From Behaviour to Belonging: Why Schools should have a Needs Policy

Imagine if every school had a Needs Policy not just a Behaviour Policy.

A framework rooted not in control and consequence, but in curiosity and compassion. A shift from “if you exhibit the wrong behaviour, this will be this consequence” to “what are your needs, and here’s what we can do to adjust our environment so you feel safe and able to meet our expectations?”

Right now, most schools operate like pharmacies. Got a headache? You pop to the chemist, grab some paracetamol, and carry on. That’s how behaviour policies often work: a child misbehaves, a remedy is administered (detention, isolation, a phone call home) and the expectation is they recover and move forward. For many children, this model works. It's the equivalent of treating a minor ailment with a standard remedy. But what happens when a child doesn’t get better?

When the Pharmacy Isn’t Enough

Imagine someone with a serious underlying condition who only ever had access to a pharmacy. No GP. No diagnosis. No plan. Just an endless cycle of symptom management.

Headache? Try more paracetamol. Still hurting? Cut out chocolate. No improvement? Perhaps you’re the problem. Try a pharmacy in another town. Eventually, you're not just unwell, you’re demoralised, dismissed, and deteriorating.

This is what it's like for many children with additional needs, whether that’s neurodivergence, disability, trauma or mental ill health; navigating mainstream education systems can be debilitating.

Our children aren't “getting better” because the interventions don’t match the underlying need. Yet instead of reassessing the approach, we double down: more sanctions, more rules, more rejection.

I am not on my own with this belief either. A study published in the British Journal of Educational Psychology emphasises the need for schools to adopt inclusive practices that consider the unique needs of students with ADHD, rather than solely focusing on behaviour management.

The Statistics That Tell This Story

• Exclusions of pupils with autism have surged by 60% since 2011, despite these pupils making up just 1% of the population (Ambitious About Autism).

• Nearly 40% of children with ADHD have received fixed-term exclusions; 11% have been permanently excluded (UK ADHD Partnership).

• Pupils with SEND account for 47% of permanent exclusions and 43% of suspensions (SEN Magazine, 2023).

These aren’t just statistics; they’re evidence that our current approach is failing many of our most vulnerable learners.

 Mainstream Schools as Pharmacies

Mainstream schools (especially secondary) are often characterised by large environments, high staff turnover, and subject-based teaching that sees students rotating between up to seven different classrooms a day. This isn’t a criticism; for many pupils, this system works well. These schools are like pharmacies: they provide broad, essential support and interventions for common needs. But they are not, and cannot be, doctors’ surgeries and expecting them to function as such helps no one.

Since 2016, the number of pupils with special educational needs has risen by 31.2%, yet the growth in specialist school provision has not kept pace (just 22.4%). Compounding this problem is the increase in special school populations which has risen by 54.9%. This mismatch places significant pressure on mainstream settings to provide more specialist support, often without the investment or training needed to do so effectively.

Alternative provision placements are scarce and surrounded by increasingly complex and protective layers of bureaucracy. Accessing them can feel like navigating a maze, with families fighting for every resource.

So, do I think mainstream schools could and should do more? Yes. Standards and attitudes across schools vary widely, and much depends on the ethos and flexibility championed by senior leadership and headteachers. There is enormous room for improvement in how many schools support vulnerable learners. But even the best mainstream school will always be a pharmacy, perhaps a fantastic one with a prescribing pharmacist but never a doctor. And some children, like my son, will need more than a pharmacy. They need a different kind of provision.

But first things first: all schools need to be honest and transparent about what they can offer and where their limits lie. A clear Needs Policy could help do just that, outlining the school’s ethos, examples of the accommodations it is willing and able to make, and where its capabilities end. Because whether a need can be met often hinges not only on resources, but on culture, mindset, and attitude. This should be echoed at the local authority level, too.

Such clarity would spare families from years of bureaucracy and disappointment decoding vague promises, having to read between the lines, and navigating political negotiations just to identify appropriate support.

It would allow everyone to start from one simple, compassionate question:
Can this child’s needs be met here?

When Behaviour Policy becomes ineffective

Too often, behaviour policies are wielded like hammers with every behaviour treated like a nail.

Schools say, “We understand your child is different, but we can’t make allowances. It wouldn’t be fair on the other children.”

Let’s unpack that.

What they’re really saying is: We know your child may have limited control over their behaviour. But we’re going to punish them anyway - not because it will help them, but because we can’t explain difference to other children.

That’s not just unjust. It’s damaging. And frankly, it’s an insult to all children involved.

Children are capable of understanding far more than we give them credit for. With the right guidance, they can learn that fairness isn’t about sameness. They can grasp that some peers need different support and that empathy and compassion matter.

What children truly need in these moments is reassurance: that the incident was addressed, that their feelings were heard, and that the adults around them are in control.

This isn’t about letting go of expectations it’s about reimagining how we set them. Because schools that take the time to teach kindness, emotional regulation, and neurodiversity awareness create safer environments for everyone.

Some mainstream schools are already doing this. Others choose not to—and that choice is what separates a school that manages behaviour from one is focused on understanding needs.

