When They Don’t See Your Child: How to Push Back Without Burning Out
Introduction
There’s a specific kind of heartbreak that comes from watching a system talk around your child, not to who they are.
They see the meltdowns, but not the masterpieces.
They note the absences, but not the effort.
They speak in labels—and you’re there like, “Hello? That’s a whole human you're summarizing in a spreadsheet.”
And look, I’ve absolutely had moments where I wanted to cuss someone out in a meeting—or just quit altogether. But I didn’t.
This post is about how I keep showing up—with heart, with boundaries, and yes, with a little strategic petty.
What I Wanted to Say vs. What I Actually Said
Let’s be honest. Advocacy is 50% emotional restraint, 50% Google Docs. Here’s a peek into my inner monologue during meetings:
What I wanted to say:
“Are you serious right now?”
What I actually said:
“Let’s revisit the data you’re referencing.”
What I wanted to say:
“Did you read her eval?”
What I actually said:
“According to page 14 of the report, that isn’t accurate.”
What I wanted to say:
“This is BS.”
What I actually said:
“That’s not aligned with her needs or current supports.”
What I wanted to say:
“Y’all need training.”
What I actually said:
“There seems to be a gap in understanding. I can follow up with resources.”
What I wanted to say:
“I’m done. Good luck.”
What I actually said:
“I’ll be pausing here and bringing this to our consultant.”
The point? You don’t have to be passive to be professional. You can be clear and firm without burning yourself out in the process.
Polite Power Moves I Swear By
There’s an art to pushing back—strategically. Here’s what I use like armor:
📝 “Per our last meeting…”
Translation: Don’t play with me—I document.
📧 cc’ing outside professionals
“Looping in her therapist for context.” (Now everybody behaves.)
📎 Submitting a parent letter BEFORE the meeting
So the tone is set before the talking even starts.
💬 Asking for written follow-ups
“I’d love that in writing—just for clarity.” (And now it’s real.)
🧘🏽 Saying, ‘Let me follow up’ instead of forcing the moment
Because pausing is powerful, too.
Reframes That Saved My Sanity
You can’t advocate from an empty soul. These are the reframes I use when I’m about to spiral:
“This system is slow. That doesn’t mean I stop.”
“Their words don’t define my child.”
“My exhaustion is valid, but my voice still matters.”
“I’m not alone—and I don’t have to know everything to advocate well.”
I Don’t Do This Alone Anymore
Here’s how I protect my energy and still move mountains for Juju:
📅 I have designated advocacy hours.
I don’t answer school emails at 10pm. If it’s not an emergency, it waits.
👩🏽🏫 I bring backup.
Whether it’s an educational consultant, therapist, or support team—if it’s feeling too heavy, I tag in help.
📎 I use templates and trackers.
Everything doesn’t need to be rewritten from scratch. The See Yah Toolkit exists so I can show up with clarity, not chaos.
🖥️ I use Tactiq.io in meetings.
It records the conversation, creates a transcript, and lets me export tasks so I don’t spend the meeting scribbling notes and missing what’s said.
Final Word: What I Know Now
Here’s what years of advocating—and crying in the parking lot after—have taught me:
Advocacy is not about being perfect. It’s about being present.
Systems may not celebrate your child—but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve celebration.
You can be soft and strategic. Tired and powerful.
And most of all?
You’re allowed to lead with heart—even when no one else in the room gets it.
Take a breath. You’re doing more than enough.
And the tools? They’re just here to help you feel less alone while you do it.
