inclusion – I am James' mum

But He Looks ‘Normal’: Elopement, Autism, and Neurodiversity

This post began as a joyful moment I shared online: a video of James and I signing in Makaton at Heathrow, with a caption that read:

“The world is changing in a magnificent way. We didn’t have these self-service wheelchairs in December, and now we do! The stress relief and anxiety reduction is immense. Happiness is peace, understanding, accommodation and acceptance.”

That change—wheelchairs available to borrow like luggage trolleys—sparked another thought.

When are we enabling agency, and when are we quietly reinforcing exclusion?

We’ve seen similar setups in supermarkets lately, the choice to help yourself without a lengthy registration process. It’s a small but powerful step toward everyday inclusion.

This was our first time using this service. Although I don’t plan to do it often or take advantage of it, I was grateful it was there. I want to encourage James to adapt when he can. But sometimes, circumstances dictate. And this time, it was the safer, easier, and kinder choice for both of us.

Still, I wondered if people were confused—seeing James in a wheelchair when he’s perfectly capable of walking. To be honest, I didn’t have time to worry about what others thought. He managed to dash off anyway. Specifically, he eloped.

Elopement

Eloping is the SEND (Special Educational Needs and Disabilities) term for this sudden, fast, unplanned running off. It’s a type of fight-or-flight behaviour often seen in autistic children, especially those with intellectual or learning disabilities.

Eloping, in the context of children with special needs, evokes a deep, instinctual panic. It is the kind that freezes your heart. It turns your stomach to stone. It happens in seconds. Your child slips from your grasp and bolts.

It’s not misbehaviour. It’s communication. Or it’s overload. Or it’s fear. Or sometimes, it’s just the only response a child has. We’ve experienced elopement in shopping centres, schools, restaurants, playgrounds. It’s scary. Avoiding these places altogether isn’t sustainable—or healthy. So we build a toolkit, and we remain alert.

Parenting or supporting a non-speaking autistic child with learning disabilities requires constant micro-decisions that are both ethical and practical. Each decision sits within a continuum:

Support vs. over-support
Protecting safety vs. restricting autonomy
Reducing demands vs. reducing opportunity
Adapting the world vs. unintentionally narrowing it

In this sense, inclusion is an ongoing negotiation. Families must continually evaluate the line between enabling agency and reinforcing passive dependence — a line that is influenced by risk, resources, social expectations, and their own emotional capacity.

Our airport ‘toolkit’

We don’t usually book special assistance services at airports, but we do carry a doctor’s letter explaining James’s needs. We book night flights. We pack familiar snacks and toys, print airport pictures in advance, and bring sensory items. Sometimes, I take anti-anxiety medication, not just for myself, but to ensure my fear doesn’t amplify his. That’s the hidden layer behind invisible disabilities and “He looks fine.”

Neurodiversity: Seeing the Bigger Picture

I sometimes prefer to talk about neurodiversity through characteristics rather than diagnostic criteria. From my own experience, I’ve found that the “defining characteristics” of autism have sometimes overshadowed James’s other learning needs—especially speech and language delay, apraxia, and global developmental delay.

Invisible or unseen can mean we often don’t know the full extent or cause—and we certainly can’t measure potential based on what we know so far.

The Unseen Population

There is a whole group of children and young people who rarely make it into the centre of conversations about autism, learning disability, or inclusion — not because they are small in number, but because they are harder for the world to see.

Children who don’t speak. Children without a reliable communication system. Children whose bodies don’t move the way they want them to.
In classrooms, they are sometimes placed in the corner with good intentions, but low expectations. In society, they are praised when compliant, overlooked when curious, and misunderstood when distressed. None of these are the failures of the child. They are failures of our society and system.

There is still so little research into children without speech or formal communication. This population—those with the most complex disabilities—are often overlooked, omitted, or researched upon rather than with. They become theory, not fully recognised and respected lives.

Presuming competence sounds simple on paper.
But in the real world, it bends and blurs.
Capacity rises and falls with noise, hunger, fear, fatigue, environment, chemistry, chance.

Some days we stretch the world to meet our children.
Some days we shrink their world to keep them safe. When are we nurturing agency — and when, without meaning to, are we teaching helplessness?

When are we opening doors — and when are we simply decorating the walls of a small room?

There is no universally “correct” position because every child and context is different. However, the critical question remains:

Are we creating conditions that allow the child to be an active participant in their life, or are we — intentionally or not — positioning them as passive recipients of care?

The difference between the two is profound. One supports growth, identity, and self-determination. The other reinforces the long-standing pattern in which disabled people are managed, spoken for, and ultimately viewed as objects of intervention rather than subjects of experience.

Mental Health, Migration, Mitigation and Motherhood

How does migration affect mental health and motherhood? And how can we prepare and protect ourselves from the risks we don’t always see coming?

We’re living in the age of globalisation. I was young when low-cost air travel exploded in the 1990s. Suddenly, flying became accessible to many more people—sometimes cheaper than a train ticket. Before then, migration tended to follow certain patterns: highly skilled professionals, intra-regional low-wage workers, or those seeking refuge.

But companies like EasyJet and Ryanair changed the game in Europe—making travel cheap, cheerful, and frequent. Migration became more casual, and cultural diversity more widespread. I think immigration and migration are great. It is fantastic to have the opportunity to experience different people and cultures.

I write this because mental illness can have many roots—and migration is one of them. As an expat, a mother, and an advocate for autism awareness, I think it’s important to explore how migration affects mental health, especially for families and parents of neurodivergent children.

My son is autistic. My family has a long history of migration. My grandparents migrated into a war zone. My parents later migrated out of one. And I became an expatriate myself when James was two.

