Guest post by Farnoush Davoudi, mother of an Autistic girl.

Collaboration between families and schools is often described as a partnership — but what happens when that partnership feels one-sided?

Over the past seven years, I’ve had the privilege of working closely with an exceptionally supportive school team — people whose care and dedication have truly transformed my daughter’s life and mine.

But I still remember the early years, when school meetings felt like battles rather than conversations. Instead of sitting together as partners supporting my daughter, I often felt cornered — constantly defending her needs. No matter how committed I was to staying open and collaborative, every response from the school seemed like another wall closing in.

In this post, I want to share what I learned from those difficult days — the moments that tested my patience, confidence, and faith. The days when collaboration felt impossible, progress felt stagnant, and I found myself wondering whether my child’s needs were “too much” for the system to meet, or whether I was even making the right decisions for her.

I also want to offer a promise: in Part II, I’ll share the good days — the breakthroughs, the genuine connection, and the slow but meaningful progress — along with what those experiences taught me about persistence, hope, and true partnership. For now, I hope these reflections on the challenging times help other parents navigate their own journeys with greater clarity and confidence.

Understanding the Source of Resistance

My contrasting experiences taught me that successful collaboration depends on one essential foundation: everyone in the room must be genuinely committed to centring the child’s needs and believing that change is possible.

Resistance from schools can look similar from the outside — silence, delays, or vague promises. But what lies beneath those responses can differ dramatically.

Sometimes, systemic barriers are the issue: rules, administrative processes, insufficient staffing, limited time, or lack of training that constrain what educators can do. These barriers are deeply frustrating — but often solvable through advocacy, collaboration, and creativity.

Other times, the barrier is not structural, but mindset-based.

There are situations where the school could act, but chooses not to. This is unwillingness — when comfort, convenience, or control outweigh the child’s needs. In these cases, little moves forward because the focus shifts away from the child’s success.

There is also hopelessness — when staff genuinely care but feel defeated by past failures. They no longer believe meaningful change is possible. This shows up as resignation rather than resistance, even when intentions are good.

Recognizing which kind of barrier you are facing is crucial because it determines the path forward.

Systemic or resource-based barriers require advocacy, persistence, and creativity.

2. Hopelessness needs reassurance and evidence that progress is achievable.

3. Unwillingness requires accountability, boundaries, and sometimes escalation.

Unwillingness

When collaboration breaks down because one party can help but chooses not to, no amount of training, resources, or planning can fill that gap.

While families naturally focus on support and meaningful progress, an unwilling school team often prioritizes adult-centred objectives — comfort, convenience, or control — over the child’s needs.

In these situations, parents frequently encounter avoidance or defensiveness. Responsibility is redirected, concerns are minimized, or inaction is justified. There is little genuine effort to move forward, even when solutions are available.

There is no perfect way to identify unwillingness in the moment. But the parents below — whose names have been changed — shared the patterns they only recognized clearly in hindsight.

Adult Priorities Over Child Needs

“The conversations were never really about my child — they were about what worked for adults. I was made to feel guilty with comments like: ‘We need to consider teacher workload,’ ‘It’s not fair to expect staff to handle this,’ or ‘We have to think about the other students.’
Looking back, I realize these were valid concerns — but they were repeatedly used to justify denying my child the support he needed.”
— Sarah, mother of a 9-year-old boy

Refusing to Learn Effective Strategies

“For months, they said my child’s behaviour was unmanageable, yet refused to meet with our private team to learn what worked at home.
When they finally agreed, my BCBA’s recommendations were ignored and never implemented. I still wonder why they didn’t want to try strategies that were clearly helping — if they truly wanted things to improve.”
— Noah, father of a grade-four student

Moving the Goalposts

“A week before Christmas break, I was told my child could not return to school without seeing a psychiatrist. At the time, the waitlist was nearly 52 weeks.
When I secured an appointment in early January, the school asked for a doctor’s note. After I provided it, they said they also needed full medical records — an unreasonable request.
This continued to happen — new requirements, new delays. It felt deliberate, as though they were trying to wear me down into giving up.”
— Laura, mother of an 11-year-old girl

Ignoring Agreements

“We had just reached an agreement on a critical issue when I observed staff not following through. After I emailed to report this, the principal called demanding I apologize for ‘monitoring’ the staff.
I was used to my concerns being dismissed, but this time, I was asking them to uphold what we had all agreed upon.
Later, I learned other families had similar experiences — agreements were honoured only when they aligned with what the school wanted.”
— Priya, mother of a 10-year-old girl

Excluding Parents from Decision-Making

“This year, everything comes by email — decisions already made. If we disagree, we must book a meeting, but it takes forever to get a date.
It feels like they’re keeping us as far from the decision-making as possible — even though it’s about our kids.”
— Darel, father of two high-school students on the spectrum

Passing Responsibility Around

“When my son came home with bruises, no one could tell me what happened.
His communication iPad was sent out for updates, and for a week, no one could confirm when he would get his voice back. Everyone kept saying, ‘Let me check with someone else.’
Exhausted, I contacted the district IT team directly, and they told me they’d just received the device and it would be ready the next day.
When I told the school, they were upset and said I had overstepped. I couldn’t believe that advocating for my child’s basic needs was considered inappropriate.”
— Zara, mother of a child using AAC

To be continued….

