In the Canary Collective’s recent post, the author calls on teachers to recognise the power inherent in their role and to transform their relationships with families—especially those of disabled students—into genuine partnerships rather than defensive exchanges. They emphasise that legal requirements for accommodations, human rights protections, and inclusive practice are not optional extras but the very foundation of educational equity, demanding consistent attention every single day.
The teacher urges colleagues to reach out early and intentionally, long before challenges arise or formal meetings are scheduled. By introducing themselves, asking what supports have helped—or hindered—their child, and maintaining a human tone in emails, educators can build trust and ensure that critical context (often missing from official files) is surfaced. This proactive approach reframes inclusion as an ongoing, collaborative endeavour, rather than a reactive task.
This blog highlights one of the crucial problems with access and our education system: much of the lived experience of families is left up to the discretion of staff. It’s not enshrined in rules and culture. Many families report not being able to secure an IEP meeting until November and not having critical support or accommodations in places as weeks drift by, negatively impacting the whole school year.
Crucially, the author warns against centring communication on behaviour alone, noting that what appears as misbehaviour often reflects unaddressed disability needs. Instead of seeking to correct or control, teachers should stay curious, inquire about masking, burnout, and other hidden stresses, and listen for the barriers families have encountered. Advocating for accommodations, speaking up against exclusionary practices, and resisting the impulse to label advocates as “difficult” are depicted as obligations that flow from a teacher’s position of influence.
Tauma-informed educational practices
Trauma-informed approaches recognise that many students carry invisible injuries from adverse experiences, and that punitive responses often compound rather than resolve these wounds. Rather than asking “what’s wrong with this student?”, trauma-informed practice asks “what happened to this student—and how can we help them feel safe enough to learn?” Rooted in neuroscience, human dignity, and educational equity, trauma-informed schools prioritise relationships, regulation, and repair. They shift from compliance-based control to compassionate co-regulation, acknowledging that dysregulation is not defiance, but a nervous system in survival mode. This approach equips educators to respond to challenging behaviour with curiosity and care, transforming classrooms into spaces of healing rather than harm.
Finally, the piece challenges educators to deepen their understanding of ableism and to make disability justice integral to their school’s ethos—learning and unlearning in equal measure, and privileging lived experience above policy checklists. Universal Design for Learning is presented not as a panacea but as one of many tools, distinct from individual accommodations. The closing charge is clear and urgent: if we cannot communicate with empathy, humility, and a readiness to listen, then we have not achieved true inclusion—merely managed its appearance. Do better. Start now.