Lily’s Blossoming Voice: A Special Education Update

Today was one of those days that fills your heart to the brim—the kind you want to bottle up and revisit whenever the road gets bumpy. I met with Lily’s team at her elementary school for her annual assessment: her teachers, her speech therapist, the special education coordinator, my cousin who is also a special education teacher, and me—her mama. We gathered around a little table to talk about Lily’s progress over the past year in special education, and I left that meeting feeling like I could float home.

It’s hard to believe how far she’s come.

A Year Ago: The Starting Point

When Lily entered the program at her elementary school last year as she turned three years old, her speech was minimal. She was barely talking. The intake assessment placed her at an 18-month level. Most of her communication came in single words—sometimes two—and even expressing basic needs was a struggle. There was a lot of pointing, a lot of showing, and a lot of frustration on both sides.

It was heartbreaking—not because she wasn’t trying, but because I could see how deeply she wanted to connect. The words just weren’t there yet.

I knew she needed support, and I never stopped advocating for her. First with the pediatrician, who didn’t believe there was a delay and resisted the referral. Then with the nonprofit assigned to provide her weekly services. And finally with the school district. Each step required persistence, but she got the help she needed—and I’m so grateful she did.

The Team Behind the Progress

From the beginning, Lily’s team has been incredible. They didn’t just see her delays—they saw her potential. They met her where she was and walked beside her, step by step, with patience, creativity, and so much care.

Today’s meeting was a celebration of that journey.

Her teacher shared that Lily has made so much progress, she probably wouldn’t even qualify for the program if she were retested today. That’s how far she’s come. I had to blink back tears when I heard that. It’s not just a milestone—it’s a transformation.

New Goals, New Growth

Of course, the journey isn’t over. Lily’s team is setting new articulation goals to help her pronounce certain letters and sounds more clearly. They’re also working on helping her follow two-step instructions—things like “Put your book away and line up.”

These are small but important steps that will help her thrive in more complex classroom settings when she begins mainstream kindergarten.

But the fact that we’re here—talking about fine-tuning instead of foundational skills—is a testament to how hard Lily has worked and how beautifully she’s blossomed. The team agrees that she will graduate out of special education with “when” being the only unknown.

Holding Her Own

One of the most touching moments from today’s meeting was when her teacher told me that Lily had been sent over to the other pre-K classroom twice this week—the one with kids who do not have disabilities—and she blended right in.

She held her own. She participated. She communicated. She belonged.

It’s not about comparison. It’s about inclusion. It’s about Lily being seen for who she is, not just what she struggles with. It’s about her voice being heard and her presence being valued. And it’s about her confidence growing in spaces that once felt out of reach.

From Silence to Stories

Last year, Lily could not tell me how her day at school went. Now, she comes home and tells me things. She uses multiword sentences. She expresses her feelings. She tells me who she played with, what she ate, what made her laugh. She has a best friend.

It’s like watching a flower open—petal by petal, word by word.

She still has moments of frustration, of course. But now she has tools. She has words. She has the ability to say, “I’m sad,” or “I want Mama,” or “I don’t like that.” And that ability to name her experience is everything.

The Power of Teamwork

After the meeting, my cousin and I discussed the fact that Lily’s team genuinely cares for her. They weren’t just reporting data or checking boxes—they were celebrating her. They spoke with warmth, with pride, with a sense of shared joy.

It reminded me that special education isn’t just a system—it’s a circle of support. And Lily is right in the center of it.

I’m part of that team, too. And today reminded me that being her advocate isn’t just about meetings and paperwork—it’s about communicating and partnering with the people who see her magic every day.

A Mama’s Heart

I’m so proud of my child. I’m proud of her resilience, her curiosity, her determination. I’m proud of the way she keeps trying, even when it’s hard. I’m proud of the way she lights up when she learns something new. I’m proud of the way she’s found her voice—and is learning to use it with confidence.

There were days when I worried she’d never be able to tell me about her day. Now she does. And it’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.

Looking Ahead

I’m excited to see what this next year brings. I know there may be challenges. But I also know that Lily is surrounded by people who believe in her—and that makes all the difference.

We’ll start working on articulation. We’ll start practicing two-step instructions. We’ll keep celebrating every little win. And we’ll keep showing Lily that her voice matters.

Because it does.

And if you’re a mother reading this—if you feel in your gut that something isn’t quite right, that your child needs support—please don’t wait. Advocate. Even if the professionals say “wait and see.” Even if you’re told it’s nothing. You know your child better than anyone. Your voice matters too.

It’s not always easy. It might take persistence, second opinions, and a lot of deep breaths. But your advocacy can change everything. It did for us.

So keep asking. Keep pushing. Keep believing. Because our children deserve to be seen, heard, and supported—and sometimes, that starts with us.