Why inclusion feels impossible sometimes

If you’ve ever tried to push for change, especially around inclusion, you’ll know how messy it gets. What seems like a simple fix (“just let the kid wear jogging bottoms” or “just let them have their camera off in the meeting”) quickly spirals into a web of resistance, policies, budgets, and performance measures.

You start to see the problem isn’t the rule itself. It’s everything beneath it.

Today I’m talking about:

You might have seen the school letter doing the rounds online - I also shared it in my own LinkedIn post.

In the letter, new Headteacher Ben, states some non-negotiables for the term ahead, including:

At first glance, this might seem strict but standard. But let’s take a closer look.

Rigid uniform policies often punish those already struggling. Sensory discomfort, poverty, chaos at home - none of these are visible, but they shape what a child can wear, and whether they can meet expectations.

Controlling toilet access? It doesn’t just ignore needs. It creates anxiety, shame, and sometimes trauma - especially for neurodivergent children.

I fundamentally disagree with these types of policies and measures but sadly this school isn’t the only one that uses them.

I have found the focus on attendance so challenging to understand. But someone has just told me something that has enlightened me: a school can’t get an Outstanding Ofsted rating without 95% attendance!

(Well at least they couldn’t when this person was a teacher. I’d be very grateful if any current teachers can confirm if this is still the case?!)

Schools are literally incentivised to drive attendance. At the expense of children’s wellbeing.

The problem is the entire system.

It’s not a lack of care. It’s a case of perverse incentives.

So rules get enforced that seem neutral on paper but push out the very students who need more flexibility.

Organisations do the same.

HR policies. Performance frameworks. Leadership behaviours. All shaped by decades of norms that reward conformity.

So when we talk about becoming neuroinclusive, we’re not just talking about training or tweaks.

We’re talking about:

Each thread is part of a tangled web. Try to pull one, and the whole system tugs back.

That’s why inclusion feels so hard. Because it is. But that doesn’t mean it’s not possible.

Here are four places to start:

I want to acknowledge something difficult.

There’s some troubling news coming out of the US right now - at the time of writing (and I expect when you’re reading there will be more), there are early reports circulating suggesting autism might be linked to Tylenol use in pregnancy. It’s misinformation. And it’s deeply harmful.

I’m still processing it, and I don’t have the words (or the energy) to speak about it properly right now. But I know this will be landing hard for many of you, especially if you're autistic yourself, or love and care for someone who is.

You already know it’s not true. But that doesn’t make it any less painful to watch these narratives resurface. The fear it can stir. The stigma it can reignite. The damage it can do.

If that’s you this week, please take care. Log off. Reach out. Do what you need.
You don’t have to engage. You don’t have to educate. You don’t have to carry it alone.

I’m thinking of you.

If inclusion feels hard, you’re not imagining it. But it’s not because nobody cares. It’s because the systems we inherited weren’t designed with difference in mind.

That’s why we’re not here to tweak around the edges.
We’re here to rethink the whole thing, one thread at a time.

Speak soon,
Jess

PS Whenever you’re ready, here are some ways I can help: