Silent No More
THIS STORY BELONGS TO…Sarah and Margaret
In 2021, my daughter’s teacher said, “I never have to worry about Margaret. She’s quiet, polite, and good at her work.”
That same year, our school can’t journey became visible. It was the year my daughter grew big enough to physically resist her school uniform, to fight getting into the car, to push back against walking through the school gates.
It was the year we did need to start worrying.
As our struggle became more visible, I—her mum—was blamed and shamed.
Every day, I heard:
“Just get her to school.”
“You need to be harder on her.”
“Her dad can get her there…”
“She’s fine when she’s here.”
Then came the suggestions:
Have you tried sticker charts? Forcing her? Telling her it’s the law? Explaining how important it is for her future? Bribery? Making home boring? Telling her how fun school is? Making mornings fun? Punishing her? Asking why she won’t go?
One comment from the school that has never left me was this, handwritten on a form:
Image of a report from Margaret’s teacher.
That comment hit like a punch to the gut. Rather than asking why my daughter might feel more emotionally safe to express her distress around me—or exploring what was triggering her at school—the finger was pointed at me.
I asked for help. I asked what other parents in this situation were doing. I asked if the school had any kind of support for families. I said, “Tell me what to do,” because I had already tried everything they suggested. I felt desperate. I felt like a failure.
I was told it was time to see a psychiatrist. That there was nothing else the school could do. That no other families were experiencing this. And to just keep trying the same things.
Our names were already on waitlists for medical support. In the meantime, I soldiered on—trying to get her to school, trying to keep my career afloat, and trying not to traumatise her in the process.
Of course, what they said about no other families dealing with this? Not true.
I reached out to the parent chat group for my daughter’s year level—and within minutes, I had three replies from parents in similar situations. The year level only had about 60 kids.
So I started talking.
I found School Can’t Australia and joined the parent and carer group—only to discover that there were already over 14,000 people in the same boat.
Not only was I not alone, but our stories had striking similarities. I would read other parents’ posts in our closed group and cry. Cry for their kids. Cry for mine. For the stress and struggle. For the blame and shame.
For a long time, I’ve been afraid to speak publicly about our story, because I knew the judgment would come. I’ve lied and said, “We’re fine,” just to avoid the unsolicited advice. I’ve worried that “coming out” of the school can’t closet might affect my career or my daughter’s future.
But it’s time for change.
I will not be afraid. I will not be silent.
Today, my daughter is in burnout. We are mostly home-bound. I’ve paused my career to be a full-time carer. She is angry—and rightfully so. She wants the world to see her and kids like her.
And I am furious—furious at what the system has done to my amazing child and to our family.
We must change how we respond to the first signs of school can’t.
We must meet families with trauma-informed support—for both the child and the parents.
But for the system to change, it first needs to understand what is actually happening. And that begins with our stories—told truthfully and without sugar-coating.
I will not soften the reality of this experience for others’ comfort. I will tell the truth, because only truth will lead to change.
There is so much I could say about our school can’t journey—but what I want to scream at the top of my lungs is this:
I will no longer be silent.
Not about what school can’t is.
Not about what it looks like.
Not about how many families are impacted.
We are here. We are many.
And we are silent no more.
Authors Info: This story was written by Sarah, mum to 10 year old Margaret, an autistic and gifted (2e) kiddo. *Margaret’s name has been changed for her privacy. She chose her alias.
