Nearly four years ago, my daughter was diagnosed with autism. The diagnosis itself was a relief, a feeling acknowledging that what my husband and I felt in our hearts was true. There was no more suspicion, no more wondering, only love and embracing all the wonderful things our daughter is.
The road to get here was not easy. Watching her play differently than everyone else was tough. Sitting at dinners with other moms talking about things, knowing my daughter just didn’t have those interests yet, was hard. I found myself having less and less to contribute to conversations, even though I wanted to be part of them. Also challenging was knowing that other parents were posting pictures on social media of extra activities that they have their kids participate in, while our child was in therapy. I knew we were doing what our daughter needed, but it didn’t make social media any easier to view. Personally, I have found friends to support me as a special needs mom, friends to support me for me, and friends for both. We have an incredible village for our daughter.
This past year was our hardest year yet. Our IEP meeting as parents was overwhelming. I knew the parts of the IEP, I knew all the team members, I knew the process, so I just assumed that I’d be okay. I felt strong, I felt smart, and I felt confident that the meeting would go well. It went well, but there was something I wasn’t prepared for. It was feeling alone at the other side of the meeting table.
After my husband and I got home, I cried. I cried because it’s not fun to hear how far off from average your child is. I cried because, although I had trust in the team, I knew there were conversations about the meeting before it took place that we were not part of. Everything felt so rehearsed on the school end, which is fine, but it didn’t feel like we were part of the team. I felt like we were talked at and that the team didn’t make an effort to include us as participants.
“Does everything look okay?” “Does that make sense?” “Do you have any questions?”
These simple yes/no questions in meetings are a simple way to conduct the meeting with parents, but it doesn’t really allow for participation. It permits parents acknowledgement, but I now know that there is a significant difference between acknowledgement, participation, and understanding.
Now, I see special education clearer from both sides of the IEP table. From the parent’s side, I see the diagnostic part, and the school support part which the children need in order to grow. I realize how overwhelming our special education team may look to a parent, with professionals all sitting across the table with file folders and pens in hand, nodding and taking notes while you talk.
From the education side, I see the parents’ confused faces when acronyms are spoken, and when norms and percentiles are given. I see faces fall when areas of deficits are discussed. These meetings provide a lot of information, and although they are a positive plan of action based on data, it doesn’t change the fact that the meeting is occurring because the child has a disability. This is not easy for parents to hear. I see some sad parents, and others who just nod in agreement, complacent and giving all trust to the team.
Whether or not the parents realize it, as an educator I want them to join the team. I welcome “that parent” on my caseload, because I know that the hardest parents to deal with are often those who are most worried for their child. I was (and probably still am) “that parent.”
As an educator, I want the parent to ask questions, to come to the meeting with some input on how the past IEP worked for the child. I want medical updates, a funny anecdote, and to know what your child does outside of school. In the years since my daughter’s diagnosis, I started sending family questionnaires to parents/guardians, asking them about their child’s perceived strengths and weaknesses, and how they practice at home. I ask for IEP input, and give parents an open space to tell the team anything else not already included that they want to share about their child. I send regular positive updates to let parents know how proud of their child I am. I have removed acronyms from my speech. If I use percentiles or data, I explain how this directly relates to their child, but will also include patterns of historical growth so they see how their child is making gains. Most importantly, I recognize a family’s love and support and their need to be unwavering advocates for a child in a world that might not know how to accept or include them. I do everything in my power to stand in their place, and make meetings as meaningful as possible through my personal connection with disability.
In the classroom, my compassion has grown exponentially because not only do I see a child, I see my child. I teach, I talk, and I model kindness to my students like I would want shown to my own daughter. I reward effort, initiative and perseverance in students even more because I know firsthand how much harder it is for some students to get to the same level of mastery as others. I go to students’ sporting events and I cheer loudest at assemblies for them. My students are someone’s child, and I will make sure they only know support and respect from me. They will be treated and taught as my own.
At home, I am the parent who writes back every day in my daughter’s communication log, because I know it took those teachers time to complete. I will work every event to show support to the team and the school that works with my child. I will come prepared to the IEP meeting with notes in the margins of my draft, because I want clarification and to understand what the plan for my daughter’s education is. My husband and I will be present at every IEP meeting, parent teacher conference, and will work hand in hand with the team supporting our daughter. Our level of support will outweigh the effort the team puts into our child. With our daughter’s best interest in mind, my caseload grew by one, and I am proud to be on her IEP team this year and every year.
As a special needs parent, I am here for all families. I am a better teacher and a better advocate now that I sit on both sides of the table.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Christina Kreml is a mother of a beautiful daughter with special needs. She is passionate about advocacy and the rights of children with disabilities. She loves reading, cooking with her husband and daughter, and spending her free time enjoying performing arts, especially musical theater. Professionally, she is a teacher of over 10 years, holds a Bachelors Degree in Special Education, as well as a Masters Degree in Differentiated Instruction and another Masters Degree in Administration. She has been recognized by her school team as a district mentor facilitator for new staff, a member of the Data team using formal data, amongst other teacher leadership roles. Her ability to include parents and help them join the IEP team has been proven successful in recent years, with positive feedback from parents and families. She continues to provide information to parents to help them become the advocates for their own child, and reminding them of their strength they have each day.
Read the article here.