Yesterday we lost a good friend. Our vicar. Our steady presence.
It happened on James’ fifteenth birthday. That detail sits heavily today. It marks the year I started attending our church and being under her wing. It marks the years she has shaped our family and my journey.
James has been with his new tutor for three weeks. We didn’t know how it would go. He spent the weekend before the first session begging me to cancel it. His anxiety was through the roof. He didn’t want to go back to anything that looked or sounded like school.
We didn’t cancel. We adjusted. We started at 10am instead of 9.30am so he had space to breathe. That shift made the difference. He met G. They talked. They found a rhythm and lesson interests. She explained that learning didn’t have to be at a table, actively involving worksheets, or be the rigid routine that broke him. They could go out, explore, and learn in the world. Whatever sparked his interest. Lessons, resources, and routines all built around him.
 |
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.