Migration often means losing what feels familiar and safe. You trade family, structure, language, and predictability for the unknown. That uncertainty doesn’t always feel dramatic at first, but over time, it can chip away at your sense of stability and confidence. The social systems you once relied on—healthcare, education, childcare—are suddenly different, or gone entirely. You have to rebuild your support networks from scratch.

We moved to Thailand not long after my son’s diagnosis. But even before we left the UK, I was already feeling isolated. We had moved house in search of space for our growing family—a kind of local migration, but one that meant my nearest support was over an hour away by public transport. Motherhood had already brought challenges I hadn’t anticipated—and migration only magnified them.

Later, through James’ diagnosis, I began to recognise traits of neurodiversity in myself. As I explored autism and mental health more deeply, I started writing about them too. I wish I’d known more earlier—about the systems, the symptoms, and the ways neurodivergence and mental health can quietly intertwine. That’s why I now advocate for awareness, acceptance, and above all—prevention and preparedness.

There’s space, I believe, for better parental primary care. Not just post-partum, but pre-natal too. Especially for those who may already carry hidden or unspoken risk factors.

For me, mental health is a balance between physical wellbeing and self-awareness. I’ve found support in sharing my story, in connecting with others who understand, and in allowing myself space to reflect—without shame.

What helps:

1. Planning (especially around family)
Before migrating, it helps to understand the healthcare landscape—not just in theory, but in practice. What does a paediatric appointment look like? Is there insurance coverage for developmental or mental health support? What sensory experiences might come up in a hospital setting? For me, the healthcare system in Thailand was nothing like the GP-led care I was used to in the UK. Language barriers, traffic, and unfamiliar systems all added stress when I was already stretched thin.

2. Support systems
Online communities were a lifeline. The Expat Mummy Club, in particular, gave me space to find information and connect. Over time, more groups emerged—some focused on parenting, others on mental health or neurodiversity. These groups remind me that help can come from unexpected places.

3. Relaxation
Finding calm isn’t optional—it’s essential. I try to choose activities that give my mind rest. It’s not always easy to notice what’s stressing you out, but recognising it is the first step. Learning to stay present—without constantly anticipating disaster—has helped me cope better, both as a person and as a parent.

4. Action plans (with flexibility)
Plans do help—when I can write them. But I don’t punish myself if I can’t always follow through. Self-acceptance is key. I plan when I can, and when I can’t? I try to go gently. As my mum used to sing to me when I was little: que sera, sera. Whatever will be, will be.

This post is just one part of a much bigger conversation—about the mental health challenges that can arise with expatriate life, especially for families, and about the invisible layers that come with neurodiversity and motherhood.

As I prepare to join a panel to discuss neurodiversity and mental health, I hope to explore not just the difficulties—but the possibilities. How can we build systems of care that recognise complexity? How can we support parents before, during, and after migration—not just in crisis, but as part of meaningful, preventive care?

One topic close to my heart is Preparedness in Parenting. For me, it’s not about manuals or rigid frameworks. It’s about empowering parents with the awareness and tools to proactively navigate neurodiversity. How can systems become more inclusive, more compassionate, and more prepared? How can we foster stronger community connections and greater understanding for families in transition?

If any of this resonates with you, you’re not alone. Let’s keep the conversation going—across borders, across differences, and with compassion.

Step into my Spectrum

A reflection on agency, aggression, and the growth in between

I was going through old drafts and found a diary entry from four years ago. It shook me a bit to read it. In some ways, not much has changed. But in between, there has definitely been growth.

The Link Between Aggression and Agency

Today, the topic is aggression and agency.

Our sense of agency is foundational to our mental and emotional well-being. It’s not just about taking action—it’s about choosing which action to take.
Read more on agency: Inherent Yet Fragile

To avoid spiralling into reactive behaviour—my own or my son’s—I had to choose my response.
Today, it was to consciously step into my spectrum and understand myself.

When I’m tired, I often feel unsure about how to engage with James, entertain him, or support his learning.
This gets worse when we’re stressed, hungry, hot, or dysregulated.

I try to be consistent, while quietly battling a constant low-level anxiety:

Am I letting him stim too much? Is it helping? Hurting? Should I be doing more? Less?

The Crossroads of Parenting

I’ve been at a crossroads in my thinking for a long time.
I want him to rest.
His life has been full of therapy because I didn’t—and sometimes still don’t—know what to do.
But the more I learn, the better our relationship becomes.

On tough days, though, I feel like I’ve been getting it wrong from the start.
Mistake after mistake.
Those thoughts keep me up at night.
Sometimes crying. Sometimes fighting.

The diary entry from 2021 was an explosion of overwhelm into a screen. It brought back memories of the early COVID-19 pandemic.
I’d had a miscarriage. We’d just moved house. I couldn’t shake the grief. And in the middle of it all, James began to self-injure. He would pinch himself, leaving red and purple marks across his skin.

Studying Inclusion, Feeling the Weight

In 2022, I began studying inclusion.
I was becoming more confident, but also more frequently heartbroken.
It was hard to detach from the raw vulnerability of children’s lives.

I’d been studying for years, but maybe I’d missed the key point.

A Moment of Aggression

It was a hot day. James asked to go down a street we’d never been on.
Our routine was out of sync, Jonathan was travelling, and I was alone.

I said no. It was a busy road, and I was scared.

Thwack, thwack—there goes my head.
Another time, he dug his fingernails into my face and pulled my hair.
Then, moments later, he climbed into my lap and kissed me.

It’s difficult.

I know he is inherently good and that he needs to be taught.
Read more: on Presence not Panic

It’s hard to stay calm—and yes, I get angry too.

I can usually handle it.

The pain subsides. The bruises fad

The regret?
That’s harder to push away.

Forgiveness comes easily.
But I know that I must help him.
If I don’t support him in learning in the way he can, his independence will be limited.

Speaking Openly About the Hard Stuff

With hindsight, I wish the professionals who diagnosed James had found a way to reach me—and treat me at the outset too.

