We Need to Stop Pathologising Children Who Can’t Go to School

Every September, social media is full of children heading back to school. Photos of new uniforms, proud parents, and big smiles. But alongside those posts, I often see messages like: “Thinking of those who can’t go. Thinking of those who tried.”

I understand the sentiment. It comes from a place of care. But every time I read it, I stop and think: why are we still pathologising children who don’t go to school? Why do we automatically assume they are broken, suffering, or missing out?

As an autistic adult, a parent, and someone who has worked with children and families for over two decades, I see a different picture. When you remove the things that cause their anxiety, crowded classrooms, constant demands, and noisy corridors, many children aren’t sad at all. They’re relieved. They’re calmer. They’re happier.

So whose sadness is it really?

Often, it belongs to us as parents or professionals. We grieve the childhood we imagined for them. The sports days, the school trips, the birthday parties. But was that ever their dream? Or was it ours?

Time and time again, children tell us clearly: “I don’t want to do it. I can’t do it.” And when we finally listen, when we stop pushing, many begin to thrive on their own terms.

Of course, I’m not ignoring the battles that come with this path, fighting for resources, alternative provision, or the right support is tough. But there’s also something worth celebrating: a child who has been heard, respected, and given permission to live in a way that works for them.

So instead of posting messages that frame these children as tragic or “left behind,” why not celebrate them? Why not say: “Well done, you’ve found your way, and we’re proud of you!”

Because being accepted for who you are matters more than fitting into somebody else’s version of normal.

The Beginning of Something New.

For some families, this may be the first time they face the reality that their child will not be returning to school. It can feel daunting, and it is easy to slip into worry about what this means for the future. But I want to say clearly: this is not the end of anything. This is the beginning of something new.

Your child has been heard. You have listened to their voice. You have respected their needs. That is something to be proud of. You have not forced them to fit into someone else’s version of “normal.” You have shown them they are enough, exactly as they are.

When children are met with genuine acceptance, they do not wither; they grow. Time and again, I see children who, once freed from pressure, begin to smile again, laugh again, and slowly open themselves up to life in their own way.

This is not a step backwards. It is a step towards a life where your child can flourish as themselves. And that is something truly worth celebrating!