Educational Trauma Starts Quietly—Until a Child Speaks
By Bahareh Morad | Registered Psychotherapist (Qualifying), Mother, Advocate
“I guess I’m new, so I don’t count.” — A, age 9
After being excluded from Ontario’s Grade 3 EQAO assessment, today, May 27/ 2025, my son said that.
While his classmates began the standardized literacy and math test they had all prepared for, he was told to sit elsewhere and draw.
No explanation. No communication. No consent.
There is, indeed, no protection for the dignity of a child who has worked hard to be part of something meaningful.
This Isn't About a Test
We had spent ten days preparing together. A was excited; to him, EQAO wasn’t about scores, it was a symbol of belonging.
So it wasn't just procedural failure when he was quietly excluded, without an IEP, exemption process, or even a conversation with me. It was emotional harm.
Later, I learned something even more troubling: school staff had discussed in front of him skipping him directly to Grade 5 next year, bypassing Grade 4 altogether, without a single academic review or parental consultation.
Why? Because he was born in December. Under Ontario’s Education Act, children who turn six by December 31 may begin Grade 1 the following September, allowing families to delay formal schooling based on developmental readiness. (See Education Act, R.S.O. 1990, c. E.2, Section 33(1))
A’s current Grade 3 placement was part of a lawful, developmentally appropriate delay supported by the York Region District School Board when he began school. That decision was intentional, thoughtful, and rooted in what was best for him.
While I currently work within the York Region School Board, no, he’s not enrolled there (I'm just clearing that up for anyone doing a double-take 😉). He’s now in Simcoe County.
Reversing his academic pathway without consultation and informing him before contacting me isn’t just a policy oversight. It’s a violation of trust, process, and the spirit of inclusion that education should uphold.
This Wasn't Advocacy. This Was Roaring.
So I acted.
I reviewed Ontario’s Education Act, cited policy, and wrote formal complaints to the Ministry of Education, EQAO, the school board, and the school administration. I stayed up into the early hours, not as a professional but as a mother who refused to be silenced.
Yes, he will now write EQAO.
But it’s 2 a.m., and the stress hormone has stolen sleep from both of us.
This isn’t a win, it’s a correction.
A restoration of something that should never have been denied in the first place.
If You Have to Roar, It’s Not Inclusion
“I didn’t advocate today; I roared.”
If you must roar to be heard, if you must push the system to even be allowed in, if your child is only included after a storm, that’s not equity. That’s survival.
My child will wake up tired, but seen & I’ll walk beside him, weary but standing.
Because that’s what we do when the world forgets to protect our children, we roar.
Why I’m Sharing This
Not for pity. Not out of anger. But educational trauma often starts quietly.
It begins with missed steps, closed doors, and silent decisions. And it lands deeply in the heart of a child who internalizes the message: “You don’t count yet.”
This is not just our story. It is a story that happens every day to newcomer children, neurodivergent students, and any child whose voice is too often dismissed or unheard.
Let this be a reminder: 📣 Inclusion isn’t just about access. It’s about dignity. It’s about belonging without a fight.
For A and Every Child Who’s Been Silently Excluded:
You count. You always have.
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