From Power to Partnership: Changing How We Talk to Families

I originally sat down to write a post for families. I intended to write something that would help them communicate more effectively with teachers around advocacy. But someone reminded me of something important, and it shifted my focus.

This one is for the teachers.

You are in a position of power. And with that power comes responsibility.

Teachers need to do a better job of communicating with families, especially those of disabled students. If you are in a classroom, if you influence a child’s day-to-day experience, then you hold immense power. That power comes with an obligation to act with care, transparency, and accountability. It means you cannot misuse it, and you cannot abuse it.

When teachers feel backed into a corner, the instinct is often to protect ourselves. I’ve felt it. But defensiveness cannot be the foundation of our practice.

I’m not going to walk you through the legal requirements around accommodations or the human rights protections that apply. You should already know them. These are not extras. They are the bare minimum. They should guide your practice.

Every.
Single.
Day.

Start by reaching out to families early. Do not wait until there is a problem. Do not wait for an IEP meeting. Do not assume that everything is captured in a student's file because often it is not. Diagnoses are missing. Files are incomplete. Critical context is buried or overlooked. And not every disabled student has a formal designation.

Inclusion cannot be reactive. It must be intentional from the start.

Build the relationship before you need it. Send a message introducing yourself. Ask what works for their child. Ask what doesn’t. The email doesn’t have to be perfect. But it needs to be human.

Don’t frame your communication around behavior. Behavior is often disability-related. When you focus on behavior, especially without context or compassion, families stop hearing support and start hearing blame. Behavior should trigger your duty to inquire, not your impulse to correct.

Ask questions and stay curious. Just because everything seems fine at school does not mean everything is fine at home. Masking is real. Burnout is real. Some of your most compliant students are the ones falling apart when they leave the classroom.

Talk to families about barriers. Ask what exclusion has looked like for them. Ask about accommodations that have worked, and the ones that haven’t. Resist the urge to label families as difficult just because they advocate. That’s not defiance. That’s love and often pure survival.

Recognize the power you hold and use it wisely. If your administration is resisting accommodations or allowing exclusionary practices, speak up. You are not just allowed to. You are obligated to. 

Do the work to understand ableism. Call it what it is when you see it. Make disability justice part of your school’s growth plan. It should come before academic achievement, not after. Attend workshops. Learn. Unlearn. Most importantly, center the voices of disabled people. Lived experience matters more than policy handbooks or checklists.

Inclusion doesn’t start with the right form or the perfect lesson plan. It starts with the way we talk to families. The way we listen. The way we show up with curiosity and a willingness to grow.

Don’t rely on Universal Design for Learning to solve everything. It’s a framework, not a fix. Strategies are not accommodations. Learn the difference.

Stop waiting for someone else to do this work. You are the system. You have influence. You have power. Use it.

Because if we cannot talk to families with empathy, humility, and a willingness to listen, then we are not practicing inclusion. We’re just managing optics. And that is simply not good enough.

Do better. Start now.