When Words Matter:
Effective Communication with Schools
As parents, we often find ourselves advocating for our children, especially during their school years. Communicating through emails or messaging systems has become a common part of this advocacy. But, how can we make our communication more effective? Is simply being truthful enough? Can being overly diplomatic risk sounding insincere or even condescending? Striking the right balance is key to ensuring our messages are clear, respectful, and impactful.
Sunshine Calls
When my son was in Grade 1, I received a call from his homeroom teacher, Mr. M. Seeing the school’s name flash on the caller ID, my heart sank. My immediate thought was, "What now?" Over the years, school calls had developed an uncanny ability to drop my heart. Each ring felt like an alarm, reminding me of another meltdown, a fall, or some concern that I had somehow failed to prevent.
I had learned to answer these calls with a composed, matter-of-fact tone—pretending to be unshaken. But inside, I struggled. As I listened to reports of challenges, a quiet but relentless voice whispered, "See? This is proof you've failed." No matter how hard I worked to support my son, that voice lingered, casting doubt on my efforts.
But this call was different. Mr. M greeted me warmly, simply calling to share that my son was doing well and to check if I had any questions.
Wow.
Later, I learned that in Teacher’s College, educators are encouraged to make these positive, proactive calls—but in reality, few get the chance. I made it a point to thank Mr. M and let him know how much his "Sunshine Call" meant throughout the years. His wasn’t just a casual check-in; it normalized school calls for me. It reminded me that sometimes, the phone ringing could give me a reason to smile.
Over the years, I’ve met a few school staff who understood the toll—yes, the toll—that phone calls can take on parents of children with special needs. Some would begin with, "Sandy, your son is okay." To them, I am deeply grateful. Their thoughtful approach helped balance the many calls that came to inform, request, or report challenges. They reminded me that my son could and was thriving in many areas during the span of a regular day, helping me remember that he was not "failing" every hour.
Email Communications
"Kind words heal and help; cutting words wound and maim." (Proverbs 15:4)
I don't like phone calls. Perhaps it's partly because I’m neurodivergent myself. It’s not about capacity—after all, I worked in public relations for a year—but phone calls are harder for me. Without visual cues, I have to work harder to interpret tone and meaning. That’s why I rely more on email.
Emails provide a clear record and can ensure communication is understood. But if not crafted carefully, they can lose the human connection and risk misunderstanding, which can lead to friction.
I think of the time a teacher described my son’s meltdown as "aggressive" and "defiant." Another described him as "stubborn" and "uncooperative." When teachers asked me what "tactics" I used to address "disruptive behavior," my heart pounded. I wanted to scream or run away. The feeling of being misunderstood was deeply painful.
Words matter. They can either bind or break. I wasn’t born understanding this, and neither are teachers. Consider the differences in these word choices:
Tactics vs. Strategies
Disruptive vs. Disruption
Aggressive vs. Distressed
Defiance vs. Frustrated
Obedient vs. Compliant
Hostile vs. Upset
Resistant vs. Cautious
Notice how your heart and mind respond differently to these terms?
Writing these emails can be challenging. I often want to explain everything to ensure teachers understand my child. But, as with Mr. M’s simple call, I’ve learned that emails can be clear and purposeful without being lengthy. A focused email can be just as powerful.
Before writing, I pause to clarify why I’m writing and what I hope to achieve. If I’m not clear-headed and can’t identify one or two main purposes, the email will be muddled, and I’ll likely be disappointed by the response. Sometimes, talking it through with someone helps. I ask myself: am I trying to inform, explain, request, or clarify something?
Purposes of an Email
1. Inform
Sometimes, the goal is simply to share information that can help the school better support my child. For example:
Letting them know my son had a tough morning and may be more vulnerable to meltdowns.
Sharing updates from his therapy sessions and suggesting strategies that could be used at school.
Informing them about external support he’s receiving that could impact his learning.
These emails aren’t asking for action—they’re about keeping the school informed and encouraging consistency between home and school.
2. Explain
At times, it’s important to provide context to help the school understand why something is happening. For instance:
Explaining that unclear instructions can trigger anxiety or frustration and giving examples of what that looks like.
Clarifying why a behavior might have occurred—like sensory overload or difficulty with transitions.
Explaining helps prevent misunderstandings and avoids assumptions that could negatively affect my child’s support.
3. Request
This is the most common reason for writing. Clarity is crucial. A vague request can lead to confusion, so I strive to be specific:
Am I requesting a meeting to discuss an IEP update, or a change via email only?
Do I want an explanation about why my child was in the principal’s office, or do I want to request a change in how such situations are handled?
Am I asking for updates on his progress, or confirming that accommodations are being followed?
Being clear about what I’m requesting helps avoid misunderstandings and speeds up solutions.
4. Clarify
Sometimes, misunderstandings happen. When things feel unclear, I use emails to:
Clarify what happened during an incident or conversation.
Express my perspective if I believe incorrect assumptions were made about my child.
Respond to concerns and ensure the school has an accurate understanding.
These emails are about clearing up confusion to keep communication open and constructive.
In the end, there will always be people like Mr. M.—those who see and celebrate our children—and those who don’t. That’s just the hard truth.
While some environments may be unhealthy and require bigger changes, I’ve learned that reframing my mindset helps. Frustrations, misunderstandings, and painful moments are part of the journey. But I’ve also seen how much communication can shape these experiences—for better or worse. It’s often the bridge that makes or breaks relationships.
This is the team God has given us for this season. And every year, my simple prayer has been:
"Lord, just give me one person inside the school who will listen to me, love my child, and champion for him."
It doesn’t have to be the teacher. In some years, it hasn’t been. But if I have just one person who understands and supports my child, I can find the strength to work through whatever challenges come our way.
© 2025 Sandy Ho. All rights reserved.