Lean: In this edition, we navigate school meetings by listening to our body, cherishing our child's unique story, and using breath as an anchor.

I’m Suzanne—a mum, occupational therapist, and long-time listener to the quiet wisdom that families carry. Lead Together is a space where parents lead, services follow, and your vision for your child’s life is honoured from the start. You are the expert. I’m here to walk beside you.

Dear fellow parent,

Thank you for being here. Maybe you’re reading this after a long day of forms and meetings, or maybe in that quiet stretch before bedtime routines begin. However you’ve arrived, I’m grateful we’re side by side.

Last time in Lean In, Noticing, Affirming and Needing.

This week, I want to stay with something many of us know well:

Body. Story. Breath.

Because when we walk into school meetings about our children, our bodies carry whole libraries of stories with us.

1. Body

Before the first word is spoken, before the teacher opens a folder, my body is already telling a story:

• My chest tightens.

• My stomach flips.

• My breath goes shallow.

It’s the story of worry: “Will they see my child only by what they cannot do?” “ How can I tell the amazing story of what they have already achieved so that the school honour the successes so far but don’t forget that traditional teaching methods may not always suit my child?”

And here’s the reminder — my body isn’t betraying me. It’s protecting me. It remembers. It knows. It’s on my team.

2. Story

The school has one kind of story — often written in reports, scores, or categories. But my body holds another story: the one of how my child lights up when they are curious, how they find rhythm in movement, how they surprise me with kindness when no one is watching.

When my body reacts in these meetings, it’s often because these two stories collide — the deficit story and the living, breathing story.

And both deserve noticing.

3. Breath

Here’s where I lean in.In the middle of the meeting, when my shoulders rise and my jaw clenches, I try to return to one simple thing: breath.One breath for me. One breath for my child.A way of saying: “I am here. I am with you. I see more than what’s on paper.”

This week, try this:

Body: Notice how your body responds in moments of worry about your child. Where does it speak first — chest, stomach, throat? Write it down.

Story: Name one story the system tells about your child. Then name one story your body knows that the system cannot see. Hold them both gently.

Breath: Before or after the next meeting, or even right now as you read, take two breaths: one for you, one for your child. A small act of grounding, a small act of resistance.

A Glimpse Ahead:

Next time, we’ll move toward the “E” in our L-E-A-D framework:

Engage

And always:

Before you close this email, take a breath for yourself, and a breath for your child.Not the child in the reports.The child who called you into becoming.

May we listen to our bodies.May we honor the stories they carry.May we return to the breath that connects us.

Take all of the care,

Suzanne

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