Why accessibility awareness matters
Aside from concerns of funding, which is a discussion for another day, I am becoming increasingly convinced that the simple act of awareness is key for matters of accessibility. It is this belief that I use to drive my work into making children’s picture books more accessible. There has not been a single person who I have worked with in children’s publishing whose goal isn’t to create books that children love and enjoy, and so my hope is that if I can attract some awareness to issues that consumers and end users have with their books, I can be part of making some real change. On the whole, I strongly believe that people want to help others where they can.
A recent example of how important accessibility awareness is and the humungous difference small acts of acceptance make to SEND people and their families happened to me just before Christmas.
Haircuts have always been a huge issue for my eldest because they are particularly sensitive to types of noise, and hair clippers seem to be particular trigger. My youngest doesn’t like haircuts much either, to a lesser extent, and from other parents I have spoken to, it does seem a frequently disdained activity for toddlers and young children.
Given how prevalent the hatred, fear, anxiety of haircuts in young children seems to be, you’d think that there’d be more tolerance or understanding at hairdressers, particularly within those establishments who specifically advertise themselves for kids; decked out with the cool train seats, colourful mirrors and Peppa Pig episodes on loop. My experience for the last four years has been horrendous, where I actively wait as long as possible between haircuts to avoid the situation all together; which with a visually impaired child, whose abundant straight hair only grows forwards over their face at an alarming speed, is not ideal.
In my town (“city” technically, but … please!), there is a hairdressers that is specifically for children and is advertised as such. It’s also opposite the bus station, and one of my eldest’s fixations at one stage was buses so I thought that might give the whole experience a positive edge. I have been there three times over the years. Never consecutively because my experience has been horrific every time. Each of these experiences combined together has made the monster of the haircut experience much more difficult and terrifying that the sum of its parts. I returned after awhile in the vain hope that things would be better now they are older, but it added another blob of trauma to the haircut monster.
Appointments always start with me asking that they not use clippers. The first time, I didn’t explain why because I thought why should I need to go into detail. I was met with an eye roll making me feel like one of those crazy, overprotective mums who thinks their precious snowflake is sensitive and needs special treatment. When honestly, why wouldn’t I want to choose the clippers route, which is the way to get the ordeal of the haircut over and done with in the shortest amount of time? I was then asked several times if I was sure they couldn’t use the clippers, and met with a similar response every time.
Another time, as they were cutting around my eldest’s ears, whom was very upset and distressed at the time, I held their head in place, and the hairdresser was tutting angrily and saying, ‘This is so dangerous!’ over and over again, loudly and obviously near my eldest’s ear. They were young at this point, 18 months or so, but they could still hear and understand.
The third time, I was determined to introduce them to clippers and, adding to my eternal guilt that surrounds and haunts me as a SEND parent with a non-SEND child, I used my youngest as a guinea pig to show my eldest that it didn’t hurt and get them used to the sound (My youngest was fine: brave and super chill). I asked the hairdresser if they could tidy up the sides and leave the top longer, and they buzz cut both of my children. It is only hair, and of course it grows back, but it added to my horrendous experiences in this place. Although using the clippers didn’t go horribly this time, my eldest was not happy that they’d gone from long hair to short and was grumpy and cross about it for a few days.
I now tell anyone I know with children in this area to avoid going there at all costs. We did have a few more pleasant experiences in between these appointments at Super Cuts, but long waiting times, inability to book and not being able to guarantee that we’d get the lovely hairdresser who was patient and lovely with us just ended up causing more issues for us than it solved. And was the reason I resorted back to the other place in one instance.
Before Christmas, I desperately wanted to get the two of them in for a haircut, and we happened to run into some mums from school. Our school has set up a coffee morning for SEND parents to meet, chat and support each other. We have a WhatsApp group chat. Somehow, the topic of how difficult haircuts are for us came up and I was recommended a barbers near us that she had found and used for her little one, after having similar experiences.
I went to this recommended barber the next day, bribing my eldest with a new book and a promise that they could play their favourite flag game during the haircut.
As I walked in, it was a smaller place, with a box of children’s books in the corner, which was already a hit. It was a smaller, less busy place which I think helped a great deal. We sat and read a book as we waited and as we went over to the chair and they asked what we wanted done, I explained about them being sensitive to sound and could they please just use scissors. And the reply was a simple, “Yes” and they started the haircut. No eye roll. No convincing me to use clippers. No need for an explanation.
I wasn’t made to feel like a crazy and overprotective parent. I didn’t feel as if we were a burden, coming in with excessive demands and ideas that we needed special treatment. I immediately felt relaxed and my anxiety melted away. My eldest still didn’t like the haircut, but the hairdresser chatted to them about flags – he was patient and kind.
I had a little cry on the way home. A happy, relieved sort of cry. A weight had been lifted that I hadn’t realised I was carrying. And it was just because they accepted that I said with no fuss. They had an awareness that this was something I had to say in this scenario and that I had evidence to support it. They believed me. Which though this sounds like something that should happen all the time, it does not. In my four years of these things, and bear in mind I am only a SEND parent who experiences these things from a secondary perspective, I am often made to feel that people don’t believe me, or I am made to feel as though I am exaggerating, or that I am obligated to ‘prove’ things. It makes me feel like garbage and incredibly anxious.
I do not think that people say these things to be mean, and perhaps some can be chalked up to my being oversensitive about these issues, but things you feel sensitive about, build up over time, piece by piece. It is never one big defining moment, but lots of seemingly innocent micro-aggression moments stacking up over time.
“It never seems like they can’t see.”
“I haven’t seen them bump into something and fall over.”
“It’ll get better as they get older.”
“But they have glasses now.”
“They’re just a bit sensitive.”
And if I feel like this, from the outside, I can’t comprehend how it feels to someone who is disabled and dealing with this on top of everything else.
Going for a haircut, for the majority of people, is a small task they don’t think a lot about. They go, pay and book to go again. They don’t have to think about it beyond when you are actively there. But I plan, strategise and think carefully about details. Details I was never aware were even details. Being a parent of small children is a lot anyway, but being a SEND parent magnifies that by an amount that doesn’t feel possible.
As I am both a SEND parent and a parent, I often describe the brain space difference by talking about a going on a walk, one-on-one. With my eldest, I think about the weather, light levels to pick the correct shade of their glasses, then pack the other pair just in case. I consider how tired they are and how that seems to be effecting their balance and eyesight. I think ahead about the route, how even the ground is overall, are there many cracks to avoid, how busy it might be at that point of the day. Then I’ll verbally narrate the surroundings as we walk, pointing out obstacles and people as we come across them. With my youngest, I’ll pop on their coat and shoes and just go. With my eldest, my brain is working at 95%, with my youngest it’s probably at 10%.
I mention this to highlight that for SEND people and their families, there is detail, planning, thought and research into what to others is a simple self-care or mundane daily task. The every day routine, activity, task is often a huge mountain of planning and consideration which takes up so much mental space.
With this in the forefront of my mind, part of what I want to bring attention to going forwards into 2024 is surrounding accessible books (and accessible resources more generally) and how if they are offered, they need to be easily found and accessed by the sorts of people who may already be burnt out, struggling to find moments to breathe and do not have hours to research into the depths of the internet.
Small steps to useful change. I hope I can make a few in 2024.
