What do you say to the boy sitting behind the glass?

Year 6: before everything changed

I used to sit in class writing about what I wanted to be: back straight, finger pressed to my lips, desperate to answer every question. I worked hard, chased merits and sang lead in the school choir. Music filled my house from 7am every day, usually Wretch 32.

At that point, I was the respected one. The child who tried. I thought secondary school would be a fresh start.

It was, but not in the way I expected.

Year 7: the slide into exclusion

I thought I had found my place at secondary school. Year 7 started with new friends, basketball trials and the feeling that I belonged. I was excited to be there, comfortable in who I was becoming. But halfway through the year, that feeling slipped away and, before I really understood how or why, I was excluded.

I felt humiliated and shut away from the rest of my school. Sitting outside the headteacher’s office every day for a week made me feel like I had been written off. After that, I spent most days in the reflection room, working alone, hearing everyone else’s lunchtime but never part of it. Friends walked past and did not know whether they were allowed to wave.

Later, I learned what was happening to me was not unusual. Research from the #BeeWell programme in Greater Manchester found that one in 12 pupils are placed in isolation at least once a week, with many reporting reduced wellbeing and a loss of belonging.

Knowing I was not the only one didn’t make it less humiliating, but it helped me understand it wasn’t just about my behaviour, but a system that separates children when they are already struggling.

Once you are placed behind a window, even friendship becomes uncertain. What do you say to the boy behind the glass?

While reports were being written about me, I was trying to understand the truth behind them.

Moved around

I was permanently excluded and moved between schools in different boroughs. Sometimes I waited at home for weeks for a new placement. Every move meant starting again with new adults who did not know me, and little time for anyone to understand what I needed.

This is not just my story. Research by the Education Policy Institute suggests that about 34,000 pupils experience at least one unexplained school transfer during secondary school, with vulnerable pupils far more likely to be moved. Nearly one in five pupils with social, emotional or mental health needs experienced this kind of disruption.

And the problem is growing.

In England, more than 10,900 children were permanently excluded in 2023–24. Schools issued 955,000 suspensions, the highest figure on record. The pattern is the same: when schools are under pressure, vulnerable children are moved on, not supported.

The bigger picture

I did not know I was becoming a statistic. But I was.

Pupils with SEND are far more likely to be excluded. Black Caribbean boys are still disproportionately removed from class. The government has pledged £3.4 billion towards SEND reform, but without proper funding for early intervention, staffing and inclusion, reforms risk repeating the same cycle.

Policy can change, but unless practice changes with it, young people like me will keep slipping through the cracks.

These patterns are signals.

What helped? What didn’t?

Being moved from place to place did not help. Isolation did not help. Being treated like a risk to manage rather than a child to understand did not help.

What helped was being somewhere that felt psychologically safe.

Somewhere adults listened before making judgments. Somewhere belonging came first and behaviour followed. Learning only became possible once I felt secure enough to make mistakes without being removed.

That is what schools are meant to provide.

What needs to change

We need investment in preventing exclusion, not systems that wait until children are already failing.

We need behaviour policies that recognise trauma, racism and unmet need, instead of responding with blanket punishment.

And we need early, consistent SEND support so help does not depend on a child’s postcode or arrive after exclusion.

Behind every statistic is a young person sitting behind the glass, waiting to be seen and heard.