There’s a lot in the media right now about SEND families being failed by a system that simply doesn’t work — and that part is true. From endless waiting lists and mediation meetings to tribunals and confusing local authority decisions, name it and chances are we’ve been there.
But alongside those conversations sits another, quieter assumption: that when you’re a SEND parent, your world should naturally become smaller. That work, ambition, or wanting more from life should take a back seat — and that being mum or carer is where the story ends.
I don’t believe that. And this is our reality.
I’m a mum of two boys, and I’ve always worked. Other than maternity leave — nine months with my first, six with my second — I’ve never stepped away from employment by choice. Work has always mattered to me, not just financially, but for my sense of self.
When my youngest turned one, the early signs of his neurodivergence began to show. They were small at first, almost easy to explain away. But as time went on, the calls increased. Nursery pickups. Appointments. Meetings. Paperwork. That constant low-level alertness SEND parents know so well.
I was lucky to have an understanding boss — genuinely. But understanding doesn’t change logistics. As my son grew, the unpredictability grew with him, and slowly, painfully, I became unreliable on paper. Not through lack of commitment or effort — but because my child needed me, often and without warning.
Eventually, it became clear I couldn’t continue in a role with fixed hours and rigid expectations. I needed flexibility — real flexibility — and a lot of it. But I also needed to pay the bills. I found myself in a strange limbo: still working, still capable, still driven — yet suddenly feeling… unemployable.
While I was searching for something that might work, my stepmum reached out and offered me an exciting role alongside her at Crave Mag. Because she’s family, I didn’t have to explain myself. I didn’t have to justify my work ethic or apologise for unpredictability. She knew I’d give my all — and she also knew my child would always come first.
I jumped at the chance. Not just because it was work, but because it allowed me to feel like me again. Not only a mum, not only a carer — but Hannah. Relevant. Valuable. Seen.
What I don’t hear enough of are stories about SEND parents who are allowed to be both caring and ambitious. What I hear instead is, “I can’t work because my child’s needs don’t fit around a job,” or “I had to give up a career I loved.” And I get it. I really do. Without the flexibility I’ve been fortunate to find, I imagine I’d be in a role chosen purely for survival — something remote, mundane and monotmous, stretching myself beyond reason, or not working at all — simply because employers who genuinely understand are so hard to come by.
Right now, we’re in another uncertain chapter. My son has an EHCP and a full-time one-to-one in a mainstream school. He’s thriving. But we’re being told this may be temporary — that we should start considering alternative education options.
SEND schools for us would mean a one-hour-and-twenty-minute journey in the morning, and the same again in the afternoon. He’s too young for funded transport, and keeping him regulated in the car for even short journeys can be a challenge.
So let’s say he does get a SEND school placement.
What does work look like then?
What income can I realistically earn on a 10am start and a 2pm finish?
The answer is NOT enough.
After-school clubs aren’t an option — they don’t accommodate his one-to-one needs. Holiday clubs aren’t an option either, for the same reason. And the six-week summer holiday? It’s hard enough for neurotypical families — but for children who rely on routine, it can be deeply destabilising.
I recently read a comment about how outdated the six-week break is — a structure built for a time when one parent stayed home, and the other worked. In today’s world, with the cost of living rising and retirement ages increasing, that model just doesn’t exist anymore. Grandparents are often still working. Two incomes aren’t a luxury — they’re a necessity.
Add SEND into the mix, and the maths isn’t mathing…
As a SEND parent, you’re constantly preparing — not just for tomorrow, but for years ahead. Will my son sit exams? Will he work? Will he live independently, or with us? How do we support him in every possible future?
To do that, we need stability. We need income. And I need to work in a way that allows me to adapt — to create boundaries, flexibility, and safety, not just for my son, but for our whole family.
My grandparents worked hard their entire lives. They’ve recently passed, leaving us a portion of their hard-earned savings. It’s a gift we don’t take lightly — it’s something we must invest wisely.
So we are. We’re opening a shop.
I’ve researched. I’ve found a genuine gap in the market. And I believe it can work — not just as a business, but as a structure that supports our SEND family, whatever the future holds.
This isn’t about chasing success for success’s sake. It’s about refusing the idea that being a SEND parent means shrinking your life.
Opening a shop is more than a business decision for me.
It’s a sense of self.
It’s security for my family.
It’s a safe, familiar space for my son.
And it’s proof — to him and to myself — that we can do both.
I don’t want to change the narrative by judging anyone else’s choices. I understand, deeply, why so many SEND parents can’t work in traditional ways. I live that reality every day.
But I do want to widen the narrative. I want to believe we can do both, and I want to try — not just for my family’s future, but for my own sense of self and mental health too. Because, wanting to work, to build something, or to hold on to who you are doesn’t make you selfish. It makes you human.
I want to be a loving mum to two boys.
I want to be a successful businesswoman who provides for her family.
I want to be a good role model.
I want my children to see that life doesn’t stop when you have children — it changes. And I don’t believe that should be any different when you have a SEND child. My children will never go without love or care. But I am allowed to exist beyond those roles, too. I can be both mum and Hannah.
Words By Hannah Parnaby
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