If the diagnosis gave us the map, the statement gave us the key to the school gate. And I don’t say that lightly – getting Kya the right support in school has been one of the most important things we’ve ever done.
It started with mainstream primary. Kya went in with her statement, which meant she had a one-to-one teaching assistant – someone by her side all day, every day. Not to do the work for her, but to make sure she was safe, settled, and understood. To translate the chaos of a classroom into something Kya could manage. To notice the signs before a meltdown hit. To be her anchor in a room full of noise.
And for a while, it worked. Kya had her person. She had her routines. She had her spot by the window where the light came in just right. The school tried – they really did. But as the other children grew and the work got harder, the gap started to widen. Not because Kya wasn’t trying. She was trying so hard. But the curriculum moved at a pace her brain wasn’t wired for, and no amount of one-to-one support could change that.
I remember picking her up one afternoon and her TA quietly pulling me aside. “She’s had a tough day,” she said. “She got upset because everyone else finished the task and she hadn’t started.” Not because she didn’t understand it. Because the instructions came too fast, the room was too loud, and by the time she’d processed what she needed to do, the moment had passed. That was happening more and more.
We started looking at other options. And that’s when we found the STF – the Specialist Teaching Facility. I’ll be honest, I’d never heard of one before. It sits within a mainstream school, but it’s slightly apart. Its own space, its own staff, its own pace. The children still mix with the main school for things like assemblies and lunchtimes, but their learning happens in a smaller, calmer, more structured environment. The best of both worlds, really.
The difference was instant. Not gradual – instant. Within a week, Kya was calmer. Within a month, she was smiling when I dropped her off. Within a term, she was doing things I didn’t know she could do.
And here’s the bit that really got me: the curriculum. It’s not just maths and English – though they do that too, at the right pace, in the right way. It’s life skills. Actual, practical, everyday skills that will matter when she’s older. They teach the children how to help make a meal. How to go to a shop, pick items off a list, and pay for them. How to cross a road. How to make a cup of tea.
I watched Kya help make a pasta bake in her school kitchen one parents’ evening. She poured the pasta into the pan – most of it went in, some of it didn’t – and she gave the sauce a big stir with a wooden spoon. Her TA helped with the oven bit. When it was done, she carried the plate to the table with both hands, concentrating so hard her tongue was poking out, put it down in front of me as if to say “there you go, Dad” with this enormous grin. It wasn’t perfect. It was the best meal I’ve ever had.
The STF doesn’t just teach Kya how to learn. It teaches her how to live. And honestly? Half of what they cover would have been useful to me at that age too.
I’m serious. Learning how to shop for what you need? Making a cup of tea without flooding the kitchen? Knowing how to pay for something in a real shop? I could have done with that at about twenty-three. Kya’s getting it at primary school. She’s already ahead of me.
The thing people don’t always understand about specialist provision is that it’s not about lowering expectations. It’s about changing the route. Kya is still learning, still growing, still being challenged. She’s just doing it in a way that works for her brain, at a speed her brain can handle, in a room where she feels safe enough to try.
And she’s thriving. Properly thriving. The girl who used to shut down in a noisy classroom now puts her hand up to answer questions. The girl who couldn’t start a task now follows a recipe from start to finish. The girl who struggled to keep up has found her own pace – and it turns out her pace is just fine.
Last week, her TA sent me a photo from school. Kya standing next to the oven, wearing an apron that was way too big for her, holding a wooden spoon like a trophy. Underneath it said: “Kya’s chosen her next project – Butternut Squash soup!” When I showed Kya the photo that evening, she pointed at the hob in our kitchen and then back at the picture, grinning. Message received, Kya. Message received.
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