But truthfully, the diagnosis was a relief.
It took away the weight of being labelled a “bad parent.”
And it slowly helped me rebuild my confidence to act as a capable parent.

A diagnosis doesn’t mean despair or unhappiness.
But still, I sometimes wonder if James’s childhood has been less joyful than I wanted for him. Maybe because of all the therapy. The systems. The watchful eyes.

I speak a lot about acceptance on my site. I allow myself to talk openly about the hard times, because I also celebrate our joy.
But sometimes, I still feel paralysed. I feel like an imposter, dependent on medication to keep my brain in balance. Because when depression pulls the metaphorical trigger, it erases all the good and leaves me spiralling.

And I know these things impact James.
They limit my ability to be the parent I want to be.

Step Into My Spectrum

The title of this post comes from one of my favourite T-shirts:
Step Into My Spectrum.

It’s my way of storytelling.
A need to express connection, even without conversation.

This is me, sharing part of my spectrum.
This is part of my advocacy for neurodiversity, for acceptance, for change.

If you’ve found yourself resonating with any part of this, then we’ve connected.
Like listening to a song, passively yet deeply, and finding yourself inside someone else’s story.

It reminds me that emotions are fundamental to being human.
That our experience of life exists on a spectrum, shaped by both nature and nurture.

My brain is also what makes me kind.
Empathetic.
Creative.
Joyful.

And that joy is contagious.
Most importantly, for James.

That’s the type of emotional contagion we need.

Innsaei

Back to today. I decided to trust myself. The Icelandic word for this is innsæi. James didn’t want to go to bed. Not many pre-teens do. I guessed that the day had simply been too full of demands for him. It was a bit difficult at first. We’ve been on a good run lately. But that’s life—ups and downs.

To cut a long story short, he reclaimed a tiny bit of agency.
And so did I.

Why? How? Beliefs, Belonging, Burnout and Beyond

Beliefs shape how we see the world.
Belonging shapes how we survive in it.
And if we can’t always answer how, maybe we go back to why.

Today I attended a business workshop where we discussed passion, burnout, and bouncing back. It helped me connect some of the things that have been quietly sitting in my brain for a while: beliefs, belonging, burnout – and what comes next.

But let me backtrack. A new stim appeared today. I found myself wondering—was James trying to show something he couldn’t yet say? These are the kinds of questions I ask myself often. I overthink. But sometimes, that overthinking helps me notice patterns, to piece together signals that might otherwise go unseen. That brings me back to beliefs and burnout. I burn out because the load is heavy—juggling life, learning, teaching, and creating tools. Even things I love can weigh me down when there’s no room to pause.

Lately, I’ve been experimenting with AI tools—training image generators to create meaningful visuals for my projects. I hoped it would make things easier. The results are inconsistent: brilliant one moment, bizarre the next. In a way, it reminds me of autism and the term spiky profile. Like that term, these tools can be great in one area and miss the mark in another.

It also reflects something deeper: expectations.

We often expect people—especially children with additional needs—to “perform” to certain standards. We do this without pausing to understand the gaps in comprehension, communication, or cultural background.

Take a sandwich, for example.

If you give someone butter, bread, chicken, and egg, what do they make? That depends on where and how they were raised. Do they toast it? Does the butter go inside or outside? What goes first—the chicken or the egg? How would an untrained Artificial Intelligence Bot make it? (Ha.)

The point is: the “rules” are cultural. Learned. Assumed. Alien to some! Yet sometimes, experimenting outside those rules leads to something beautifully unexpected.

If the response is supportive—“that’s a creative idea,” or “tell me more”—it becomes part of a learning process. But if the response is “not like that” or “that’s wrong,” it can feel alienating. This can erode confidence. Imagine the frustration. Imagine facing that type of reaction with almost everything, all the time.

The challenge deepens when rules change depending on where you are too. I navigate language and systems in a culture that isn’t my own. My lifestyle doesn’t always fit the norm. The strain of not quite fitting in is something I feel often. This is especially true in this international world. Many of us are raising third-culture or even fourth-culture children. The layers add up. Different languages, different social cues, different systems. It’s no wonder burnout is common. Burnout isn’t just tiredness. It’s a state of mental, emotional, and physical depletion. It’s the slow erosion that comes from constantly adjusting to expectations that weren’t designed with you in mind. I see it in my child. I feel it in myself. And I read about it in parent communities.

I do overthink. I do burn out. But to counteract the signals, I’ve built myself a first-aid kit for those moments. I exercise, listen to music, read, sing, or work. I remind myself it’s okay to not be okay. It’s not perfect, but it helps. Sometimes I still hide. Tomorrow might be the day I’m a little less afraid.

Maybe the answer is simple: We are human. We evolve. We are the species that invented aircraft and landed on the moon. We can make life better for those living with depression or anxiety, or those who feel like they don’t belong. We can build systems of communication that meet people where they are. We can create roles and spaces that value what people bring, not just measure what they lack. People have the power to make meaningful change.

I write to make sense of it all—for myself, and for James. To find a way move beyond his current way of communicating.
For every child and parent who feels like they’re getting the sandwich sign wrong, but keeps trying anyway.

And maybe, through it all, we can create a space for hope, answers, belonging, and a little magic. Maybe tomorrow that stim will have gone away. TBC 🙂

Reframing, rewiring and repair – On PDA , parenting, and finding peace

This post picks up from a recent Facebook post about singing, stimming, and choosing my battles (actually, not choosing to battle), touching on what it means to accept preferred behaviours—mine and my son’s—and the power of being present. A recent Uniquely Human Podcast on Neuro-affirming care and PDA brought these thoughts into sharper focus, so I wanted to reflect more here.

Looking at the title now, it could just as easily be a DIY home improvement post—and in many ways, it is. It’s about the rewiring we do as parents when we’re raising children who don’t fit into neat boxes. A personal repair.

