Opinion piece by Barbara Lee
I didn't know what to expect at the end of our first school year. What I didn't expect was to feel this moved.
When we were preparing for the start of school last year, I was full of fear. Not about reading levels or math. Not about how quickly she'd learn to write or how many letters she'd recognize by the end of September.
My fear was simpler and deeper than that: Would she be able to cope with all of it? The change, the new rules, the new faces, the noise. The long, exhausting days.
Parents of neurodivergent children know that starting school isn't just a new chapter. It's often a leap into the unknown — with no guarantee of a soft landing.
Now, looking back on this first year, three thoughts keep coming back to me.
I'm grateful we found the right school
I can't say this enough.
Choosing a school is already a huge task for any parent. Every family wants a place where their child feels safe, where they're seen, where they don't just learn — they actually want to be there.
But for a neurodivergent child, that task multiplies. Because it's not enough to find a good school. You have to find one that truly understands your child.
A place that doesn't treat your child as a problem to be fixed. That doesn't constantly try to correct the parts of them that simply work differently. That doesn't ask why they're not like the others — but instead asks what they need in order to grow.
And here's the part we still don't talk about enough: for many families, this comes down to money. Schools that genuinely adapt to neurodivergent children's needs aren't always available within the state system. There are wonderful teachers in public schools — but the resources often just aren't there.
We were lucky. We found a place that wants to know my daughter, not change her. And for that, I am grateful every single day.
I don't care about her grades — I care about how hard she worked
As the end of term approached, I kept hearing other parents comparing notes. Who got what assessment, who's reading at what level, who can already count to a hundred without pausing.
I was thinking about something else entirely.
I was thinking about the little girl who stood outside the school building a year ago, frozen with anxiety. The child for whom the transition from nursery to primary school was enormous. The child who worked incredibly hard just to find her footing in a completely new world.
Yes, there are first-graders who write their numbers more neatly, read faster, copy from the board more quickly.
So what?
I know exactly where my daughter started. And I can see exactly where she is now. Honestly, that matters to me far more than any written assessment ever could.
Progress should always be measured against your own starting point — not against the child sitting next to you. And by that measure, my daughter made enormous strides this year.
I am so incredibly proud of her.
I wish every child could have a school like hers
There's one more thought that grew stronger in me throughout this entire year.
What I see at my daughter's school isn't something only neurodivergent children need. It's something every child deserves. Because overcrowded classrooms don't only overwhelm neurodivergent kids. Burned-out teachers can't give enough attention to any child who needs more support. Rigid rules and inflexible curricula don't only hurt children with a diagnosis.
If I could wish for one thing for the year ahead, it would be this: that more children could go to a school that doesn't just measure what they already know — but takes the time to understand who they actually are.
At the end of this first school year, the result I'm most proud of isn't what my daughter has learned. It's that she still loves learning.
And honestly, I can't think of a greater success at the end of first grade than that.
