A Maisy & Dadda story about hope, worry, and finding our way through a changing SEND funding world.
It’s hard to believe that in less than a year, Maisy will be putting on her first little school uniform. Just typing that makes my heart skip. How is it possible that my tiny girl — the one who still puts her arms out for cuddles — will be walking through those big school gates in September 2026?
Like any parent, I feel a mixture of pride and excitement… but also a quiet, constant worry.
The big changes ahead- SEND Funding
Recently, I’ve been reading a lot about how things are changing in the UK for children with additional needs — especially when it comes to SEND funding (Special Educational Needs and Disabilities). It’s one of those areas that feels complicated even for the people who work in it, never mind parents like us who are just trying to do the best for our children.
The truth is, schools and local councils are under more pressure than ever. There are more children like Maisy who need extra help, but the money and support systems don’t always keep up. New rules and funding models are being talked about. Some local authorities are already changing how they decide who qualifies for help, or how much they can give.
And as we watch all that unfold, I can’t help but think: what will this mean for Maisy?
What keeps me awake at night
Maisy is thriving right now (See her Preschool transition blog here!). Her nursery has been a dream. They’ve wrapped her in care and belief, gently helping her learn and grow in her own beautiful way. They understand her needs, and they celebrate her strengths. But school… that’s the next big step.
And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried.
Worried about whether her new teachers will have the time and support they need.
Worried that the changing SEND funding criteria might make it harder for children like Maisy to access the right help at the right time.
Worried that when budgets are tight, something precious — the patience, the one-to-one time, the quiet encouragement — might be the thing that slips through the cracks.
Maisy deserves to shine just as brightly in school as she does everywhere else. I know she will — she’s got a spark that can’t be dimmed — but I can’t help wanting to make sure the world around her keeps that spark safe.
Holding on to hope
At the same time, I’ve learned something powerful from Maisy: worry can only take you so far. Action, preparation, and love — that’s where the magic happens.
So, this year, we’ve started reaching out to local schools. I want to talk early, ask questions, understand how they support children with additional needs. I want to build those relationships now, before the rush of September 2026 hits.
I’ll gather every little bit of information from her therapists, nursery reports, and healthcare professionals — not to overwhelm anyone, but to paint the full picture of who Maisy is. She’s not just a “SEND child” or a line in a funding report. She’s a little girl who giggles until she hiccups, who loves singing, music, and cuddles, and who lights up every room she enters. That’s who they’ll be meeting.
What really matters
When you strip away the policies and paperwork, it always comes back to this: every child deserves to be understood. Every parent deserves to feel that their child will be cared for, encouraged, and loved at school — not just accommodated.
I know we can’t control everything. The government might change rules, SEND funding might shift, and SEND criteria might tighten. But we can keep showing up for her. Keep learning. Keep speaking kindly but firmly about what she needs. And most of all, keep believing that she belongs.
Because she does.
Maisy belongs in every room she enters.
In every playground.
In every classroom.
A final thought from Dadda
Sometimes, when I tuck her into bed and she drifts off with her hand on mine, I find myself thinking about that first day of school — her little backpack, her beaming smile, her proud “bye Dadda!”
And I know, whatever happens with the system, with SEND funding, with policy… We’ll face it together.
We’ll keep sharing our story — not because it’s always easy, but because it matters.
Love always,
Dadda 💛