From Pathology to Autonomy

Although I dislike the terminology of PDA (Pathological Demand Avoidance), the discussion struck a chord with me, particularly in the linguistic and diagnostic origins. Dr. Taylor Day pointed out that PDA is still a theorised profile, and that it’s the idea rather than the label that often best reflects lived experience.

Reframed as a Persistent or Pervasive Drive for Autonomy, the description feels closer to the truth. It shifts the focus from disorder to understanding. From behaviour to the influencing context. It invites the question—not “what’s wrong with this behaviour?” but “what is influencing this reaction?”

It’s Not Defiance—It’s Survival

Dr. Day spoke about PDA as a nervous system response: a cascading stress that affects the entire family. Not one trigger, but many, layered, compounding causes. A build-up in a hypersensitive system that’s on alert, that is fight or flight, freeze, fawn, overwhelm, and shutdown. All combinations of which can result in a state of chronic stress, often invisible, increasing over time, for both parents and children. She proposes it stems from insecurity. From my personal point of view, it has been panicking and not knowing what to do. And when that happens, demands and triggers of any kind can feel like too much.

The idea that some of our kids are “super sensors” feels closer to the truth. These are children (and adults) who are exquisitely attuned to tone, emotion, and stress, often without the capacity to regulate or respond in ways that look typical. And when they can’t comply, they get labelled as manipulative or defiant. It’s heartbreaking. They’re not trying to control the situation. They’re trying to survive it.

Reframing, for us

Dr. Day invited us to rethink how we make demands, and why. A child’s “big reaction” might be the result of years of subtle (and not so subtle) pressures, often unknowingly passed down by us.

In the same podcast, Dr. Barry Prizant asked: Who should really be teaching us? It is so easy for professionals to assume their way is best. Their language, their diagnosis, their model. But shared human experience is essential. As human beings, we all come with our own lens. Our own wiring. Lived experience is no less valid than academia. Lived experience doesn’t need a PhD to be valid. It’s valid because it has been lived, a space and truth beyond textbooks. It was refreshing to hear that acknowledged. And that’s where conversations like this matter. It is the bridge to better understanding, improved approaches, and pivotal and pragmatic steps forward in DIY therapy and empowered parenting.

Repairing the system, too

Looking back, so much of the early support we received was compliance-focused. Sit still. Tick the boxes three times consecutively to pass for normal. But at what cost? With hindsight, my neurodivergence is something I understand better now. This isn’t about blame. It’s about a review. About asking: Why did I think that was the right path? What parts of me were just trying to survive, too? Neurodivergence, Autism, and related challenges don’t discriminate. They touch every class, background, and IQ level. It’s not about capacity. It’s about support. There is no hierarchy. And there’s no universal “right way”—only ways that work (or don’t) for each individual. It is a phenomenon that we continue to learn how to approach, theorise, and try out.

Letting Go of “Normal”

The repair work I’m doing now is more about shifting the focus away from neurotypical benchmarks—function, assessment, normalcy—and asking: What actually helps him?

So many therapeutic models still frame success as compliance. We need to ask—what’s actually serving our child? Not what makes others comfortable. Not what ticks boxes or looks good on paper.

As my son enters the next phase of his life—physically the size of a man, on the edge of his teenage years—I think constantly about how the world can include him. He may need substantial support in daily life, but does that mean that life skills should be his priority? I’m more interested in developing his expression, communication, and preserving his youth. In nurturing self-advocacy. Of course, when safety isn’t the immediate concern.

He is where he is, in part, because of a larger inclusion problem. That’s why I keep doing this work: to keep changing how I see, how I respond, and how I show up for him.

Presence, Not Panic

One of the most powerful grounding tools Dr. Day shared was beautifully simple:

“Ask yourself, where are my feet right now?”

It’s so easy to live in the future as a parent, especially when your child’s future feels uncertain. What will happen when I’m gone? How will they cope? But anxiety steals the moment. And in the moment is where our children need us.

Instead of spiralling into all the unknowns, I try to focus on now. Enjoying our time together, and this sometimes means doing our own thing, but still checking in. Finding calm. This isn’t avoidance—it’s presence. And it’s powerful. It helps rewire my panic (neurological) pathways that have existed for a long time. It isn’t easy and it takes time, but the good news is that neuroplasticity can continue throughout our lives. Another leap of understanding in the field of neuroscience and neurobiology.

What really matters?

So instead of thinking in goals, guilt, outcomes, and “what should be,” I now try to think in contentment and connection. What helps my son feel safe? How can I support his autonomy? I turn to blogs, textbooks, and good news stories. And ultimately his behaviour tells me we are on the right track, for now.

Neurodivergent-affirming care starts with this:

Seeing the person in front of you as whole and worthy.
Understanding strengths and support needs, not just deficits.
Prioritising quality of life over performance.
Asking: Do they want to work on this? Not just: Do they need to?

This is respect and repair.

Not choosing battles—choosing peace

We hear a lot about “choosing our battles” in parenting. But maybe it’s time to step out of the battle altogether. If we see the stage our children are at, not as something to manage, but to meet with curiosity, then everything softens.

And it’s not just the child who needs care—we do too. Especially when neurodivergence runs in the family. Support needs to start with us, not end with us.

Uniquely Human Podcast

This podcast is full of insights—too many for me to cover here. I highly recommend listening to it. It’s one of those conversations that leaves you not with a checklist, but a shift in how you see things. And sometimes, that’s exactly what we need.

Cinderella and a little every day magic!

Today’s story was inspired by a post by a smart lady and a psychologist whose thoughts about Cinderella helped me consider choice.

