parenting – I am James' mum

Small Breakthroughs and Current Joys

A Reflection for AAC Awareness Month

Sometimes revisiting old things brings new understanding. Today, I reinstalled the Speech Blubs app on James’ iPad. He used to push it away. But this time, he stayed. He engaged, we laughed, we enjoyed it — and I felt something had significantly shifted, not in the app, but in us.

It may be small, but I am overjoyed. It was quiet proof that progress can return with exploration, persistence, and hope — the very things that truly help children with non-speaking autism.

AAC and Assistive Technology

AAC (Alternative and Augmentative Communication) is a set of tools and techniques for understanding how to support learners with speech, language, and communication differences. It includes valuing all forms of communication. Assistive Technology is one example of AAC innovation and how it can support teaching and learning.

Speech Blubs is an application designed to support home-based speech therapy using technology, and in this way, it serves as a learning tool to augment communication.

Assistive Technology applications that support speech generation, spelling and motor planning difficulties can expedite learning, offering pathways that might otherwise take a lifetime to build. In fact, Jane Korsten (2008) calculated that if an AAC user only learns during therapy, it could take 84 years to reach the same language exposure a typically developing toddler experiences naturally.

The significance of this is clear: exposure and immersion are vital. Every shared word, every modelled symbol, every small gesture counts.

If only one person models AAC, in a small room, for a few minutes a week, progress will always be slow. But if everyone — parents, teachers, peers, and communities — embraces it, the immersion that follows can transform understanding. That’s what inclusion really looks like.

Technology helps me find my own voice, too. Writing is my version of AAC — a way to make sense of what I can’t always say aloud. In this sometimes lonely space, the tapping of words becomes a kind of therapy — a reminder that connection happens through expression, not just speech.

Inclusion

We all come from different spaces of experience and education, yet the truth that shines through is that autism doesn’t discriminate — not by age, origin, ethnicity, or social status. What does create difference is access: access to understanding, to support, to opportunity.

Statistics show clear patterns — children from underprivileged or low-income families are often the ones most at risk of being left behind. Not because they lack potential, but because privilege opens doors that others must fight to find.

I’ve just finished my postgraduate certificate in Inclusion, and I’m still unravelling everything I’ve learned. The research gave me hope — but it also deepened my sadness. I see how much is lost when understanding and support come too late, or sometimes not at all.

“I didn’t choose to become a student of Special Needs; it doesn’t come easily. But we have to learn. It’s part of the job — and like any job, learning is the only way to do it well.”

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.

The Benefits of Makaton Signing, Engagement, and Inclusion

Makaton sign language uses the body to aid communication. It’s similar to an extension of the natural gestural body language we use when we travel – trying to make ourselves understood. It is known in Special Educational Needs and Disabilities (SEND) as an AAC tool.

The Benefits of Makaton: Engagement, Inclusion & Communication for All

Makaton is more than just a sign language system—it’s a powerful tool for connection. Makaton blends signs, symbols, speech, and body language to support and enrich communication for everyone, not just those with speech challenges.

Keeps Focus and Enhances Engagement

Makaton signing helps children maintain focus by adding a visual and physical element to communication. For example, Sarah, a young girl with ADHD, found it difficult to sit still and concentrate during lessons. By incorporating Makaton signs into classroom instructions, Sarah was able to focus better. She could follow along because the signs added meaning. They acted as a physical memory anchor (muscle memory). Sarah could associate this with the verbal instructions, making them easier to remember.

Increased brain activity promoting cognitive growth

Makaton offers benefits to all children, not just those with specific communication challenges. Studies have shown that children who use sign language, including Makaton, exhibit increased brain activity. These activities occur in areas related to language development, promoting cognitive growth. Learning signs connects words with physical actions, enhancing learning through multisensory experiences and offering a deeper understanding of the world.

Develops hand-eye coordination and fine motor skills

Makaton encourages the development of motor skills, which contribute to the creation of new neural pathways in the brain. This leads to improvements in problem-solving, language comprehension, and memory, benefiting children across various developmental stages

Learning fine motor skills, which are essential for cognitive development. Fine motor activities, such as hand-eye coordination and finger movements, play a crucial role in neural development. They support children’s ability to learn. They help them solve problems and communicate effectively.

