When Survival Isn’t Abstract

Tuesday morning I published a post about the difference between being a victim and being a survivor. I wrote about naming harm, refusing minimisation, and understanding the patterns that shape how disabled people are treated.

A few hours later, life handed me another real time example. 

Arty, while at school, used his early exit pass to leave class. This is a reasonable adjustment that helps him move between lessons without being overwhelmed by crowded corridors and prevent dysregulation. This has been incredibly helpful. Arty often had issues either from his last lesson, during transition, and social breaks, which resulted in either hyperactive or negative behaviour responses within the next lesson. For a child potentially with ASD, on top of Sensory Processing Disorder, dysregulation is normal. 

He was approached by a pastoral staff member who challenged for “loitering.” She didn’t check his emotional state or consider that the pass itself is a sign that he needs to regulate between lessons. 

She then told him she would speak to the SENCO about using the pass “properly” and whether it should continue. For a child like Arty, this is a threat. Consequently, his flight or fight kicked in and he breached appropriate behavioural expectations. This was expected. He’s dysregulated. The time between transition is reducing. Its being wasted on behavioural challenges rather than pastoral care by a staff member he’s had issues with before. At his age, I would have done the same. I was often in trouble for opening my mouth against staff. 

His response was treated as defiance rather than communication. SEN parents know that's not the case. 

[Image 2. A clean, accessible quote graphic about understanding behaviour as communication. It highlights how focusing on how a child communicates rather than why they communicate can lead to misunderstanding or silence.]

The law is clear. Schools must use their best endeavours to meet individual needs. That cannot happen through generic behavioural responses and expectations. 

I had no idea about this incident until said staff member called round 10am.

I listened fully. I spoke respectfully, calling her "Miss," as I always do. However, when I tried to clarify two points, I was repeatedly spoken over. She became argumentative. Almost as if she expected me to squawk in shock and surprise at what she was presenting. When I didn't, she had to argue with me. I asked politely to finish my sentences. I wanted to shine a light on something she missed. I didn't want an argument. I was ignored. I tried again. The interruptions continued. To be honest, they never stopped. I had to listen, agree, or just be silent. This was not a conversation. 

The patronisation then began. I was told that I didn't understand how exit passes work, more than once, and that I didn’t understand. If you're not going to listen, mutually respond respectfully, and consider what's being said, then the problem isn't my understanding or communication, its your unwillingness to hear it. One-sided respect is not acceptable. 

I could have explained my teaching background, knowledge of SEN law, and how all of this applies to Arty, who, as my son, I know well. 

I was not given the space to think, let alone speak. It became too much. I had to stop it. The conversation was triggering because it mirrored a lifetime of being spoken over, dismissed, ignored, made into jokes, or patronised as a disabled person. The extent of actions I have survived and many disabled people have to endure. 

I was told I was wrong. 

About what? My disability? My lived experience? The impact of her behaviour? Or, was she still challenging, wanting to continue the argument regarding exit passes?

The hardest part was not the disagreement, misunderstanding, or dismissal of something that sits at the core of my daily life. It was the lack of reflection and apology once I explained it was triggering. 

The Equality Act protects disabled people from unfavourable treatment. Communication is part of that. Interrupting, dismissing, and assuming incompetence are not neutral behaviours. They land differently when you have lived your whole life being treated that way. Ableism sits in the background of all of this. Structural, interpersonal, complicit, and implicit ableism exists. It shapes the society around us like an invisible presence, and unless you recognise it, you never see the impact. 

Survivor language matters. While I try to shine a light, sometimes things need to be challenged. Ableism is everywhere. The fight between equality and equity still continues. Naming harm matters. Disabled people often feel unheard in systems that claim to support them. Yet, I still expect for these things not to happen. It was not ok.

I did not break, shrink, and internalise it. I named it. I have since raised a formal complaint.

Survival isn't always a big experience. It can become a daily posture. The decision to speak when silence would be easier. It refuses to accept minimisation as normal. It is the choice to hold your ground even when someone pushes against you. 

I will always work cooperatively with schools.  I will always support staff,  model respect, and name harm when it happens. That is not conflict. That is safeguarding. The SEND Code of Practice states that schools should work in partnership with parents to develop a clear understanding of the child's needs. Communication should be collaborative, respectful, and centred on the child's best interests. This is not dismissing, interruptions, making assumptions, or patronisation. I will have to wait and see if they acknowledged this complaint and want to continue to work collaboratively.