Families as Partners in Inclusion

When I think about my core responsibilities, one that is super important—but not often listed—is creating relationships with families. And not just the families of the students that I work with, but all families. Families, especially those with neurodivergent children, can feel apprehensive about school. It’s not always a place of good news, and student support isn’t always viewed as something to celebrate. We talk a lot about creating a culture of inclusion, but for me, that starts in the playground, hallways, and school events through simple conversations with families. These small, informal touchpoints demonstrate that we are a community and help break down rigid “teacher vs. parent” roles. For a true culture shift, every family needs to see student support as something accessible and shame-free. By being a visible presence, families learn who I am and what my department does—meaning they feel genuinely comfortable approaching me in the future.

I view these small interactions as an essential part of the ‘PR’ of my job. For families to trust me, they need to see me and feel that I am genuinely approachable and accessible—so I turn up to events and make a point to greet families whenever I see them around school. That trust often starts when parents realize I truly know their child—their favorite class, a recent grade, their best friend, or how they spend their lunchtime. I try to connect with my students every day, even in short conversations, which allows me to send quick emails home with a homework reminder or a small moment I noticed during the day. Sending little ‘notes’ like a new strategy that was successful, or how well they worked with a group lowers the anxiety that many parents feel when they see an email from a teacher. True partnership also means recognizing that we are on equal footing. Parents are the experts on their child, while I am the expert on how their child learns in school. We both bring valuable information to the table, and we must remember that we are always reaching for the same goal: success and independence for their child. Part of building that credibility is being willing to say “I don’t know” when I don’t have an immediate answer, but following through consistently to find it. I also ensure that I am not a gatekeeper to anything. I encourage families to reach out to class teachers but offer support in following up. When you invest in these brief, positive touchpoints throughout the year, formal meetings become much less intimidating and open the door for far more honest, collaborative conversations. And once parents see you as an ally in these one-to-one conversations, they stop feeling isolated. This trust then empowers them in the wider community. 

These small moments of individual trust-building create the essential bridge for parents to step into broader group spaces. Without that initial groundwork, families wouldn’t feel comfortable opening themselves up to others; but when it’s done well, there is no hesitation in joining. Starting Parent Neurodiversity Groups creates a dedicated space where families come together to share difficulties, celebrate successes, and learn from one another. While I occasionally have advice or resources to share, my role is largely to facilitate—more often than not, parents become the greatest resources and support for each other. In these spaces, I’ve watched primary school parents openly worry about the transition to middle school, only for a high school parent to step in, share their own journey, and offer reassurance about how things turned out. Parents bring in practical tools they’ve used for sleep challenges, or simply share where they go to find their own emotional support as they navigate the tricky road of parenting a neurodivergent child. Often, just hearing that they are not the only one struggling with something, is validating and affirming. Occasionally, one of our school principals will attend as well. Seeing leadership in the room reinforces that the school genuinely cares about their families and is committed to making our campus the best place for their children. Ultimately, these groups turn isolated experiences into a shared community and change how they see their own child. They can go from seeing only the negative, challenging difficult road ahead, to seeing how their child can flourish and thrive not only on campus but in their future as well. 

When we show up as approachable, curious allies, the dynamic fundamentally shifts. The hallways and parking lots become just as vital as the classrooms—because those informal spaces are where true partnership actually takes root.