Kinesthetic Learning beyond Key stage 2

Makaton enhances kinesthetic learning by linking physical actions with words. This makes the learning process more interactive and accessible for all children. Beyond Key Stage 2, this can greatly influence children’s ability to learn new concepts. The impact is especially evident when they can connect movement and gesture with content. Kinesthetic learning, which involves physical movement, helps reinforce memory and understanding by engaging multiple senses.

For example, a child learning about “weather” could sign different types of weather (e.g., “sun,” “rain,” “cloud”) while physically mimicking actions, such as moving hands to imitate the rain or spreading arms to show the sun. This connection between action and word supports content learning. It strengthens the child’s ability to recall and understand the concept.

Introduces diversity into communication

Makaton introduces diversity into communication, making learning more accessible to all children and creating a joyful, inclusive environment. Whether it’s the joy of signing a song or the excitement of learning a new word, Makaton enriches children’s lives in meaningful ways.

Our way

When I use Makaton in public with others, becomes an emotional bridge. It allows others to acknowledge James’ communicative capacity. It gives them a model they may use if they wish to acknowledge James’ presence. They can also use it if they wish to communicate differently.

Supports Mental Health and Wellbeing

For children like James, who struggle to express their emotions verbally, it can be beneficial. It also supports verbal children to express their feelings and needs. The pressure of producing verbal speech and expression is removed, reducing anxiety and frustration.

I began modeling and practising Makaton signs with James in a natural way, which is known as non-direct teaching. As a result, he became more comfortable trying to sign himself. As I learned more, I signed more. It doesn’t matter if his signs are not correct. It is difficult for him. The feedback is his attention, fueled by engagement, confidence, and well-being.

The emotional support of adult modelling encourages a safer environment where children can explore communication openly and without correction.

Reduce isolation

One of the most profound benefits of Makaton is its ability to break down communication barriers. Without accessible communication methods, children can easily feel isolated and disconnected from their peers. Makaton empowers children by offering a means of interaction, even at a basic level. A simple gesture, like a wave or a sign for “hello,” can reduce feelings of loneliness and exclusion.

Better Outcomes

A study by the National Institute of Health found that inclusive communication strategies in schools led to better academic outcomes. These strategies also fostered a greater sense of belonging among students with special needs.

Builds Empathy and Understanding

Makaton signing is not just for children with communication challenges. It can also benefit all children. It fosters empathy and a deeper understanding of communication differences. When children engage with different methods of communication, they become more aware of others’ needs. They also develop greater respect for diversity. This cultivates an environment where empathy and inclusion thrive, preparing children for a diverse world beyond the classroom

Conclusion

We can create environments where all children have the opportunity to engage. They will learn and thrive by incorporating Makaton into everyday routines. The benefits of Makaton extend far beyond communication, promoting a world that celebrates diversity and inclusivity.

In environments where inclusive communication methods like Makaton aren’t used, children may feel disconnected from their peers. However, teaching Makaton ensures that all children, regardless of their communication abilities, can participate in learning and social activities. This inclusive approach fosters a sense of value and support, leading to improved self-esteem and social skills.

Makaton is one example of a low technology Augmentative and Alternative Communication method (AAC).

As simple as ABC? Addressing Barriers Collectively

As simple as ABC? (addressing barriers collectively…)

Advocating for Our Children: Building Partnerships for Change

19.10.2024

I tuned into the SENDCast, a podcast that promotes understanding of current knowledge in the global SEND (Special Educational Needs and Disabilities) landscape and community. This week’s topic focused on the vital theme of Parent and Professional Partnerships.

The conversation highlighted a universal struggle: parents advocating for their children’s needs often feel unheard. This episode featured Denise B. Grant, CEO of Panda’s Tree, a pioneering organisation supporting the Black Down syndrome community. Yet, this challenge transcends individual communities and extends to all neurodiverse individuals, encompassing various cultural, societal, and generational differences.

Denise illustrated her point with an analogy about a surgeon who insists on operating without anaesthetic. This scenario reflects a clash of perspective. Professionals may be resolute in their practices, often disregarding parents’ pleas to hear their concerns. This dynamic resonates with my own experiences; when I advocated for practices I had seen work across organisations, nothing changed. The team was not joined up, which could be due to issues like experience, knowledge, and respect for the parent voice.

