I’ve been meaning to write this for months now. My newly developed insomnia appears to have ended my inaction.
It’s all about how I went about submitting my own evidence – the parental statement element – for an Education, Health and Care Plan (EHCP).
I delayed the application for months. You can read more about the why here. Basically, I wanted to give it my best shot. Making a half-hearted attempt would probably miss the mark.
Having read the importance of evidence when applying for an EHCP, I really struggled to find a format that would work for me to convey the course of events and situations that preceded the application. It’s particularly hard to separate out the emotion and emotiveness of the events.
My solution? A minutes-style table, detailing the date, incident and outcome.
This was my second attempt. The first one was figuratively tear-stained, to say the least.
The thing is, I’ve been labelled an emotional wreck since my teens. My housemaster at school told me this several times in my school career. And I believed him. I cry at all sorts, get easily overwhelmed by my feelings, and just generally overreact to all sorts of situations.
(Make what you will of that…)
On the plus side, I can also write passionately and persuasively. It’s part of what I do when I have my work hat on.
So separating out the emotion, the disdain I feel for school in particular, was important. For the purpose of the EHCP, however, I need facts for evidence, not feelings, and certainly not blame.
I had to make it clear that everything we’d tried collectively with school hadn’t worked. That the numerous adjustments hadn’t made a difference. After all, the purpose of an EHCP is to put an individualised plan of support in place where special educational needs are not currently being met. Any suggestion that things were working, but that a breakdown in the relationship with school had impacted on the outcome, could result in a refusal to assess.
These minutes of three years of our life ran to six pages. I spent a few days carefully editing what I’d written, mostly cutting it down to the core events and incidents that illustrated her needs, and on the eleventh hour I submitted them, along with the other evidence I’d gathered.
Here’s what I sent:
• my minuted timeline of events
• the one page profile we’d done at home
• Educational psychologist report
• two CAMHS reports
• GP letter
• report from private psychiatrist
• copy of school evidence requesting specialist support service involvement
• copy of ASD assessment application, both mine and school sections
In my minutes I’d also made careful reference to each of the documents, so that it was clear where they fitted into the timeline.
Now, I didn’t think that was much evidence. My caseworker disagreed – and was impressed by how much evidence she’d been given.
So, if you’re looking at applying, then I’d wholly recommend this approach. You can download a template here of what I produced, with some actual examples from ours. Note that this amounts to about 30% of the timeline that I submitted.
As a final thought, though, I feel both blessed and bemused.
I feel blessed because I have a degree and a solid command of the English language. I’ve learned how to write compellingly, and how to gather and interpret evidence to draw supported conclusions. I’m lucky in that respect and there’s no doubt that it helped me with a successful application for a parental EHCP. I was also free by this stage from the emotional turmoil of school refusal, having made the decision nearly a year previously to put a stop to causing my daughter any further emotional harm from keep trying to attend school.
I feel bemused that there are so many parents not as fortunate as I. So many schools refuse to apply for an EHCP – like mine – and so it’s left to the parents. Yet the application process is fraught with potential pitfalls and trip hazards. What if you can’t write formally, or well? What if your own health has been so detrimentally affected that you can’t think straight? What if you don’t have the time or means to do the endless research I’d done?
On the pitfalls: our caseworker challenged me on one point I’d made in my statement – that our daughter had been diagnosed with GAD (generalised anxiety disorder) at her first CAMHS assessment, when actually it simply said that she’d scored high for anxiety and depression. I was quick to acknowledge my mistake, and asked for it to be corrected. I’m under no illusion, however, that it could easily be three strikes and you’re out. Seen to be lying or exaggerating won’t paint you in a favourable light, that’s for sure.
I hope this helps someone with their application, in the same way that this post on Special Needs Jungle helped me. It’s terrible that we have to jump through such hoops to secure support for our children, but us SEND warrior parents will do what it takes, always.