I retold the Cinderella story for James. I told without a script, as part of the chatter and narrative we have together. I presumed competence. I do this as James does not communicate in a traditional way, and it may appear that he is not capable of understanding the story I told him. However, I enjoyed myself in the storytelling. The magic that happened was a simple celebration of connection and understanding. I talked about choice and the things we can choose to do. James surprised me with his independent choice to get himself ready for bed. He made me smile. I’m very proud of him.

Here is the story written up, AAC supports (visuals, key word Makaton signs, signed story and sensory enhancements) to follow 🙂

Cinderella 2025 A story for James

Once upon a time, there was a girl called Cinderella.

She was a quiet girl. She stayed at home and did not go to school.

Her mother had died when she was very young. Her father married another woman—a very mean one.

We know not all stepmothers are mean—but this one was unkind, bossy, and cruel.

Cinderella had lots of jobs to do every day. She felt tired and sad.

One day, the people in the town said,
“There will be a big party!”
“Everyone is invited!”

But Cinderella didn’t think she would go.
She sat down, feeling weary from all her chores.
A tear ran down her face.

Then—POP!—a voice said,
“Why are you crying, dear child?”

Cinderella looked up.
There in the air was a round, smiling, floating lady.
She had sparkly shoes and smelled like flowers.

“I don’t know,” said Cinderella.

“Is it because of the party?” the floating lady asked.
“Do you want to go?”

Cinderella thought,
No. I’m too tired. I have too much homework. I can’t leave the house.

“I’ll tell you what,” said the kind lady.
“Close your eyes and you’ll get a surprise.”

“No thank you,” said Cinderella.

She had been taught:
Don’t talk to strangers.
Don’t close your eyes just because someone says so.
That is good advice.

The lady smiled kindly.

“I understand,” she said.
“I’m your FGM— a Fairy Godmother. That means I’m a magic, nice helper.”

“Look over there!” she pointed.
Two mice were carrying bananas!

Then—POOF!

Suddenly, a beautiful dress appeared.
A shiny mask floated in the air.
And the mice now held sparkling yellow shoes.

“Put these on,” said the Fairy Godmother.
“Go to the party.
I will clean the house for you.
Just come back by midnight.
Will you take the chance?”

Cinderella looked at the dress. She thought of a night without cleaning.
“Yes,” she said, “I will go.”

Outside, there was a carriage waiting.
It looked a lot like a big pumpkin.

At the party, Cinderella had a great time.
She ate a lot of food.
She danced a little.

The mice were so happy at the cheese fountain!

Cinderella’s joy showed, even behind her mask.
She made the whole room shine.

Then—DING DONG—the clock struck twelve.

Cinderella had a choice.
Should she stay or go home?

She thought,
It’s late. It’s dark. It’s a long way to walk. And… my shoes might turn into bananas!

So she ran to the carriage.

Back at home, everything turned back.

The dress became an old sack.
The carriage became a pumpkin.
There was only one banana left.

Cinderella smiled and laughed.
“That was fun,” she said.

She got out her notebook, wrote down the story, and smiled again.

The Moral of the Story (with Key Ideas)

Some things are hard to change—but it’s good to try and stay hopeful.
Don’t talk to strangers, and don’t do something just because someone tells you to.
Think about your own safety, your choices, and what’s right for you.
You can feel happy inside, even if things around you are difficult.
Sometimes life brings a little magic—not like fairytales, but still real.
We all have the power to choose and to hope.
Stories help us learn, dream, and connect—so let’s tell happy stories.

Joyful Storytelling for All Learners

When working with children who have complex learning difficulties and disabilities, we may not always receive clear, verbal feedback. But that does not mean the child is not listening, learning, or engaging. This is where the principle of presuming competence becomes essential.

We tell stories with trust in our learners. Even if they don’t appear to be responding, we open the door to unexpected moments of connection. A smile, giggle, a subtle shift in posture or look. These are all signs of engagement and meaning-making.

Storytelling also provides a safe space to explore important life themes: choice, safety, resilience, and joy. When stories are offered with no pressure to perform, they create inclusive spaces. Every child can participate in their own way.

You might be surprised by what happens if you take a chance. A story shared with warmth and humour might unlock a reaction you’ve never seen before. A child who rarely interacts might suddenly light up at a certain phrase. Or a previously silent listener might begin to vocalise, gesture, or initiate.

These are not just moments of entertainment—they are moments of communication, connection, and belonging.

Why Storytelling Matters

Storytelling is a powerful tool for all learners, especially those with complex needs. When stories are shared with joy, laughter, and sensory richness, they create accessible entry points into learning. For some children, understanding might come through:

The sound of a repeated phrase, rhythm, or voice
The visual repetition of a symbol or gesture
The feel of a prop (a soft sack, a smooth mask, a textured pumpkin)
The emotional tone of shared laughter or surprise
The comfort of a routine storytelling structure

In this context, comprehension doesn’t always look like answering questions or retelling the story.

A thought on presuming competence

Presuming competence is not about ignoring a child’s needs—it’s about believing in their possibilities. When we tell stories with kindness, sensory depth, and a dash of magic, we send a message:

“You belong in this story. You are expected to understand. And we will meet you where you are.”

Presuming competence means approaching every child with the belief that they are capable of thinking and understanding. They are also capable of feeling and communicating in their own way. It shifts our focus from deficits to potential. Instead of asking “What can they do?”, we ask “What can we offer to support deeper engagement?”

Let’s tell stories full of joy, curiosity, and open-heartedness—and let’s be open to the beautiful, surprising responses they can invite.

