Speech Freedom

23/10/2025

A child who masks might look calm and focused in class —
but inside, their senses may be under constant strain.

Bright lights, echoing corridors, scratchy uniforms, strong smells, the buzz of chatter —
for a sensitive nervous system, school can be a sensory minefield.

When a child spends the day holding it together, suppressing reactions to sensory overload,
the cost often shows later — in exhaustion, tears, or shutdowns at home.

Our Masking Toolkit for Parents & Educators explores the sensory environment in schools,
how it impacts children who mask,
and small adjustments that can make a big difference.
Instant electronic download with secure global checkout. at link in comments ⬇️ or via our Linktree Shop in Bio.

Because sometimes it’s not defiance or avoidance — it’s overstimulation.

22/10/2025

This is such a great and helpful visual I found via Regulated Classroom 👏🏽 Such a simple way to explain the importance of coregulation, and how emotions ARE contagious! 💡om

22/10/2025

When You’re the First Diagnosed in the Family
(Breaking generational cycles of misunderstanding)

Being the first diagnosed person in your family changes everything.

It’s like you’ve suddenly been handed a new language — one that explains your whole life — and then you realise no one else around you speaks it yet.

You see patterns where others see problems.

You recognise masking, shutdowns, burnout, and sensory overload — not as weaknesses, but as survival.

And it’s both a relief and a heartbreak.

Because once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

You notice the traits in your parents, your grandparents, your siblings. You start connecting dots that were never joined before — and with that comes compassion, but also grief.

Grief for the versions of them (and you) that never got to live in understanding.

Grief for the years spent believing you were different, dramatic, difficult, or “too sensitive.”

Grief for the childhoods shaped by confusion instead of clarity.

But you also begin to heal.

Because diagnosis — or even self-recognition — doesn’t just explain you; it rewrites the story for everyone who came before.

You stop cycles of shame.
You name what was unnamed.
You parent differently, love differently, forgive differently.

You become the translator, the bridge, the one who says, “it’s not bad behaviour — it’s overload.”
And though it can be lonely at first, it’s also powerful. Because you’re not just healing yourself — you’re quietly healing generations.

Emma
The Autistic SENCo
♾️

Photo: Golden syrup cake. Goodness me I need to make some again, I can smell the deliciousness through the photo…

22/10/2025

20/10/2025

I have had 2 conversations this week from parents of children with SM who have stopped talking at home. This is a very worrying sutiation. When a child who previously spoke at home suddenly stops talking, even though they can still communicate in brief written messages, it often signals high levels of stress, anxiety, or burnout.
A sudden or gradual loss of speech at home suggests something has shifted. Children don’t choose silence lightly; it usually reflects that speaking has become too effortful or overwhelming.
Speaking requires social and cognitive energy. If a child is burnt out, anxious, or overloaded, stopping speech can be a protective mechanism — a way of conserving energy and avoiding further stress.
Selective mutism vs situational shutdown – If she can still text, that shows her thoughts and language are intact, but the mode of communication has shifted. This is sometimes seen in autistic burnout, selective mutism, or after a prolonged period of masking.
Home is usually a “safe” space. If she can’t use speech even there, it may be a sign that her emotional reserves are severely depleted. That could spiral into withdrawal, low mood, or avoidance of school demands.
If her energy is being used up coping with school, she may have nothing left for home. Loss of speech at home often precedes or accompanies emotionally based school avoidance, because it signals that her system is overwhelmed.
“Burnout” signs – Exhaustion, reduced tolerance of demands, communication shutdown, withdrawal, or appearing “flat” are all red flags that her nervous system is overloaded.
The key message: this is not “just refusing to talk” — it’s a sign of communication shutdown linked to stress or burnout. Supporting her early (by reducing demands, validating her feelings, giving her choice of communication methods, and working with school to lower pressure) can help prevent escalation to full school refusal.

20/10/2025

Too right

Are children allowed to be ill anymore?

It’s starting to feel like the answer is no.

