources shrinking where does it leave the ones that don’t fit?


  3. My story absolutely. After three years I also simply couldn’t face one more moment of them “not getting it” whilst i had to deal with an increasingly traumatised child. I took him out to home educate and I have NEVER looked back . Best thing I ever did.


  4. You have my total sympathy. I’ve had those moments many times in my own dealings with social workers here in Finland as well as teachers when dealing with my daughter’s issues in schools. My usual response – muttered – is “How can you be that bloody stupid with just one head?”

    My biggest regret as a psychologist is that I’ve never been able to develop a satisfactory theory as to how one head can contain that much stupidity… because, when I think I’ve got there … along comes another bit of stupidity I’d previously not envisioned.



  5. Sadly I have to say thank you for showing me, I’m not the only one fed up with the headaches I give myself bashing my head on the brick wall of teaching staff who choose not to understand or listen!


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s