Makaton Key Word List for Cinderella 2025

Here’s a suggested list of key words to sign during storytelling (you can adapt based on vocabulary level):

Makaton Key Word Table for Cinderella 2025

Spoken Word	Makaton Sign (Suggested)
Cinderella	Name sign or fingerspell
Girl	GIRL
Home / School	HOME / SCHOOL
Mother	MOTHER
Father	FATHER
Quiet	QUIET
Mean / Unkind	MEAN or BAD
Chores / Jobs	WORK
Tired	TIRED
Sad	SAD
Know / Help	THINK or LEARN / HELP
Party	PARTY
Dress	DRESS
Shoes	SHOES
Carriage	CAR
Pumpkin	PUMPKIN
Magic	MAGIC
Midnight	CLOCK + 12
Happy	HAPPY
Dance	DANCE
Cheese	CHEESE
Mouse	MOUSE
Banana	BANANA
Choice	CHOOSE
Write / Notebook	WRITE / BOOK
Story	STORY

From Inequality to Opportunity: Can Business Bridge the Gap?

Reflections from the Proseed Panel available on YouTube via Proseed Asia

Last night, I had the opportunity to watch the Proseed panel discussion titled “From Inequality to Opportunity: Can Business Bridge the Gap?” I was fortunate to access the video from home—something that isn’t always possible due to the constraints many families like mine face. But this time, I could join virtually—and it resonated.

Proseed is a community that believes business is about more than just profit. It values authenticity, purpose, and impact. Its founder, Mike, opened the conversation with a powerful question:

“What if we measured success not by profits, but by the lives we improve?”

This reframes the purpose of business around human impact. It calls on our collective conscience—especially when considering how businesses can create genuine opportunities for disabled people—not just as employees, but as innovators, leaders, and contributors to the economy and society.

Questions Raised—and My Reflections

1. What is something you wish people talked about more when it comes to inequality?

My answer: ACCESS.
Accessibility is often discussed in terms of physical spaces or digital tools. But for carers like me, it’s something even more fundamental: the ability to attend. To be present. To be included. A lack of flexible or remote options for education, employment, or social engagement often excludes both carers and our children.

Inclusive access requires us to rethink what participation really looks like. It means designing systems that recognise and adapt to the realities of families like mine. Being physically present isn’t always possible—but being actively engaged should be.

Creating agency and identity is central to my advocacy. For disabled people—especially those without speech—access to communication tools and education remains unevenly distributed. These tools are evolving, but many remain out of reach to those who need them most. To build real agency, we must provide access to information, connection, and opportunity.

2. What is the biggest challenge you see in fighting inequality?

My answer: AWARENESS.
Without awareness, there can be no meaningful action. Many forms of inequality remain hidden until someone brings them to light. Disability is the largest minority group in the world, yet it continues to be subsidiary.

This must change. Inclusion isn’t a tick-box exercise—it’s the foundation of a society or business that aims to be fair and functional.

3. What are you doing or planning that makes a real difference?

My answer: ADVOCACY.
By sharing stories—my own, my family’s, and those of others—I hope to raise awareness and challenge assumptions. Real change often starts with a single, honest conversation. When amplified, it has the power to reach many.

Key Messages from the Panel—and What They Meant to Me

Barbara: The Complexity of Inequality

Barbara reminded us that inequality is layered, both systemic and structural. She quoted Dr Martin Luther King Jr.:

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

From a disability perspective, this rings particularly true. Neurodiversity is complex and intersectional. One can be wealthy and disabled, or poor and disabled. However, when your disability also denies you access to essentials like food, education, or employment, injustice is compounded.

Charles: Hidden Inequalities

Charles spoke about migrant workers and the unseen costs of employment. His story about “gold loans” was striking. Families sell their belongings to get a job and then need to work for years to pay back the loan. In some cases, it takes 10 years. As someone from a Southeast Asian immigrant background, I relate. I now employ migrant workers, and I’ve come to understand the sacrifices behind those decisions with greater empathy.

Nat: Sustainable Community Solutions

Nat stressed the importance of partnership over charity. Community organisations and social enterprises are often underfunded and lack long-term structures. Her focus on blended finance resonated with me. She also emphasised non-financial support. I found this relevant as I work towards sustainable models like Hope Haven—a community hub focused on connection and collaboration.

Disability, Opportunity, and Business

This discussion reaffirmed my belief: business can and must be a force for good—especially for disabled people. Inclusion is not just about visible disability. It’s about designing policies, cultures, and environments that welcome all forms of human difference, including neurodivergence and communication challenges.

Dignity and Business Responsibility

Dignity in a business context means providing meaningful employment and opportunity to disabled individuals, regardless of how their disability presents. Businesses have the power to transform lives by creating inclusive workplaces and fulfilling their ESG (Environmental, Social, and Governance) and CSR (Corporate Social Responsibility) commitments with real intent.

A few tools I’m developing:

Signed Social Story Series: Using Makaton, images, and video to support communication for individuals with speech difficulties and second-language English speakers.
Empower Eyes: A low-cost, everyday tool to assess visual impairment—currently being refined and prepared for tracking and efficacy.
Hope Haven: A model community centre that offers inclusive training opportunities. In collaboration with HappyLyfe, we’re working to create sustainable, ethical, vocational employment training through low-waste packaging.

Andrew: Profit With Purpose

Andrew offered a critical perspective:

“We are not equal and never will be. Each of us is unique.”

He reminded us that while equality isn’t about sameness, it’s about fair access and opportunity. He spoke of the power of ethical capitalism—how business and profit, when pursued with conscience, can reduce inequality in ways charity alone cannot.

This strongly aligns with my own mission: building tools and inclusive products that empower people to help themselves—thereby reducing dependency and increasing dignity.

Father Edgar: Making Inequality Personal

One statement from Father Edgar continues to echo for me:

“Make inequality a personal problem.”

That means recognising injustice not as someone else’s issue—but one that belongs to all of us. In Thailand, where I’ve lived for nearly a decade, you can visibly see wealth and poverty side by side. I support grassroots organisations like the Thai Child Development Foundation, Angel Arms, and the Bangkok Community Foundation. I shop local, reuse, recycle, and talk openly about disability—because small, consistent acts matter.

