The Child Wasn't the Only One Waiting for Answers

Sometimes a child's journey through the SEND system quietly becomes a parent's journey too.

By Dee Marshall

I often think we focus so much on the child that we forget to look at the person sitting beside them.

The parent.

Over the years I've worked alongside hundreds of families, and while every child is different, there are moments that seem to repeat themselves.

One of those moments happened in a parents' group that I'll never forget.

A mother had been listening quietly while everyone else spoke about school meetings, appointments, waiting lists and trying to get professionals to understand what life was really like at home.

She hadn't said much.

Then she started crying.

Naturally, everyone thought something was wrong.

When she finally spoke, she smiled through the tears and said, "I honestly thought I was the only one."

She wasn't crying because she'd lost hope.

She was crying because she'd found it.

For the first time, she realised she wasn't failing.

She wasn't weak.

She wasn't the only parent going home wondering if she was getting any of this right.

Sometimes that's all people need.

Not another strategy.

Not another leaflet.

Just the relief of discovering that someone else understands.

I've seen that more times than I can count.

Another conversation has stayed with me too.

A dad once told me that while his son was going through assessment, he kept recognising little pieces of himself.

Things he'd never questioned.

Things he'd simply accepted as part of who he was.

One day he looked at me and said, "I think it's my turn now."

His son's journey had quietly become his own.

I wonder how often that happens.

Not because people are looking for a diagnosis.

But because understanding one family member sometimes shines a light on another.

Then there's another pattern I've noticed.

A mother I know is an exceptional professional.

She's intelligent, compassionate and an amazing mum.

Yet almost every conversation starts with an apology.

"Sorry... it's my ADHD."

It always makes me stop and think.

Why does someone so capable feel the need to apologise before she's even spoken?

The more we talked, the clearer it became.

She wasn't apologising because of ADHD.

She was apologising because she'd spent years being made to feel that the way her brain worked was inconvenient to other people.

That made me realise something I haven't stopped thinking about since.

Sometimes people aren't carrying the weight of their neurodivergence. They're carrying years of other people's responses to it.

They're not always trying to recover from who they are.

Sometimes they're trying to recover from how they've been treated.

And those are very different things.

That's why I believe supporting parents is never just about supporting parents.

It's about families.

It's about helping people feel understood.

It's about creating spaces where someone can finally say, "Me too," and realise they no longer have to carry everything on their own.

Because sometimes the biggest change doesn't happen when somebody receives an answer.

Sometimes it happens when they realise they're not the only one asking the question.

Observations by Dee Marshall

Founder of I Am Well | Integrative Wellbeing Practitioner

Nearly twenty years of listening, noticing and helping people understand themselves with greater compassion.