The Part of This Work I Hate

I suspect this may be an unpopular opinion for some.

I love what I do. I do not do it to become rich. I do not do it to be popular. I do not do it for recognition or to be seen as some kind of hero.

I do it because I know what it feels like to grow up believing that who you are is somehow wrong.

As a 39-year-old neurodivergent adult, I have spent much of my life trying to fit into a world that repeatedly told me I was the problem. The message was often subtle, sometimes explicit, but it was always there: change yourself, behave differently, try harder, fit in.

The result was not growth. It was trauma.

Like many others, I entered adulthood carrying years of anxiety, self-doubt, burnout, and a deep-rooted feeling that being myself was somehow unacceptable. It has taken years to unpick that damage, and I still do not think I am completely free from it.

That is why I do this work.

I want future generations of neurodivergent children and young people to have a different experience. I want them to know that they do not need fixing. I want them to grow up understanding that their differences have value and that, when they are genuinely accepted for who they are, they can thrive.

Because when children are supported to be themselves, they develop confidence, a strong sense of belief in themselves, and a positive sense of identity. They enter adulthood equipped to succeed on their own terms rather than spending years recovering from the consequences of masking, chronic stress, and feeling like they never quite belonged.

But that brings me to the part of this work that I hate.

The reality is that the SEND world can be incredibly toxic.

Too often, energy is spent attacking each other rather than addressing the real issues. We hear constant criticism aimed at different professions. Advocates are accused of causing problems because the profession is largely unregulated. Solicitors are criticised for making money from the system. Independent professionals are blamed for contributing to increased demand. Teachers, educational psychologists, local authorities, schools, and healthcare professionals all seem to take their turn in the firing line.

The narrative is always the same: somebody else is to blame.

The truth is much simpler.

Every profession has good people and bad people.

There are excellent solicitors and poor solicitors. Outstanding advocates and ineffective advocates. Compassionate doctors and professionals who get things wrong. Regulation, professional registration, and complaints procedures do not magically eliminate poor practice. I know this because I have experienced it myself. I have made complaints about professionals where there was a genuine lack of understanding, and yet nothing meaningful changed.

No profession is immune from mistakes, bias, or poor practice.

What concerns me is that we have become so busy arguing amongst ourselves that we risk losing sight of where the real accountability should lie.

When the conversation becomes focused on whether advocates are the problem, or solicitors are the problem, or independent professionals are the problem, attention is drawn away from the wider systemic failures that families experience every day.

Families are not struggling because they had too much advocacy.

They are not going to tribunal because they enjoy conflict.

Most parents would give anything not to have to become experts in legislation, gather endless evidence, fight through complaints procedures, and spend years advocating for support their child should have received without a battle.

Yet instead of asking why families are being forced into these situations, we often find ourselves blaming the people trying to help them navigate the system.

Imagine what could happen if all of that energy was redirected.

Imagine if parents, advocates, solicitors, teachers, therapists, educational psychologists, and healthcare professionals stood together and focused on improving outcomes for children and young people.

Imagine if we spent less time questioning each other's motives and more time challenging the barriers that prevent children from getting the support they need.

We do not have to agree on everything. Different perspectives are healthy. Constructive challenge is important.

But division only serves those who benefit from people looking in different directions.

At the heart of this, surely we all want the same thing: a system that recognises, respects, and supports children and young people so they can reach adulthood with confidence, self-worth, and hope for the future.

I genuinely believe we would achieve far more if we stopped fighting each other and started working together.

What I struggle to understand is this:

If we all care about improving outcomes for children and young people, why wouldn't we?