Education, Mindset, and Neurodivergence

Audience members rightly pointed out that education is key. Barriers like uniforms, transport costs, and school fees create serious inequality. But beyond logistics, mindset is perhaps the most powerful barrier of all.

As someone who is neurodivergent, I’ve found empowerment through digital communication. Platforms like social media and spaces like Proseed allow me to express myself in ways that feel authentic. They are tools of visibility and agency.

A Moment of Change

We are living through one of the most transformative periods of our lifetime. From my personal experience, I’ve seen a shift in public attitudes towards disability—towards positive language, greater representation, and a rights-based model.

Yet these advances are not universal. In lower-income settings, the digital divide, structural barriers, and underfunded services still keep disabled people marginalised. As progress moves forward, we must ensure it reaches not only the privileged but also the margins—bridging the gaps in access, opportunity, and dignity.

In Closing

This post is both a reflection and a call to action. Opportunity and inequality can be personal—but this is also optional. If we keep aggregating awareness, advocating, amplifying, and building inclusive tools and communities, we can bridge the gap.

What is AAC?

In a nutshell, AAC, or Augmentative and Alternative Communication, refers to methods used by individuals who struggle with speaking or writing to express their thoughts, needs, and ideas. AAC doesn’t just facilitate communication; it promotes a different style of learning—one that places empathy at the forefront.

No-Tech, Low-Tech, High-Tech approaches

Low-tech AAC includes simple tools like pictures, visuals, or printed symbols. For example, a person might use a picture board with images of everyday items to communicate needs or wants. It can also include using a computer or camera to create or show visuals to aid communication. Low-tech solutions are accessible and easy to implement in various settings, offering an effective way to support communication without needing advanced technology.

No-tech AAC could be using everyday objects as symbols or objects of reference and body language. For instance, an individual might use the wrapper of a favourite food to signal a desire for that item. Additionally, facial expressions, basic gestures and Makaton (simplified, non grammatical sign language) are all important no-tech communication tools. These methods make use of what we already have at hand to communicate effectively.

High-tech AAC involves more advanced tools like speech-generating devices, applications, vocal output devices, switches or eye-gaze technology. These tools provide individuals with more complex and dynamic ways to communicate, offering them the ability to produce speech, text, or even control their environment. Vocal output devices can be particularly useful for individuals with severe communication impairments, giving them a greater degree of control over their interactions and choices. Equally, sophisticated speech-generating applications support language learning by reinforcing structure, syntax, and semantic coding — helping children build meaningful, grammatically rich communication. Speech-generating applications (SGDs) can support language development by organising vocabulary into categories and grammatical structures, tools to help reinforce sentence building. This structured approach allows children to form more meaningful, age-appropriate communication over time, even when spoken language is limited.

Switches other enabling devices
For individuals with very impaired communication abilities, switches can offer opportunities to make choices and effect change in their lives. Switches are simple, accessible devices that allow users to make a selection or communicate by pressing a button. These can be connected to various devices, enabling a person to activate communication aids or control their environment, such as turning on a light or selecting a recorded message which enables a person to communicate basic needs or responses, such as saying “I want a drink” or “I need help,” with just one press of a button. These tools provide an invaluable opportunity for individuals who cannot use more complex speech-generating devices to still exercise choice and have a say in their daily lives.

Nowadays, there are inexpensive toys that allow you to record simple messages so this idea can be adapted to suit the individual.

In a nutshell, AAC is all about providing alternative ways for people with speech or language challenges to communicate effectively with others.

How can AAC aid learning for those with minor learning challenges?

AAC can play an important role in supporting individuals with minor learning challenges by helping them communicate and engage more effectively in their learning environments. Here are some of the ways it aids learning:

Improved Clarity and Expression: Whether using pictures or speech-generating devices, AAC helps individuals express their thoughts clearly, reducing frustration and promoting greater participation in classroom activities and discussions.
Support for Reading and Writing: For individuals with challenges such as dyslexia, AAC can assist with reading and writing by offering visual cues, word prediction, and text-to-speech options. These tools make it easier for students to access and express information.
Boosting Confidence: Many learners with communication difficulties may feel isolated or unsure of themselves in class. AAC methods, from picture boards to more advanced devices, offer them ways to engage and build confidence in their learning journey.
Reinforcing Concepts: Visual aids and symbols used in AAC can reinforce learning concepts, helping learners better understand and retain information. These supports can help break down complex ideas and make them more accessible.
Personalised Learning: AAC can be tailored to suit each individual’s unique needs. Whether using low-tech tools like pictures or high-tech speech-generating devices, AAC makes learning more accessible and ensures that students can engage in ways that suit their abilities.

Why would speaking people use it?

Speaking people might use AAC for several reasons, even if they can talk. Here are some common scenarios:

Temporary Speech Loss: For individuals recovering from surgery, illness, or injury (e.g., after vocal cord surgery), AAC can help them communicate while their speech returns.
Speech or Language Disorders: Some people have speech disorders like stuttering or aphasia (a condition that affects speech after brain injury), where AAC can serve as a backup or enhance communication.
Accessibility: In noisy environments or situations where speaking is difficult (e.g., in a loud crowd or during meetings), AAC devices can offer a clearer way to communicate.
Enhancing Communication: For some, using AAC can support more efficient communication, especially if they have specific needs or prefer to use visuals or text.
Multilingual Communication: AAC tools may be used to bridge language barriers between people who speak different languages.

In these cases, AAC can act as a useful tool to improve communication, clarity, and accessibility, even for people who are able to speak.

SEN Policies in the UK, US, and Thailand

The journey of Special Educational Needs (SEN) has evolved significantly in recent decades, shaped by social change, shifting policies, and an increasing recognition of the importance of inclusion. This post looks at how the UK, Thailand, and the U.S. approach SEN, highlighting key developments, current challenges, and the role of advocacy in driving change.

