New Beginnings

 The thing about new beginnings is that you don’t always know you’re at one until you’ve already begun. You don’t recognize the exact moment the ground shifts, only that one day you find yourself standing somewhere different, looking back at where you were.

I could tell you about the school meeting where I sat, my hands clenched in my lap, willing myself not to cry. About the frustration of teachers who couldn’t remember something as simple as not asking Angel direct questions, about broken promises, unanswered emails, the trying to remain polite, Sorry I know how busy you are….’, when I’m tearing my hair out because Angel is melting down. About the decision to pull Angel from school two days a week to keep her from drowning, and how that made her life manageable again. I could tell you about applying for an EHCP (educational healthcare plan), despite the school’s insistence that we didn’t stand a chance, and how exhausting it was to get the required documents from the school, politely, relentlessly, in time for the deadline.

I could tell you about the Educational Psychologist’s report—the stark reality of numbers: three years behind in math, four in reading, five in spelling. How it wasn’t really a surprise but equally devastating.

I could tell you about mediation, after being turned down for the EHCP, about handing my husband the opening statement because I knew I wouldn’t make it through without breaking down. About how even hearing him read it made me cry. About the woman from the local authority who listened to our story and cried, too. Who told us that Angel, as a previously looked-after child, should have been assessed within six weeks of starting at the school, not left to flounder for months. Who called the school’s lack of support a “catastrophic failure” and overturned the decision and agreed to access for an EHCP, in a single breath. How we all cried again.

I could tell you how, the very next night, the SENCO called, the urgency in her voice unmistakable. How suddenly, magically, there was a TA available for one to ones for Angel if she could drop German, a recommendation they’d previously dismissed. How I let myself believe, just for a moment, that things were going to change.

But I could also tell you about the meeting a week later, where the SENCO—now stiff, distant—told me that while recommendations were all well and good, it was ultimately up to the school to decide what they would implement. And, of course, once the EHCP was approved, it would be up to them to determine whether they could meet Angel’s needs at all. A day later, the Head of Learning repeated the same words almost verbatim. No, Angel could not drop German. No, she could not do core literacy or science catch-up with a TA. No, no, no. If we disagreed, the next step was a formal complaint.

I came off that call and felt my nervous system collapse in on itself. The madness of it all. The sheer absurdity of forcing a child with APD and a reading age four years behind her peers to learn another language. Every educator I had spoken to said it was insane.

I knew then that no matter what happened with the EHCP, Angel’s needs would never be met here. I had been quietly researching other schools, attending open days, looking for something better. And I had found it—a special school for children with learning differences (mainly dyslexia), new but promising, nestled in a beautiful old manor house. Small, intimate, structured in a way that made sense. A place where children like Angel were given the chance to succeed, to learn in a way that worked for them. The kids here achieved on average 7 GCSE’s and 60% went on to University. However, it was expensive, impossible - unless the local authority would agree to fund it. Now, armed with the Educational Psychologist’s report and on route to an EHCP, I thought we might have a chance.

But first, there was Angel. She had insisted, unwaveringly, that she would not leave her school. She would like to be home educated but to start somewhere new was a hard no. And I understood. After everything she had been through, the idea of change was terrifying.

We were in the living room when I finally said it. I was doing her hair, and the day had been close and kind. I had been laying breadcrumbs for weeks, planting the idea gently. But every time I had mentioned another school, she had shut it down before I could finish the sentence. There was no easy way in. I just had to say it.

“Darling,” I began, as gently as I could. “I know you don’t want to leave your school, but we want you to at least look at this other school I told you about.”

She folded in on herself then, her body sinking into itself, her head on her knees, arms wrapped tight. She didn’t move, didn’t speak. I couldn’t even see her breathing. I reached out, laid my hand on her back.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know it’s a lot. And we would never make you go if you don’t want to. Daddy and I just want to make sure you know what’s out there. Unless you see it, you’ll never know. All I want you to do is look. That’s all. Because we’ve seen how hard it is for you at school, how they’re not teaching you in a way you can access. And you are brilliant. You are clever. But you’re not getting a chance.”

I kept talking. I don’t even know what I said, only that I filled the space with words and love and reassurance while she stayed curled up, unmoving, for ten minutes, maybe more. Eventually, she whispered that she wanted to go to bed. “Just think about it,” I told her.

I had already made the appointment. There was only a week left of their term. I had five days to bring her around.

New beginnings don’t announce themselves. They don’t arrive with fanfare or certainty. They begin in the quiet, in the moments when we don’t yet know we’ve stepped onto a new path. I didn’t know then if Angel would say yes. But I knew we had to try.

 

 

EHCP Mediation - Opening statement 

 

We have some SEN support in place outlined in Angel’s Pupil Passport sent to us last week but actually getting the school to implement it is another issue and even if they do deliver everything, we feel we need urgent further assessments to see if Angel has working memory difficulties (as suggested in the APD report) and possibly dyslexia. We have seen evidence of working memory difficulties since primary school and more recently by the letter from her English teacher, in our application.

 

She has had TA support in Science, Maths and English since September but based on the EP report, this is not going to be enough to give her any chance of catching up without intensive core literacy support. Furthermore, even if she could catch up, the amount she can follow in a class of 30 children will always be limited due to APD hampering her ability to hear in a noisy environment.

 

The EP report has made a raft of recommendations that are in Angel’s current Pupil Passport. We have been asking for visual support materials in class since June last year and none have been provided. It is hard to see how one teacher in a class of 30, is ever going to be able to implement the majority of the recommendations.

 

We see from doing homework with Angel that, for the most part, she can’t even understand the question being asked and needs scaffolding at every stage.

 

In light of this appeal, the school have forwarded, in the last 24 hours a further 5-line Access Plan and Ready Reckoner outlining budget provision. This amounts to what Angel has already been offered, which is an after school homework club and a pre-school literacy support club, that Angel attended last year. This has clearly not helped her progress.

 

You have asked to see 2-3 cycles of a SEN support plan in place before you are willing to assess her for an EHCP but this will mean another year has been lost and the more time we lose, the harder it is going to be for her to catch up.

 

The school have organised the EP report but the reality of getting them to integrate the recommendations into the plan, is going to be extremely hard. Even getting a meeting often takes a month. This leaves us in an impossible position of never being able to provide the evidence you require.

 

It has proved impossible to get a proper support plan, with do review cycles, in place. I have been asking since June last year and sourced and provided a template in September and received only the Passport document last week and the five line Access Plan and Ready Reckoner yesterday.

 

As a previously looked after child, Angel is already at greater risk of social, emotional and mental health difficulties. She is managing well socially but when the school started talking about exam week a month ago, she wasn’t sleeping or eating properly. This has improved since we agreed that she will only sit four exams and they will be in a room with only a handful of other children and a supportive adult. However, the ongoing testing and yearly exams at school are too stressful for her to manage and we think it is a cruelty to ask her to continue to do them when they are so far beyond her current capabilities.

 

If we wait another year to fully assess her needs, we feel it will be too late for her to have a chance of getting any GCSEs, reducing her chance of future success.

 

We have been reading to Angel since the day she arrived with us at 22 months, not just once a day but when she was little, at nap time and bedtime. They tried to teach her to read in her state primary for three years, her Steiner school for three years and for the last 18 months at Kingsdale. We have spent the last nine months doing a specialist cognitive and literacy programme online for 30 minutes, 5 days a week, which did vastly improve Angel’s abilities and yet still she is 4 years behind in reading.

 

We need her fully accessed to understand how we can help her. She is an intelligent and brilliant human being who had a very hard start in life who needs help now.