Somewhere along the line, we’ve decided that attendance — not learning, not wellbeing, not curiosity — is the ultimate measure of success. There are graphs, targets, and spreadsheets to prove it. 95% is “expected,” 90% is “persistent absence.” Yet if your child scored 91% on a test, you’d probably be thrilled. You’d say, “They’ve done brilliantly!” But in attendance? Suddenly, that same number makes you a statistic that triggers letters, fines, and concern meetings.

We’ve stopped talking about why a child isn’t in school and started talking only about how often they’re not.

When did we forget that children are human beings, not data points? Humans get ill. They need rest. They get overwhelmed. Sometimes they’re grieving, exhausted, or burnt out. And sometimes, the thing they’re being asked to attend — the thing their attendance is being measured against — is actually making them unwell.

Because attendance is only good if the thing you’re attending is worth it.

If a school environment is nurturing, inclusive, calm, and safe — children want to be there. They look forward to learning, to friendships, to being seen and valued. Attendance then becomes a natural byproduct of belonging.

But when school becomes a place of pressure, sensory overload, or relentless testing; when children feel unseen, unsupported, or misunderstood — attendance stops being a measure of resilience and starts being a measure of compliance.

We wouldn’t tell a sick adult to “push through” flu or burnout because their employer has a 95% target. We’d say, “You need to rest. You’ll come back stronger.” Yet we tell children — developing, growing children — that even legitimate illness risks their attendance record.

Parents are stuck in impossible positions: Do you send your child in, dosed up on Calpol, because you can’t face another warning letter? Or do you keep them home to recover properly, knowing that decision will be recorded as a black mark against them?

The narrative needs to shift.

Instead of chasing percentages, we should be asking:

• Why is this child struggling to attend?

• What would make attendance feel safe and purposeful again?

• What can we do to make the school day something they want to be part of — not something to endure?

Because attendance doesn’t equal learning. Being present isn’t the same as being engaged.

Children who feel emotionally safe, understood, and valued attend more consistently — not because they’re pressured to, but because they want to.

So maybe the better question isn’t “How can we raise attendance?” but “How can we make attendance worth it?”

Because if we truly want lifelong learners, not just compliant students, then we have to allow space for illness, rest, and recovery — the same grace we’d give any human being.

After all, a child who scores 91% in a test is doing just fine. Maybe we should start thinking the same about attendance.

Emma
The Autistic SENCo
♾️

Photo: Hair. Mine is always unruly in the wind.

19/10/2025

16/10/2025

I can tell you for sure, both my children would have failed the Year 1 Phonics Screening Check. They’ve have failed it again in Year 2. They would have failed the Times Tables Test too, in Year 4. And the Spelling Punctuation and Grammar Test in Year 6.

That’s because we home educated, and we did not push early academics on them. We did not insist that they sat down at desks when they were desperate to roll around and jump. We did not tell them that their whole future would be blighted if they didn’t listen to the teacher or if they were late. We did not tell them how important it was that they sat on their bottoms and put their hand up before they spoke.

When you do this, you get to see how children learn naturally. You see how they go through stages of apparently learning very little, and then suddenly they advance in leaps and bounds. You see how they play and play and play, and then they start to mature and their creativity takes a different form.

With my children, I saw how at age nine they became capable of thinking about the future and working towards a goal. I saw how around age twelve they became more interested in reading, writing and more able to sit still without needing to bounce. I saw how they retained their interest in learning, because we hadn’t forced it upon them. I saw how as they got older they started to plan for their future and to do things they didn’t love now, because it would be important one day.

They are teenagers now. They are not behind their peer group. The years of missed school has not mattered. They learnt years’ worth of reading and maths in months, when they were ready and motivated. Here’s something my son wrote for a book I’m writing that comes out next year. It’s based on his own experience.

"I think when you’re up to around twelve, you’re still very
young and not really able to focus in the way that you
can when you’re older. I think that learning is not as
fruitful then as when you are older, and could even be
harmful because it gives you a negative connotation of
what learning means.

