Hi there, and welcome to SER: No Parent Left Behind! I’m your host, Mark Ingrassia. With nearly four decades in special education—as a teacher, tutor, and advocate—I’m dedicated to helping families navigate the ups and downs of raising exceptional children. I’m so glad you’ve joined me!

Looking back on this year, we face an urgent truth: policies meant to support disabled children and adults are too often falling short, leaving families without the services and protections they deserve. In this episode, we’ll take a hard look at what these policies mean in real lives—and why our humanity, values, and advocacy are more important than ever.

This podcast is a space for inclusion, supporting individuals with disabilities across education, access, and health. If you’re enjoying the show, please rate, review, subscribe, and share—it helps others find us and furthers the mission.

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I’ve started a GoFundMe for Ray’s Respite Care, a place that can bring real relief and joy to families. Every little bit helps—find the link in the show notes. Thank you!

Adam Pletter, clinical psychologist who’s spent over 20 years working with families, knows how urgent it is to get tech right for kids — and Apple needs to hear it from all of us.

Join the call for a Safer Starter iPhone and tell Apple in 60 seconds why this is a public-health moment we can’t ignore. Go to iparent101.com and complete the 60 second form and add your voice!

Discover 52 Love Letters to You by Jyoti Jo Manuel, a beautiful collection of reflections designed to help you embrace self-compassion and presence every day. Each letter offers a gentle reminder to pause, breathe, and reconnect with the love you deserve. Order it before Christmas at lovefromjyoti.com/

Now let’s transform frustration into advocacy, and making humanity—not convenience—the standard for every policy! On our way to another win!

As we come to the close of another year—one that, in America, has been marked more by exclusionary policies affecting the disabled community than by meaningful inclusion—we are forced to pause and take stock of what that exclusion actually looks like on the ground, in states and communities across the country.

In some states, we’ve seen proposals to freeze or reduce Medicaid eligibility and reimbursement rates, even as demand for disability services continues to grow. Families are notified that hours of in-home care may be reduced, that certain therapies will no longer be covered, or that new administrative hurdles could delay access altogether. For parents, this doesn’t sound like “cost containment.” It sounds like fewer supports, deeper burnout, and impossible choices between keeping a job and caring for a child.

In other states, home- and community-based service waiver lists have grown so long that children are aging out before ever receiving help. Families apply when their child is young, only to be told they may wait a decade or more. Adults with significant support needs stay on waiting lists for years—not because services aren’t available, but because states don’t fund enough of them.

Across multiple states, school districts facing staffing shortages and budget pressure have quietly narrowed access to inclusion. Paraprofessionals are reassigned or eliminated. Related services like occupational therapy, speech therapy, or counseling are reduced to the bare minimum. Students with disabilities are moved into more restrictive placements—not because it’s educationally appropriate, but because it’s what the system can manage. Parents are told this is temporary, even when it becomes permanent.

Housing tells a similar story. New affordable housing gets built, but accessibility is often an afterthought. That means disabled people can’t enter or fully use these buildings. Accessible units are few, scattered, or priced out of reach. So adults with disabilities stay in unsafe housing, live with aging parents, or move far from the communities they know—not because they want to, but because accessibility was never prioritized.

Urban Institute’s analysis of accessible housing needs, which finds that only a very small share of the U.S. housing stock is accessible for people with disabilities—leaving most homes unsuitable even when affordable housing is available. Specifically, research shows that only about 6 % of housing units in the U.S. are wheelchair accessible, meaning the vast majority of homes lack the basic features needed for disabled adults to live independently. Northeast Arc

Additionally, studies of federally assisted housing highlight structural barriers such as fragmented waiting lists and few accessible unit designations, which make it difficult for people with disabilities to find and obtain truly accessible housing. urban.org

Work looks just as inconsistent. Some programs still push disabled adults into segregated jobs with few chances for real advancement. Others punish people for earning even a modest income, creating constant fear of losing healthcare or support services. Work is encouraged in theory—but punished in practice.

And everywhere, families are waiting. Waiting for evaluations. Waiting for therapies. Waiting for appeals to be processed. Waiting for respite that never comes. Waiting while children grow up and systems suddenly change—or disappear.