A Brief History of SEN in the UK

Early History: Pre-1900s to 1940s

Historically, children with disabilities in the UK were excluded from education, often placed in institutions with minimal educational opportunities.

Pre-1900s: Limited support for children with SEN, who were largely considered “uneducable.”
1900s to 1940s: Special schools emerged, but children with disabilities were still segregated from mainstream education.

Shifting Towards Inclusion: 1970s to 1990s

The 1970s marked a turning point for inclusive education.

Education (Handicapped Children) Act 1970: This Act began allowing for more integration of children with disabilities into mainstream schools.
Disability Discrimination Act 1995: This Act made it illegal to discriminate against disabled individuals in various areas, including education.

The 2000s and Beyond: Personalised Support and EHC Plans

The introduction of Education, Health, and Care (EHC) Plans in 2014 marked a more personalised approach to SEN, ensuring tailored support for each child.

Education, Health, and Care (EHC) Plans: These plans offer coordinated support across education, health, and social care, emphasising the need for inclusion and individualised resources.
Neurodiversity Movement: Growing recognition of autism and ADHD has changed the way SEN is perceived.

Current Challenges in the UK

Despite advancements, challenges persist:

Funding Shortages: In 2020, nearly 30% of local authorities in England reported insufficient funding for SEN services, impacting support for children with complex needs.
Teacher Training: A 2019 study found that 44% of teachers feel unprepared to support students with SEN effectively.

SEN Approaches in Thailand

Developing Inclusive Education: 1990s to Present

Thailand’s journey towards inclusive education has been slower but steady.

Special Education Act 1999: Marked the beginning of Thailand’s efforts to create a more inclusive education system.
Barriers to Implementation: Despite these policies, children with disabilities often still attend separate schools due to resource constraints, and training for teachers is limited.

Current Challenges in Thailand

Resource Limitations: A lack of trained staff and resources hinders the implementation of inclusive education.
Cultural Attitudes: Disabilities are often viewed through a charity lens, and stigma remains a challenge in broader societal acceptance.

SEN Approaches in the United States

Legislative Milestones: IDEA and ADA

The U.S. has had robust legislation supporting children with SEN since the 1970s.

IDEA (Individuals with Disabilities Education Act, 1975): Guarantees free appropriate public education (FAPE) for students with disabilities.
ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act, 1990): Prohibits discrimination against individuals with disabilities in all public spaces, including education.

Current Challenges in the U.S.

Underfunding: Despite strong laws, special education in the U.S. is often underfunded. A 2020 study found that 60% of public schools report that they lack sufficient funding for special education services.
Disparities Between States: There are significant variations in how states implement IDEA, with some states offering better resources and services than others.

Comparing SEN Approaches: Key Differences and Similarities

Legal Frameworks

Comparing SEN Approaches: Key Differences and Similarities
Legal Frameworks
UK: The Children and Families Act 2014 introduced EHC Plans, which provide personalised support.
Thailand: The Special Education Act 1999 aimed to promote inclusive education but faces challenges with implementation.
U.S.: IDEA and ADA ensure access to education, but implementation varies across states due to funding and resource disparities.

Inclusion and Integration

UK: Strong focus on integrating children into mainstream schools, though underfunding is a significant hurdle.
Thailand: Inclusion is progressing but remains inconsistent, with many children still in segregated schools.
U.S.: Legal requirements ensure inclusion in mainstream schools, but funding issues and state-level disparities affect the quality of support.

Cultural Attitudes

UK: Over time, attitudes have shifted from exclusion to a focus on inclusion and empowerment.
Thailand: Disability is still often viewed through a charity lens, but attitudes are slowly changing.
U.S.: A rights-based approach, largely driven by advocacy groups, has shaped attitudes towards disability.

Current Challenges

UK: Funding shortages, teacher training, and resources remain barriers.
Thailand: Limited resources, teacher training, and societal stigma hinder full inclusion.
U.S.: Underfunding and disparities in implementation across states are ongoing issues.

The Future of SEN: Moving Towards Greater Inclusion

As we look to the future, the emphasis on inclusive education, personalised support, and neurodiversity will continue to grow. However, challenges such as underfunding, resource allocation, and staff training must be addressed.

UK: There is an ongoing need for better funding and training to fully implement the vision of inclusive education.
Thailand: Further investment in teacher training and support services is critical for inclusive education to succeed.
U.S.: Ensuring consistent implementation of IDEA across states and increasing funding will be key to meeting the needs of all students with SEN.

Comparison of Disabled Population and Education Access

Population of Disabled People

UK: Around 15% of the population has a disability (Office for National Statistics, 2019).
Thailand: Thailand: Approximately 4.8% of the entire population has a disability (National Statistical Office of Thailand, 2019).
U.S.: Over 12% of the population has a disability (CDC, 2020).

Percentage of Disabled Children in Education

UK: Around 90% of disabled children are educated in mainstream schools, but challenges remain in ensuring appropriate support. (Department for Education, 2020)
Thailand: About 40% of disabled children attend special schools, with limited access to inclusive education due to resource constraints. (UNICEF, 2021)
U.S.: 95% of children with disabilities are educated in public schools under IDEA, but disparities in the quality of support persist. (U.S. Department of Education, 2020)

The Future of SEN: Moving Towards Greater Inclusion

UK: Increased funding and teacher training are needed to realise the full potential of inclusive education.
Thailand: More investment in teacher training and resources is crucial for progress.
U.S.: Ensuring consistent implementation of IDEA across states and increasing funding will be key.

Advocacy

Advocacy groups, such as the National Autistic Society in the UK, Thailand’s National Council on Disability, and the American Association of People with Disabilities, continue to play an essential role in pushing for these changes. For families, educators, and policymakers alike, the ongoing dialogue and action around SEN will shape the future of education for children with disabilities.