Parenting James: The Response I Never Wanted to Read

When I handed in our formal complaint, I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. I knew the school would struggle and we wouldn’t get everything we wanted. However, I believed, perhaps naively, that with everything laid out clearly: dates, transcripts, emails, and staff admissions, the school would finally see the pattern James and we have been experiencing.

I didn’t expect a response that said lots while saying almost nothing at all.

The school’s response barely mentioned James — his anxiety, dysregulation, confusion, hurt and upset. Out of six mentions, only three acknowledged his emotional strain. Instead, the response discussed:

- attendance percentages  

- refusal codes  

- administrative delays  

- “operational realities”  

- “differences in perception”

It was as if the emotional harm, panic, EBSA (Emotionally Based School Avoidance), loss of trust, and staff issues were side‑stepped and replaced with a spreadsheet.

One line stood out:

“James has experienced interactions where he felt unheard.”

Felt unheard? He experienced distress, panic, escalation, shutting down, shaking, tears, refusal to enter the building, fear of being unfairly punished. It wasn’t simply a matter of “feeling unheard.”

It’s astonishing how a single sentence erased lived experience.

The school acknowledged that strategies “were not applied as consistently as intended,” but minimised the situation and ignored evidence showing strategies were unknown, removed, contradicted, not applied, not followed, and not monitored.

This isn’t inconsistency. This is failure. When the SENCO said that strategies weren’t applied “as tightly as they wanted,” and that escalation wouldn’t have happened if they had been followed, they should have immediately paused and reflected. Instead, they minimised.

The response mentions checking “behaviour records” — an attempt to turn James’ voice and EBSA into behavioural issues. Yet the “behaviour” they’re referring to is speech‑and‑language needs, stammer‑avoidance strategies, communication differences, and sensory overwhelm.

The school wrote:  

“Attendance has been a significant complicating factor.”

True, but attendance didn’t collapse in a vacuum. It collapsed because strategies weren’t followed, needs were unknown, disability‑SEN‑related behaviour was sanctioned, he became overwhelmed, untrusting, and frightened. This repeated again and again.

EBSA is not a choice. It is a response.

A legal letter was attached. It accused me of covertly recording meetings and demanded that I delete them.

They said:

Let’s be clear.

Unless it shows names, faces, or recognisable voices and is shared publicly, like on Facebook, recording for personal use is legally permitted. Nevertheless, I recorded because:

1. Last year’s complaints lacked “proof” as I was unable to take notes, resulting in unprovable conclusions of “misunderstandings” or “he said/she said” moments.  

2. I no longer have the ability or speed to write, so I use speech‑to‑text software.

I am legally allowed to use speech‑to‑text software as a disability aid, and legally do not need to declare it, my methods, or my reasons. I am legally permitted to be on a level footing with an able‑bodied person and do not have to rely on outside agreements, services, actions, or able‑bodied adjustments.

The school never asked, clarified, or presented a policy for disabled parents or shared communication. I have also never hidden it. In every interaction, I’ve said, “I record everything now.” I take my phone out of my bag or pocket and place it on the table in plain sight. They know I have a degenerative condition, that James worries about it, that he is a Young Carer, my prognosis, and that I use speech‑to‑text software.

Covert recording is an optional choice. Speech‑to‑text is not, it’s an aid. Covert implies secrecy, deception, and malicious intent. Using it as a reason is discriminatory, removes the James‑centred focus, and avoids accountability.

Importantly, if every staff member, especially senior leadership, genuinely works to best‑practice standards every day, what’s the problem? If nothing is wrong, nothing needs to be hidden, and nothing needs protecting.

What happens next?

I wish I could say this response brought clarity, accountability, and understanding. It didn’t.

I want to escalate, but is it worth the fight? Before making that decision, I contacted the Trust. The assigned representative listened, recognised James’ voice and experience, and understood why the response felt dismissive. She validated my needs, understood why I recorded, acknowledged my legal rights, and spoke to the Head Teacher to plan a resolution meeting before I escalate. Whether that leads anywhere, I don’t know.

I won’t be intimidated or threatened into silence. I won’t apologise for using disability aids I am legally entitled to use. I will also not allow James’ experience to be rewritten as “perception,” “inconsistency,” or “emotional strain.” I spoke to James; he said exactly the same.

James deserves better. I will keep telling the truth until someone finally listens. In the meantime, positive thoughts and prayers, as I meet with the Trust representative and Head Teacher today.