These stories don’t always make national headlines, but their impact is enormous. They determine whether a child can communicate, whether an adult can live independently, and whether a family can survive without breaking. This is exclusion—not some abstract idea, but choices playing out in real lives, in real time.

And this isn’t just about individual choices—it’s also shaped by the policies and priorities of states and governments. Politics can influence who gets access to services, inclusive schools, and accessible housing, but at its core, it’s still about human decisions: the choices we make every day that determine whether disabled people are seen, supported, or pushed aside.

State Policies Diffe:

Medicaid funding, home- and community-based services (HCBS), and special education programs are largely administered at the state level. States with different political leadership often prioritize funding, eligibility, and expansion differently.

For example, some states with conservative leadership have historically been slower to expand Medicaid, resulting in fewer resources for disabled adults, while states with progressive leadership may expand services more aggressively.

Behind every lost service hour is a parent who didn’t sleep. Behind every delayed evaluation is a child whose needs went unmet. Behind every waitlist is a family quietly reshaping their life around a system that failed them. Exclusion in policy is exclusion in values.

Which brings us to the harder question: where do fear, prejudice, and minimizing minority groups end—and where does our humanity begin?

When disabled people are talked about as costs, we reduce lives to line items. When supports are labeled “too expensive” or “unsustainable,” what disappears are real children, adults, and families trying to live with dignity.

When disabled people are called burdens, parents are shamed for asking for help, siblings are warned they’ll “always have to take care of them,” and adults are spoken about as if their worth depends only on what they need, not what they contribute. Society is taught to tolerate disability rather than include it.

And when disabled people are treated as exceptions, we celebrate one success while ignoring the system that failed everyone else. Exceptional stories become a shield, hiding widespread neglect.

These harms worsen when disability intersects with other marginalized identities. Immigrant families may fear asking for help. Black and Brown disabled students are disciplined or denied supports at higher rates. Adults are locked out of the workforce—not because they can’t work, but because systems and employers refuse to adapt.

All of this shows a hard truth: disability discrimination doesn’t exist in isolation. It’s braided with race, class, language, and poverty—and reinforced by systems that were never designed for disabled people or their families.

So the question isn’t whether we can afford inclusion. It’s whether we are willing to put humanity over convenience, dignity over efficiency, and people over politics.

Pay attention. Show up. Call your representatives. Advocate at school meetings and hearings. Support disability-led organizations. Share stories, not just statistics. And when you hear inclusion dismissed as “too expensive,” speak up. Push back. Teach the next generation that accessibility isn’t special treatment—it’s how we make room for everyone.

This moment asks something of us. Not silence. Not patience. Not quiet endurance. It asks us to choose, again and again, whether we accept a system that treats disabled lives as negotiable—or demand one that honors dignity, every time. Change doesn’t come from waiting for permission. It comes from people who refuse to look away, who speak when it’s uncomfortable, and who insist that humanity is not optional.

If we want a future where disabled children and adults are fully seen, supported, and valued, the time to act is now. Inclusion isn’t a favor—it’s a responsibility. The work belongs to all of us. Because change doesn’t begin in policy alone. It begins in values. And it begins when we decide—together—that exclusion is no longer acceptable.

Special Ed Rising; No Parent Left Behind is here to remind you that you are not alone, that your voice matters, and that your lived experience is a form of expertise. This podcast exists to make sure no family is navigating this system alone and no story is dismissed as “just how it works.” We amplify lived experiences, break down complex policies into human terms, and create a space where parents, educators, advocates, and disabled voices are heard and respected—turning frustration into advocacy, isolation into community, and silence into action. If something you heard today resonated with you, share it, talk about it, and use it, because change doesn’t start in policy rooms—it starts with people who refuse to accept less for their children, their families, and their futures. This isn’t just a podcast; it’s a platform for rising together, demanding better, and reminding the world that disability rights are human rights. Special Ed Rising also offers parent coaching if you’re feeling it’s time to work with someone who supports you. Until next time, keep rising, keep pushing, and remember: no parent gets left behind.