A School That Got It Right

When my son started in education, we placed him in a tiny village school that we thought would be perfect. But we spent his early years trying to explain his needs, only to be met with blank stares, poorly-considered suggestions and resistance. It was clear that the school were ill equipped (both in terms of resource, knowledge and attitude) to support his needs. We moved him to another school in Year 2. A huge primary with an ethos based on love and compassion. One of my first interactions with the school, was when he got the chance to go swimming with them.

I spoke to the deputy head as I was worried. I explained that swimming often overwhelmed him; too much sensory input, too many unknowns meant his hyperactivity and impulsiveness would go into overdrive. I fully expected a “okay well it is probably best if he stays in school” response. Instead, he said:

“Thanks for telling us. We won’t want him to miss out though. I’ll get in the pool with him if he needs it, so he has someone by his side. And we’ll take him to the pool early so he can get settled before the others arrive.”

It was so simple, yet so powerful. It was care. This primary school was (is) a wonderful school. My son loved it there and thrived because of it!

When It Goes Wrong

High school though was a different ball game. We knew it was unlikely to work for him but the view was, we should try. It was clear that he was finding it difficult and then things started to escalate. One particularly demanding day, my son asked for a football at lunch so he could play alone as he was overwhelmed and trying to self-regulate. A group of older boys came over and pushed to join. He said no. They insisted. He exploded, swearing and shouting at them. One boy started filming him. My son lunged.

He was excluded. When we got together for the debrief, I acknowledged that fighting was not a reaction I condoned but that I wanted them to understand why this reaction had come about. I explained that my overwhelmed son had felt threatened by the group of older boys. The school’s response was:

“Well, he should’ve gone to an adult if he felt threatened. There were members of staff on the yard.”

Even basic psychology teaches that fight-or-flight hijacks rational thinking. Add trauma and ADHD into the mix, and no child in that state is going to calmly seek out an unfamiliar adult and articulate why their trauma and neurodiversity is causing them to feel unsafe.

Another comment they made was:

“The other boys were doing the right thing. They were trying to include him.”

But he didn’t want inclusion. He wanted space. Inclusion without consent isn’t kindness, it’s coercion. Had the boys been taught about neurodiversity, curiosity, and respect, maybe they would’ve asked how he was. Maybe they would’ve listened when he said no.

This is a perfect example of approaches taken by mainstream schools that could be improved to generate better outcomes for all learners.

Inclusion Requires More Than Good Intentions

My son needs to feel known, understood, valued and cared for. In a mainstream high school, with its rotating cast of teachers and support staff, that simply wasn’t possible.

It is very early days in his new specialist provision school, but I can already see that they do things differently. They don’t manage behaviour. They understand needs. And in doing so, they create the conditions for real progress. Why is the child acting like this? Knowing this, what can we do to help this child be their best or react in a better way? Curiosity, empathy and compassion in practice.

To be honest, for a long time I worried about this approach. Are we just accommodating difficult behaviour? Are we setting him up to fail in the “real world”? Society won’t always tolerate certain behaviours, so shouldn’t we be teaching children to toe the line now?

But here’s what I’ve come to understand: if a child is constantly overwhelmed, ashamed, and misunderstood, how can they possibly develop the strategies they need to cope? How can they reflect and build the skills to manage their emotions and behaviour if we’ve already robbed them of the belief that they can? if we've labelled them, even implicitly, as fundamentally “bad” or “a problem”?

In an environment that meets their needs, they begin to understand themselves. To heal trauma and develop understanding of their brains and how they might affect their own behaviour. To believe in themselves and their potential. They may not reach this point at the same pace as their peers, so they need time—time and support to do this in a way that aligns with their developmental needs.

Inclusion Is a Community Effort

This isn’t just about teachers. It’s about all of us who help shape the environment our children grow up in.

We need a meaningful shift from managing behaviour to understanding it.

I don’t have the answers to this problem. I know it isn’t just about throwing more money at schools, it needs to be more than this. I really feel that the govenrment need to coproduce an initiative; bringing together young people, parents, professionals (ed Psych, teachers etc) and work to overhaul the system. If that happened, these are a few of the points I would want on the agenda:

• Delivery of mandatory, regular trauma-informed and neurodiversity training for all new and existing teachers and governors.

• Requirement for governing bodies to have designated (and qualified) neurodiversity and inclusion leads.

• Greater investment in pastoral staff who help shape culture, resources and respond to needs.

• More awareness and education for parents, so they can partner with schools

• Recognition and replication of schools with excellent inclusive practice.

• Mainstream “bridge” schools with smaller classes, fewer GCSEs, more focus on life skills, wellbeing and exploring non-academic abilities and talents.

• …oh and every school to publish a Needs policy!

Final Thought

When we stop trying to treat symptoms and start creating environments that foster understanding, we move from managing behaviour to meeting needs.

Not every child will thrive with a one-size-fits-all remedy; some need more time, different tools, or a different kind of support altogether. We don’t need more stricter behaviour policies that dish out over-the-counter fixes. We need Needs Policies that ask deeper questions. and clarify practices, attitudes and accommodations.

When we shift our focus this way, we give children the space to understand their own minds. To explore both the challenges and the incredible strengths that come with difference. To develop the strategies they need to thrive, not just in school, but in the world beyond.