Our education system operates on an assumption: that children should adapt to fit its structures. But what happens to those whose neurobiology, trauma history, or simply whose authentic selves don't conform? They face an impossible choice—change who they are at devastating personal cost, or accept exclusion and judgement.
This is not an abstract policy debate for me. In 2004, my son Sam took his own life. His story—and mine—reveals how educational institutions can fail children in ways that echo throughout their lives, sometimes with tragic consequences.
The Weight of Forgiveness
For over twenty years, I couldn't write the full story of what happened to Sam. My heart wasn't peaceful enough to hold both my grief and the painful truth of how the system—and I—failed him. I wrestled with forgiveness. How could I forgive myself? How could I forgive the teachers, the other professionals, the rigid structures that couldn't see him?
Then understanding arrived, slowly: there is nothing to forgive. We were all doing what we thought was right with the only tools we had. Yet Sam was still harmed.
The Illusion of Control
When my children were small, I believed I could shape them into thriving adults. I thought the right school choices, the right interventions, the right guidance would ensure their success. I was wrong about what mattered.
Much was beyond my reach. Much was beyond my understanding.
Now I see that shaping and teaching weren't the point. The point was meeting my children exactly where they were—valuing them as perfectly formed individuals—and asking one essential question: "What do you need in order to thrive?"
Missed Opportunities
Sam's life reveals how many opportunities were missed to ask him that question. By me. By teachers. By other professionals. By the education system itself. So many chances to show him there was nothing wrong with him. So many moments when we could have built systems around his needs instead of expecting him to contort himself to fit ours.
His story illuminates how our educational institutions fail neurodivergent children, and how that failure ripples outward with consequences none of us can fully predict.
What Compassion Really Means
True compassion is both gentle and fierce. Gentle and responsive in meeting children where they are. Fierce in the courageous creation of new systems where diverse children can grow into their authentic selves and bring their unique gifts into the world.
This kind of compassion is what has the power to transform trauma and support children's natural unfolding.
An Invitation to Examine Your Role
I'm not asking anyone to carry guilt about Sam or children like him. I'm asking you all to recognise your own piece of this larger story—or similar stories playing out right now. To examine your role thoughtfully. Then to choose differently as you move through your life, your work, your everyday decisions. Especially when those choices ripple into other people's lives.
Listen Inward
Rather than looking outside for answers about what children need, try this: pause. Set aside your past pain and future fears. Listen inward. From that quiet place, you will begin to see clearly what is kind, what is compassionate, what your child—or the children in your care—need to thrive.
You'll also see how our systems need to respond so that all children can receive what they need.
A System That Failed Me First
Throughout my life, I've navigated educational systems that weren't designed for minds like mine or my son's. I've experienced moments when I felt compelled to do what I sensed was right, regardless of the cost, and other moments when I succumbed to pressure to conform. Both shaped my journey.
The system failed me long before it failed Sam. That's part of this story too.
Transformation Begins With Understanding
This is not just Sam's story or mine. It's about transforming how we understand education, belonging, and the true meaning of meeting every child's needs. It's about the profound shame of not belonging. It's about the damage inflicted when institutions fail to see children as they are.
And it begins with each of us pausing to ask: What do the children in my life need to thrive? Am I creating space for them to be who they are, or am I asking them to become something else?
This post is adapted from my forthcoming memoir about Sam's life, my journey as his mother, and the educational systems that failed us both.