Guest post by Farnoush Davoudi, mother of an Autistic girl.

Those IEP Meetings…

Summer is over, and the season of cozy scarves and pumpkin spice lattes is here. So is the season of new challenges—transitioning back to school, navigating anxiety about new classes and teachers, juggling after-school programs, and yes…those IEP meetings too.

I don’t think there’s an autism parent out there who hasn’t felt the pressure of an IEP meeting. I confess that as a stress eater who runs straight for sugar when things get hard, I once bought a 1.5-pound chocolate cake—ate half of it before the IEP meeting to “prepare,” and polished off the rest afterward to calm my nerves.

So many of us walk into these meetings carrying hope, worry, and fear, trying to make sure our child’s needs are understood and supported—yet there’s no guarantee we’ll leave feeling successful. Leaving any meeting empty-handed is hard, but in IEP meetings, it feels even heavier because of the guilt—that gnawing sense that we’ve somehow failed our child.

Why These Meetings Feel So Heavy

Guilt isn’t the only reason IEP meetings feel overwhelming. They can also be intimidating, as the “school people” usually outnumber parents and sometimes appear completely united against them. That leaves us feeling alone, unheard, or dismissed as “just the parent.”

We also feel vulnerable—after all, it’s our child’s challenges and limitations being laid bare on the table. Even our parenting and life choices sometimes feel like they’re under a microscope.

And then there are our own inner conflicts. We want the school to meet our children where they are, yet we worry about how educators see them. That’s when the second-guessing creeps in: Should I underplay their challenges and highlight their strengths so my child isn’t seen as “too much work”? Or should I downplay their abilities and emphasize their struggles to make sure support continues?

On top of that, there’s the constant tug-of-war inside us—pushing hard to secure what our child needs while fearing we’ll be labelled a “difficult” parent. These mental battles are exhausting.

How We Get Through It

Despite all this, we survive IEP meetings one after another—not just with chocolate cake, of course!

We prepare and plan. Many of us attend learning sessions or workshops year-round to better understand our child’s rights, discover effective ways to support them, and strengthen our advocacy skills. We gear up at the end of summer by reviewing the existing IEP, report cards, and notes, highlighting what works and what doesn’t. We prepare documents, write down questions and priorities, and go into the meeting ready to take notes and ask purposeful, targeted questions.

We don’t go it alone. Some of us bring along family, friends, or volunteer parents as emotional support and note-takers. Others invite members of our private team or trusted experts to provide insight and guidance.

We see it through. After the meeting, we carefully review the IEP drafts, send and answer countless emails to make sure the plan truly reflects what was discussed, and follow through to ensure it gets done.

Better Than Cupcakes: Focusing on the Goal

Over the past ten years, I’ve sat through IEPs and other school meetings that became defining moments in my days. Some left me with a red face and clenched fists, while others sent me floating above the clouds. Both kinds of meetings taught me something—about my child, about the system, and about myself.

Before going to my first IEP meeting, another parent told me that she always brought cupcakes with her to look amiable. Well, this is what has worked better than cupcakes for me:

I learned that simply insisting on one exact thing—like a spot in the school band—and pushing harder and harder doesn’t always get us what we want. It may feel natural in the moment, but it’s not the most effective way to move things forward.

Take the school band example: What do you really want to gain from that? Is it because your child enjoys music? Do they like performing for an audience? Once you highlight the ultimate goal, you can look for other ways to reach it. It doesn’t have to be just one path. Explore alternatives with the school team, suggest your own ideas, and be open to theirs.

Choose something feasible within the school’s resources and rules, even if it’s not your first choice. Sometimes holding out for the “perfect” option means ending up with no option at all, while even part of what you hoped for can still make a meaningful difference. Those small, achievable wins build momentum toward bigger changes.

Leave the Guilt Behind

That was a tough meeting! You might feel like crying, screaming, or even kicking the nearest chair—and that’s understandable. But here’s what I refuse to let happen, my friend: you feeling guilty. You showed up, spoke up, and did your best for your child. Your presence, advocacy, and effort are what truly count.

It’s okay if you didn’t get everything you hoped for. No parent can solve every challenge or predict every outcome in a single session. Remember: an IEP is a process, not a verdict. One meeting doesn’t define your child’s future—it’s just one step in a longer journey.

Your child will always need your energy, care, and persistence. Don’t let worry, guilt, or self-doubt steal your power or silence your voice.

Tag Archives: parent empowerment

Collaboration in Practice: What Difficult Days Revealed — Part I