Picture these moments:
1. You’re watching a group of kids who are sitting playing a game of duck, duck, goose. They sit in a circle, all smiling, all looking happy and enjoying the game. They look like they’re having fun.
2. You’re at a soccer game, you’ve watched a team play an amazing game. They pose for a team photo, all smiling after they win. They seem to be a great, close and friendly team.
3. You’re in a classroom, and the kids are all sitting on a mat, listening to a story. Kids put their hands up to interact and become involved. They all appear to be learning and taking part in the lesson.

But then you notice something:
1. There’s one child in that game of duck, duck, goose that never gets chosen to run, and just sits as part of the circle.
2. There’s one child in that photo, that doesn’t have any sweat on their face or dirt on their soccer boots because they didn’t play in the game.
3. There’s one child in that classroom with their hand raised but always gets ignored.

What looks like inclusion on the surface can be nothing more than presence.

I’m not saying this is happening to Hope right now, but it’s definitely a situation we may find ourselves in one day, where those around her feel like they are including her, just by letting her be present with them.

Being present is simply being there. She’s in the room with everyone. She’s on the field. Her name is on the roll. She’s invited. In that way, she is there. And in all honesty, sometimes this feels like enough. We always worried that Hope wouldn’t be invited to things or that she would be left on the side so when we get this “feeling” of inclusion, we don’t always realise or see what could actually be happening. There was a time when people with disabilities wouldn’t even get an invite, so when we do, it’s a win… but it’s a very small one.

Presence is the surface. Inclusion is the heart.

Inclusion is when effort is made so a person is not just seen, but also heard. It’s about those around them adapting so they can truly participate. It can look like a friend saving a seat, a teacher adjusting an activity so everyone can be involved or allowing someone the space to speak, even when they’re struggling to find the words. It’s about a person’s contribution being valued, not just tolerated.

Inclusion is about belonging, not just being there.

The truth is… inclusion can be difficult, and a child can be excluded without anyone noticing. Exclusion can be quiet and unintentional and that’s what makes it so tricky.

For Hope, it could be as simple as a game where she just can’t keep up. Letting her join in is great, but if she can’t move at the same pace as everyone else, is she truly included? At the same time, we can’t expect everyone to slow down for her. Even things like not allowing Hope to make her own decisions, or speak for her, take away her ability to be included. And while it may not feel like exclusion, sometimes it is.

When Hope played soccer in summer, she ran around the field, half the time in the wrong direction, which made it hard for her to fully play the game as one of the team. She was happy, and that was important. But if we left it at that, it wouldn’t really be inclusion, even if it looked like it was. We had to make small adjustments so that, when it was time to start from the centre or kick in from the side, Hope could genuinely join in. She had her turn and the team would call out to her and encourage her. 

True inclusion isn’t always easy, but it is possible and it’s worth the effort.

So then, I guess the question becomes: “How?” How do we make sure we are being inclusive?

When planning, we need to ask ourselves the right questions. Instead of, “Can she do this?” we should ask, “How can we make this work for her?” Instead of, “Will she slow everyone down?” we should ask, “How can we give everyone a chance to go at their own pace?” Instead of, “Can she understand this?” we should ask, “How can we help her understand?”

Inclusion is about shifting from a mindset of simply accommodating a child to one that focuses on belonging. It’s not about wondering whether something is possible, it’s about asking, “How can we make it possible?”

As I mentioned earlier, we worry for Hope, very aware that she may be excluded without others being fully aware of it. But I can honestly say, in most cases, she is very included. At school, we hear about her taking part in group reading. Towards the end of the year, she was even telling news, despite not being able to verbally tell her news, she would be at the front and showing the class her special toys or reading the words she was working on in speech. When we’re at little athletics and running the 500m race, it doesn’t end when all the other kids are over the line, it continues for another 3 minutes while Hope makes her way around with all the kids and parents cheering her on.

Every time we see or hear a story of inclusion for Hope, we feel a sense of relief. Even just walking into school every morning and hearing everyone call out “hi Hope”, makes me smile and worry less about the day and what lies ahead for her.

Even with all the positive stories, we still worry from time to time. We watch carefully as she enters a room, scanning to make sure someone includes her and wondering what to do if nobody does. It’s a worry that will probably never leave us. 

Inclusion isn’t automatic. It’s not about ticking a box. It takes effort from those around her, and it takes trust from us as parents. But when it happens, when she is seen, heard, and valued, it’s more than a win for her; it’s a reminder of the world we want to help create, one small inclusive moment at a time. A world where, no matter where she goes, when she walks into a room, she is not just present — she belongs.