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Every fall, parents share back-to-school photos of their children’s smiling and excited faces.
My son Ben’s first day of preschool photos show a different story. His face did not say I do not want to attend school today; it said I do not want to attend school ever.
His dad said it was just a phase and he would be over it soon. But I saw it differently. A mother’s intuition, perhaps.
For my son and many of the approximately 1 in 36 children in the U.S. on the autism spectrum (ASD), school is more of a challenge than a celebration. He tolerates it but struggles with the expectations, pace, and pressure.
Ben began preschool with a pending autism diagnosis. I initially raised a mild concern with the pediatrician after noticing we “missed” milestones like crawling and walking.
But I convinced myself I was overthinking it because he would make them up within weeks of the doctor’s visits.
Bridget Haney
He could communicate his needs, albeit one word at a time. Eat, hungry, up, out, puppy “Maisy,” and his personal favorite, “no thanks.” It’s called echolalia, and toddlers with ASD can stay in that stage longer than others, sometimes forever, and sometimes with non-verbal children, not at all.
But then he started to read at two years old. We were impressed and particularly interested in what he was reading. He had little inclination towards books but read construction signs, game instructions, and recipe ingredients. He would recognize and remember words but couldn’t spell them.
Ben is smart and learns fast. He just learns differently. The U.S. public school system knows this about children with ASD, but public schools do not always have the resources to support inclusive learning for autistic students.
So they ignore the need.
Meanwhile, organizations outside the system, such as the National Football League (NFL), are making significant strides in creating sensory-friendly spaces for fans with ASD.
The roar of the stadium, the bright lights, and thousands of fans buzzing with excitement can be exhilarating for some and overwhelming for a growing number of Americans on the autism spectrum.
In partnership with the Philadelphia Eagles Autism Foundation, Kylie Kelce, with the support of her husband, Former Philadelphia Eagles star Jason Kelce, is helping to bring autism awareness into focus.
The Eagles Autism Foundation has made significant strides in creating sensory-friendly spaces for fans with ASD, a development that fills me with optimism. They are driving the shift in how neurodiverse people experience public spaces.
These public accommodations signal hope and reveal how much more work is needed elsewhere.
While the NFL is adapting its stadiums to serve neurodiverse fans better, our schools must rise to the occasion and create environments where neurodiverse students can thrive daily—not just during game day.
We should demand these spaces in every public institution–stadiums and classrooms. For too many parents, particularly mothers, trying to navigate a system failing their children is daily, exhausting, and often solitary.
Schools in wealthier districts may have well-resourced special education programs. In contrast, other schools, often just miles away, lack the necessary funding and staffing. Mothers in these communities are expected to be both advocates and warriors, fighting systems that have never worked in their favor.
This leaves parents to navigate a system where meeting their child’s special education learning needs feels more like a matter of luck than a protected civil right.
I recently met a mother at a clinic appointment. She is a healthcare worker. We started talking about public education, a conversation sparked by my work as a historian, which she found interesting and familiar. She asked about my research on public school experience.
The conversation shifted to our own experience, then our kids. She has two children attending Kansas City Kansas USD 500 (KCK USD 500), both receiving special education services.
The journey she described has been terrible. Her experience was my actual nightmare.
Her daughter always performed well enough in school, so there was never any real concern about the ADHD and dyslexia diagnosis. Her son was diagnosed with ASD and possible ADHD.
He started to fall behind his peers, and by third grade—when schools were officially behind in measuring aptitude—and he was one of 92.43 percent of KCK USD 500 students reading far below his grade level, per Kansas state education data.
We commiserated over the dread of IEP meetings and the frustrations of advocating for the support that our school districts claim to provide. Over the absurdity of having to advocate for your child to be diagnosed with a learning disability to get the services they need to succeed in life.
I was humbled because my experience was disheartening and brief, but hers is constant and ongoing. Having to convince education experts that you expect SPED services for your child whose disabilities don’t seem that bad is like sparring against your child’s best chance at a typical education experience.
But what is the point if they don’t get the needed skills?
Our well-respected public charter school has excellent special education and support systems. It is not perfect, but it functions. We have seen success. I have seen the learning lag get shorter and shorter, more like an education pendulum than a path.
Many families with children on the autism spectrum must update or establish an Individual Education Plan (IEP) and attend IEP meetings each school year. For mothers, this isn’t just a logistical task; it’s an emotional marathon.
Ideally, these plans are designed to provide the best outcomes for all children; no one wants to see parents forced into legal battles to get support for their child’s education needs.
Unfortunately, this is sometimes the route parents must take. Mothers often have to fight twice as hard–first for their children and then for themselves as the primary caregivers.
Returning to school should be about new beginnings and support, not fighting for fundamental educational rights.
When the classroom doors opened for the 2024-2025 school term, parents again became accommodation advocates navigating special education resources and barriers.
I am fortunate that my son’s special education IEP team is dedicated and that his school has the resources to support his learning needs.
My son is in the fifth grade now and has had the same school speech therapist since kindergarten. Children with ASD struggle with change, and maintaining the same therapist provides an anchor of consistency.
Bridget Haney
I did not know how rare that was. She knows him, he knows her, and they work well together. Children with ASD thrive on routine and schedule. She has developed a clear understanding of his communication style, strengths, challenges, and unique interests.
While I leave my IEP meetings feeling cautious but secure in our education plans, other moms feel helpless, fearful, and guilty.
The woman I met in the clinic told me that IEP plans are drawn up in her district without ever meeting students. Many students receive no speech and occupational therapy at all, and some receive one-on-one support for 10 minutes a week, which is not enough intervention.
She is notorious in her advocacy. When the school district brought lawyers to her IEP meeting, she reciprocated with her own. She withholds her signature from the IEP forms, forcing the district to redraft her son’s IEP with actionable goals to help him learn, not just get by.
After successfully advocating for her children, she started to get calls from other moms in her district. The teachers and administrators started to refer other moms to her for help.
Unique learning needs for students with disabilities can encompass various educational requirements tailored to each student’s specific condition. For instance, students with ASD may need social skills training and sensory support.
At the same time, those with dyslexia might require specialized reading instruction. Students with ADHD may benefit from behavioral interventions and organizational strategies, and those with physical disabilities might need adaptive technology or modified classroom environments to access the curriculum.
Mothers are often left to negotiate these accommodations alone, without the full support of a system designed to prioritize children’s needs. Black and Latinx children with special needs are even less likely to get the services they need because of racism.
Inclusive learning means creating an educational environment where all students, regardless of their abilities or disabilities, can participate fully in the classroom.
This involves providing tailored support for students with unique learning needs but also fostering a culture of acceptance and accessibility, where diverse learning styles and challenges are acknowledged and accommodated, ensuring every student has the opportunity to succeed alongside their peers.
Speaking out together can lighten the burden by getting involved in local school boards or committees to influence decisions and advocate for better support and resources in education.
Mothers can find strength in collective action, joining forces to create pressure for systemic change. We can hold political candidates accountable for prioritizing meaningful improvements in support for students with disabilities. Inclusive education should not be a luxury; it should be the standard.
This means creating classrooms where all students can participate fully alongside their peers regardless of ability.
My son’s special education teacher motivates him by saying we can do hard things. It’s true. Inclusive education is not a game, but it is the playbook: Proven to help our kids learn.
We must fight for their future in every arena, not just the stadium.
Bridget D. Haney, PhD, is a historian with the State Historical Society of Missouri (SHSMO) and a Public Voices Fellow on Racial Justice in Early Childhood Education with The OpEd Project, in collaboration with the National Black Child Development Institute.
All views expressed are the author’s own.
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