When James was six years old, our therapeutic support was abruptly terminated, largely due to my personality. The team did not appreciate my input, despite the vast amounts of money and time I had invested in this private organisation. Suddenly, James was unable to go to school, (for the two hours a day I begged for, and permitted only with private and paid support). Home support ended at the same time. I found myself back at square one, navigating the challenges of caregiving alone. Rest was impossible. Subsequently, James developed Tourette Syndrome, and the days and nights became indistinguishable. The beginning of another chapter another uphill struggle. I began taking antidepressants, which helped, but the isolation remained a constant shadow in our lives. I also gained 10 kilos as a side effect.

In respect of Person and Professional partnerships, my experience with different medications and their effects on my mind and body has been long and complicated. I have tried almost all classes of antidepressants, suffering from brain fog and impaired thinking and alertness. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find relief from any pill, and I simply could not continue taking a drug that affected my ability to care for him. Fortunately, my doctor supported me. She listened and helped me navigate my medications, allowing me the freedom to express my concerns. Unfortunately, this is not always the case, as I’ve learned from other parents and individuals in various online communities. The impact of medications can be devastating to mental state and varies from person to person, so concerns should not be disregarded.

Thus the necessity for professionals to listen to families and exhibit genuine empathy cannot be overstated. This reminds me of the German term “Verstehen,” derived from Max Weber’s philosophy, which means stepping into another person’s shoes and seeing the world from their perspective. This compassionate approach is crucial for fostering understanding and collaboration.

This desolation is mentioned by Denise, who mentions alarming statistics surrounding mental health in SEN families, including rising suicide rates.

This is why I advocate for using social media to create supportive spaces where we can share our voices and experiences. In numerous online community groups, I joined parents and individuals sharing feelings of joy, sorrow and hope. There were frank voices seeking connection and understanding. I appreciated the anonymity; some experiences were too raw to share with friends. These connections became a lifeline—simple affirmations of “I understand” or “me too” provided a sense of solidarity.

The SENDCast also sheds light on the pressures professionals face, often constrained by institutional limitations related to time and legality. As a result, they may resort to shortcuts in primary treatments for neurodiverse children, losing sight of the bigger picture and, sadly, the child at the centre of it all. One shortcut that I believe happens too frequently is medicating as a first-line response to behavioural differences. Medication should not be the primary treatment option; professionals must consider holistic support and work together instill values such as customised healthcare, inclusive education, community engagement, and sustainable support.

Disparities in training and teaching quality raise significant concerns, as unmet needs can persist into adulthood and sometimes lead to tragic outcomes. Cultural stigma and systemic inequalities further exacerbate these challenges, particularly for BAME and underprivileged groups.

Drawing from a lecture by Dr. Pritvi Patel at the University of Birmingham, I recognise the importance of the relationship between cultural backgrounds and support systems. This relationship is crucial in shaping effective advocacy. This is why I advocate for mirroring values of compassion and collaboration across cultures within the neurodiverse community.

The pillars of inclusion stress the importance of building knowledge together for a more empathetic society—one where no child is left behind. In a world grappling with a health crisis and increasing dissatisfaction, this commitment is more vital than ever.

Together, we can create resilient futures for all individuals and families, ensuring access to the resources needed to thrive. Every child matters. True inclusion demands a collective effort to listen, understand, and act on the diverse needs of our communities. We can promote pathways to support and resilience, striving for a healthier, more inclusive future.

Peace and Love,
Jamie

#diaryofasenmama #hopehaven #advocatesapparel #parentprofessionalpartnerships #pledgepactpositivity #advocateaggregateaffirmamplify

Summary of Different Classes of Antidepressant Medicine:

Antidepressants generally fall into several classes, including selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs), which increase serotonin levels in the brain to improve mood, and tricyclic antidepressants (TCAs), which affect various neurotransmitters but often have more side effects. Other classes include serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitors (SNRIs), which target both serotonin and norepinephrine, and atypical antidepressants, which can work in unique ways and are often used when other treatments are ineffective.

The Happiness Index starkly contrasts the top and bottom-performing countries, particularly concerning students, schools, parents, and communities. Countries that excel often have robust support systems, engaged teachers, and involved parents, fostering nurturing environments.

How happy do you feel?