True inclusion isn’t about extra help for a few children. It’s about building an education system that fits everyone from the start.
A tale of two classrooms
I learned what inclusion really meant in two classrooms that couldn’t have been more different. One was in a women’s prison where I taught Functional Skills; the other was an affluent sixth form where I taught media studies. The contrast was huge. In one space, there were women whose needs had gone unmet for years, often carrying trauma they had never had help for. In the other, young people surrounded by opportunity and choice. The sheer diversity in the people I could put my efforts into supporting became crystal clear.
Those experiences changed how I saw everything. My background is in sociology, so I have always been interested in social issues, but this was different. I saw firsthand how lives are shaped or limited by the opportunities available to them. I realised that many of the women I met in prison could have had completely different futures if someone had recognised and supported their needs earlier on. And that’s not to undermine the fact that every single educational setting is vitally important. But if we want education to be a true equaliser, it’s important that we focus our efforts on levelling the playing field.
That is what drives me now, both as a SENCO and in my doctoral research. I want things to change. Inclusion should not be something that has to be requested or justified. It should be the way education works by default.
Build inclusion into the foundations of education
Inclusion should not only happen when a child is already struggling. It should be built in from the start. The Universal Design for Learning gives us a framework for that. If we plan lessons and environments with flexibility in mind, everyone benefits. Things like clear visuals, sensory-aware classrooms, flexible timetables, or movement breaks help all learners, not just those with specific needs.
You see it clearly in further education. Many young people who struggled through school finally thrive in college. It is not because they suddenly become different people. It is because the environment changes. They are treated like individuals, with choices and autonomy. It proves what is possible when we design education to fit people rather than expecting people to fit education.
The myth of the single label
No child ever fits neatly into one box, yet our systems are built as if they do. We talk about ADHD, autism and dyslexia, one label at a time, when, in reality, needs often overlap with trauma, poverty, or mental health difficulties.
I have worked with young people with challenges across every professional boundary: education, health, and social care. But no single service owns the whole picture, so families end up being passed around, repeating their story to everyone and getting little in return.
Belonging before attendance
We all know attendance is important, but too often we focus on the numbers instead of what is driving them. I have worked with young carers who get detention because they are late when they have been at home helping a parent. I have seen children turn up at school terrified because they have been told their parents could be fined if they don’t. That is not inclusion; that is fear.
If we want better attendance, we have to start by creating belonging. When children feel safe and understood, attendance follows naturally. When they feel punished for struggling, they withdraw, physically or emotionally.
When data drowns the story
We talk a lot about inclusion, but the truth is that schools are often judged on the wrong things. The system rewards data, not people.
I have sat in meetings where colleagues have labelled a year group as, “bad” because attendance figures dipped. I have seen schools quietly remove or isolate learners who “bring the numbers down.” None of it comes from bad intent; it is the pressure of the system itself.
When we focus too much on data, we start losing the story behind it. We forget that there are children with complex lives behind every percentage point. That is how we end up with decisions that protect statistics but harm people.
It’s not about teachers or leaders failing. They are often doing their best in a structure that doesn’t let them breathe. But when a school’s worth is judged by inspection scores and attendance targets, it is hard to prioritise humanity. That was the whole point of the inclusion agenda. We have all of the policies in place, but are we actually able to follow them?
Families as partners, not problems
The pandemic changed a lot about how families and schools see each other. When learning moved online, parents saw what was happening day-to-day. Some became more questioning, and honestly, that’s a good thing.
Families know their children better than anyone. Yet too often, the system treats them like obstacles rather than allies. I have seen letters that threaten fines or demand compliance when what’s really needed is a conversation.
Building trust takes time, but it changes everything. When families and schools work together, children feel supported instead of stuck in the middle. As school staff, we have to model that partnership. A simple question like “What helps your child cope?” can open a door that data never could.
Rethinking behaviour and the curriculum
Some of the practices we still see in schools break my heart. Isolation booths, zero-tolerance behaviour policies, and uniform rules that ignore sensory needs. They might make the data look tidy, but they do not help children feel seen or safe.
Behaviour should be about understanding, not punishment. Most children want to do well, but they need help to regulate, not sanctions that shame them. The same principle applies to learning itself. A curriculum built on control and compliance narrows children’s potential just as much as a behaviour policy that does the same.
When we squeeze out arts, sports and creativity, we strip away the things that help children feel proud of who they are. A balanced curriculum should help children find their strengths, not mask their differences.
Building the system we deserve
So, what does a truly inclusive system look like? It is one where difference is expected, not exceptional. Where flexibility is normal. Where crisis teams actually respond. Where funding follows need, not headcount.
We would still measure outcomes, but we would measure what matters: belonging over attendance, wellbeing over compliance, and how confident young people feel to move forward in life.
If we don’t get this right, we risk slipping back into a two-tier world, industrialisation for some and elitism for others. That is the opposite of what education should be.
I’m incredibly lucky to work alongside people who lead with conscience as much as competence. It reminds me that inclusion done well is not about lowering standards; it is about raising the floor, so no one falls through it.
Inclusion is not a luxury. It’s what stops everything else from unravelling later.
Looking forward
I started my career believing education could change lives. I still believe that. But it can only do that if it is designed for the children who actually walk through our doors.
We don’t need to keep reinventing new policies or slogans. We just need to listen to children, families and staff, and build around what real inclusion looks like in practice.
It still makes me emotional, but it is also what keeps me hopeful. Because it’s not radical. It’s simply what good education should have been all along.
About the author
Jacqueline Smith is a SENCO and doctoral researcher specialising in multiple and complex needs. She works at Progress Schools to promote equitable, evidence-informed practice across education and alternative provision.
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