When you get a bit older you’ll realise there are things you
want to do in life. You’ll see that there are skills you need to
learn, and if your perception of learning hasn’t been tainted
by bad experiences then you’ll have more of a motivation to
do it. You will catch up with other people your age who might
at first seem like they’re ahead, because those people will be
learning for the sake of getting something at the end, rather
than for the sake of skill and learning itself."

16/10/2025

What’s so great about the maths and English level 1&2 Functional Skills curriculum?

A couple of years ago, I introduced Functional Skills English and Maths where I work — and honestly, it’s become one of the best decisions we’ve made. These courses have gone from being an idea that raised a few curious eyebrows to becoming really popular option choices that now run proudly alongside GCSE Maths and English.

And here’s why.

Functional Skills does what it says on the tin. It’s practical. It’s meaningful. It’s designed for real life.

For those who aren’t familiar, Functional Skills qualifications in Maths and English are nationally recognised qualifications that are equivalent (level 2 functional is) in level to GCSEs — but they aren’t GCSEs. They don’t have the same breadth or abstract theory, but that’s exactly the point. They focus on the skills that young people genuinely need for life, work, and independence.

Functional Skills English looks at how to read, write, and communicate effectively in everyday situations — from analysing information to writing formal emails, letters, and articles. Functional Skills Maths is all about applying maths in context: percentages in shopping, ratio in recipes, area and perimeter in DIY, and interpreting data in charts or tables.

It’s the maths and English you actually use.

And for so many of our pupils, it’s been a game-changer.

Some came to us feeling like they’d “failed” because aren’t near or didn’t reach that elusive Grade 4 in GCSE. But Functional Skills has given them a way to rebuild confidence, rediscover success, and see that they can achieve — and that it counts. These are not “less than” qualifications. They’re fully recognised by many (not all I understand that) employers, apprenticeships, and colleges.

It’s also the perfect way to fill in the gaps from earlier learning — those little foundations that sometimes get missed along the way. When pupils have the chance to revisit and secure those basics, they often experience the confidence lift they need to believe that GCSEs are within reach. For some, it’s the stepping stone between struggle and success.

And here’s something I’ve noticed time and time again: because Functional Skills Maths is maths in context, it often helps neurodivergent learners in particular to see the whole picture. It demystifies the abstract nature of maths — making it more concrete, more logical, and far more understandable. When maths is tied to real situations and visual reasoning, the fog clears. It starts to make sense.

I’ve seen pupils who once said “I can’t do maths” proudly explain how to work out a discount percentage in a sale. I’ve seen learners who froze at the sight of a comprehension question now confidently summarising information from a leaflet or article.

Functional Skills opens doors that GCSE-only pathways too often keep closed.

It’s inclusive. It’s purposeful. It’s empowering.

Because education should fit the learner, not the other way round.

So yes, I’ll say it loudly to whomever is listening -I love Functional Skills. Because every time a learner passes, smiles, and says, “I never thought I could do it,” it reminds me exactly why this qualification matters.

Emma
The Autistic SENCo
♾️

Photo: One of functional skills classes yesterday learning about how tax works following on from their work on percentages. All pencil and paper methods not using a calculator.

15/10/2025

Our teens are the first generation to grow up with smartphones. The first iPhone came out in 2008, and the generation born as they came out are turning seventeen in 2025.

The first generation for whom a phone that can do almost anything is just part of life, who are used to their questions being answered with ‘We’ll google that’. The first generation who learnt to open an app before they could read. The first children who tried to swipe books to turn the pages.

Will that have changed their childhoods? Certainly yes. Even if they don’t have a phone themselves, their peers will. Phone boxes and landlines are historical relics to them. There will be great things about it, and not-so-great things about it. Opportunities, and risks.

We can’t turn back time and pretend they aren’t growing up surrounded with technology. They’re going to be adults in a world where phones are everywhere. How can we help them to learn the skills they’ll need to manage that? How do smartphones affect our children’s development?

In my new webinar I’ll be looking at the research and the fears around smartphones. I’ll explain the dilemmas for parents, and give you the information you need to make informed choices. I’ll talk about how things can go wrong and what to do if they do. I’ll focus on what phones mean for autistic and ADHD teens in particular.

Come and join me and please share if you know parents who are worried about teens and their phones.

Navigating Phones with your Neurodivergent Teen, Monday 20th October. It is recorded.

https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/navigating-phones-with-your-neurodivergent-teen-tickets-1742168826859?aff=fb2

15/10/2025

When children say things like “I don’t want to” or “I don’t like it,” there’s often more going on beneath the surface. These words can be expressions of worry, fear, tiredness, or needing extra support—not just refusal. Taking time to pause, listen, and understand the feelings behind their words helps build trust and connection. Instead of seeing it as defiance, we can see it as communication. When children feel heard and understood, they’re more likely to feel safe, regulated, and ready to try again. 💛



Source:

15/10/2025

My old typewriter has been an option in the room for a few weeks now, but writing feels like a threat to him. Even typing feels adult-dictated. Even typing on something fun.

It always just sits there quietly, an option if he wants to.

He ignores it one week, ignores it again the next. Another week, he expresses wanting to type on it only for the briefest moment — when another student is briefly in my room too, and taps on the typewriter for a couple of seconds, he says, “Hey, it’s my turn on that! I was using that!” As soon as the other student is gone, he’s lost interest.

I start to wonder whether there’s an anxious voice in his head fighting against a desire to try out using it. I remind him that there’s no “right way” or thing he has to type, that he’s welcome to just play around and try to make it make any letters at all, or whatever he wants. Me even having the conversation is too much pressure and he begins insisting he doesn’t want to type. I back all the way off.

Out of nowhere, another session. There’s five minutes left in the session and I let him know. He says, “I need to type something.”

I’m a little worried about it. Rather than getting more regulated, this session has seemed to make him more dysregulated and I’m not quite sure why — I have a few guesses but they could be right or they could be wrong. Either way, I’m a little bit worried because his energy is already quite high, his voice quite loud, his body making big and wild movements. But maybe sitting and typing will help him move it back down? I keep close watch on what he’s doing.

He shoos me away. “You can’t see. It’s a message for you,” he says one second, and then practically one second later is furiously shouting, “how do you put stupid paper in this stupid thing???”

I manage to convince him to let me help load paper. (It had a paper in it, but the paper had a few letters tapped out from somebody else and he wants a blank one.) Then he starts picking away at the letters of the message he wants to send. He’s not hitting the keys with enough force for them to actually leave a mark. “It’s OK to tap it hard,” i tell him, still caught between giving him enough space to not feel watched yet staying close enough to intervene if things go south very quickly. He growls, “Maybe I’ll just punch it like THIS,” and mimes punching all the keys, and gives me a little half-smile to see how I react.

I give him a little half-smile back. “Please don’t punch it. It’s OK if you want to do something else. We don’t have to type.”

“I’m writing a message,” he says with a sigh and turns his focus back to the typewriter. Again…something just doesn’t quite work the way he wants to. With a half-sob he yells “The S is just writing on top of the E!!! It’s not going!!!”

“Is it not moving to the side? It’s very old. Sometimes it gets stuck. It’s not your fault. I can help,” I say. I’m noticing how hard I’m working to convey a lot of information, in short sentences, without sounding like I’m losing my composure. It’s hard work to try to communicate to someone who’s escalating without joining in with their energy.

“…no, it did move,” he mutters, almost to himself. Then silence for a few seconds.

Then— triumph.

“I DID IT,” he yells, jumping to his feet and pointing at the message typed on the typewriter for me. “Put it in your office so you’ll always remember today. It was the best day ever.”

I’ve moved countries twice since then. But I still have it. ❤️🖤

[Image description: A close-up of a message typed with a typewriter on a sheet of paper. The ink ribbon of the typewriter, a few of the bases of the keys, and the metal bar that holds the paper in place are visible, as well as the typed message, which in fact reads: “best day ever”, though the spacing is actually like this: “be s tdayever”. The letters are in half-red and half-black due to the typewriter ink ribbon being slightly out of alignment. End description.]