If there’s one thing I’ve learned on this journey as a neurodivergent parent raising a neurodivergent child, it’s that nothing is ever simple. Not brushing teeth. Not getting out the door. And certainly not school.
This past year has been a particularly tough chapter for our family. My 8 year old son, Fraser who is proudly and beautifully neurodivergent, has been dealing with bullying at school. Actually it’s been going on since reception if you can believe that!! And not the “kids will be kids” kind (which, by the way, is a phrase I’d like to yeet into the sun). This is targeted. Persistent. Harmful.
And we are exhausted. But also angry. And determined.
The reality for ND kids at school
Fraser is bright, curious, hilarious, and kind. He also processes the world differently from many of his peers. He is the epitome of literal. He might miss social cues or respond in ways others don’t immediately understand. That difference, instead of being celebrated, has made him a target.
He’s been called names, excluded from games, mimicked, and told he’s “weird.” Hes been kicked in the stomach and shin. He’s had his chair pulled away from him as he’s gone to sit down. He’s come home crying. He’s come home silent. He’s started asking questions no 8 year old should have to ask:
“Why don’t they like me?”
“What did I do wrong?”
“Is there something wrong with my brain?”
Cue the heartbreak.
When schools don’t get it
We’ve raised it with the school. Multiple times. So many schools still don’t have the training, the awareness, or the will to create environments where neurodivergent kids feel safe. Not just tolerated. Safe.
We’ve heard the usual:
“He just needs to build resilience.” “Maybe he could try joining in more.” “We haven’t seen anything.”
And let me tell you, when your child is being harmed and the people in charge of protecting them suggest they need to change? It feels like gaslighting. It gives me instant rage!
We’re not just raising awareness, we’re raising hell because this has to stop!
Bullying is not a childhood rite of passage. It’s trauma. It sticks. Especially when you’re neurodivergent and the world already feels confusing and overwhelming. I know from personal experience unfortunately.
We’re doing what we can at home. Validating his feelings. Building him up. Teaching him self-advocacy and pride in who he is. But it’s not enough if the systems around him keep failing.
So we’re pushing back. Advocating. Writing emails that are probably too long and definitely too honest. Finding allies and support systems.
Because Fraser and every ND child deserves to be seen, understood, and protected.
If you’re reading this and your child is going through the same
You’re not alone. We see you. We know the ache of wanting to bubble-wrap your child and also set the world on fire in the same breath.
You’re allowed to feel angry. Tired. Sad. You’re allowed to cry in the car park after drop-off. And you’re allowed to demand better, louder, fiercer, and without apology.
Closing thoughts
This isn’t the post I wanted to write. But it’s the one I needed to. Because silence helps no one but the bullies and the broken systems.
Fraser is still his incredible self. And he’s not the problem, he never was. The problem is a world that refuses to bend for difference.
But we will keep bending it. One meeting, one blog post, one brave kid at a time.
Sensory Soul 