Update #1 - Reforming Social Care for Disabled Children

This post follows up on Retrospective 1, where I described our long and painful journey trying to access respite and social care support for Andrew. Today, I want to reflect on a new development that - while too late for us - may offer hope to families coming up behind us.

---

On 16 September 2025, the Law Commission published its final report on disabled children’s social care in England. It’s the most comprehensive review of this area since the Children Act 1989, and it doesn’t hold back: the current system is described as “bafflingly complex,” outdated, and often unfair.

The full summary is available here (PDF), but here are some of the key recommendations: 

• A modern legal framework that clearly defines disabled children’s rights to support.
• A new definition of disability, replacing archaic terms like “dumb” and “handicapped.” 
• National eligibility criteria to end the postcode lottery. 
• Mandatory assessments conducted by trained professionals, with dignity and proportionality.
• Support for parent carers and siblings, recognising the whole family’s needs.
• Better transition planning*, starting at age 14, to prepare for adulthood.
• Direct payments that are sufficient, not just “reasonable.”
• Statutory care plans for every eligible child, reviewed regularly. 

The government is not obliged to implement these recommendations. They must respond within six months, and give a final answer within a year. Historically, Law Commission proposals do influence legislation—but there’s no guarantee. It will depend on political will, budget priorities, and public pressure. 

Reading this report was bittersweet. So many of the issues it highlights - dismissive assessments, inconsistent thresholds, lack of carer support - were exactly what we faced. If these reforms had been in place when Andrew was younger: 

• We might have avoided the years of being told “he doesn’t meet criteria”. 
• Our family’s needs - including parents - might have been acknowledged. 
• Respite might have been offered as a right, not a battle. 
• Planning for adulthood could have started earlier, with less cliff-edge panic. 

If adopted, these changes could transform the landscape for disabled children and their families. They offer clarity, fairness, and a chance to be seen - not just assessed. I hope that parents reading this in 2026 or beyond will find themselves in a system that listens, supports, and adapts. 

 If you’re a parent, carer, or professional, I encourage you to read the summary and keep an eye on how the government responds. Reform is possible - but only if we keep telling our stories.

Retrospective #1 - Social Care, Children's Services and Respite

Let me start with a gentle warning: this is just our story. Access to social care - and especially respite - is a postcode lottery, and I send heartfelt solidarity to anyone currently navigating this maze.

Back in 2014, when Andrew was six, we first approached Manchester City Council (MCC) to ask for occasional respite. At that point, we’d spent six years in full-time care mode: no nights off, no weekends away, no family nearby to step in. Six years of sleeping with one ear open. Six years of caring for someone with the capacity (and bowel habits) of a wayward toddler. We were exhausted.

We underwent a needs assessment - at the time, MCC bundled it into a single “parent and child” review - and were promptly declined. The logic? We hadn’t had a nervous breakdown, so apparently we could cope. We appealed. We lodged a formal complaint. And in 2016, we took our case to the Local Government Ombudsman … and won.

That victory didn’t exactly win us popularity points with Children’s Services, but it did force MCC to reassess us properly. And lo and behold, they agreed we’d benefit from respite - not through their own services, mind you, but via a Direct Payment. The implication seemed to be: if we were savvy enough to take them to the LGO, we could probably manage our own care arrangements. Fair enough. They were right.

In 2017, we received our first payment and began working with Together Trust, a local charity. Slowly, Andrew got used to staying overnight at one of their houses, and we got a taste of what it meant to breathe again.

Since then, we’ve remained engaged with MCC Children’s Services, which means enduring their quarterly safeguarding visits. Yes, every three months a social worker comes to inspect our home - including Andrew’s bedroom - under legislation designed for children at risk. There are no safeguarding concerns, but the law doesn’t differentiate between disability support and child protection. So every three months, we smile politely while someone checks we haven’t installed chains, restraints, or a medieval rack. (That’s a joke. Mostly.)

Over the past eight years, we’ve swallowed our pride, accepted the bureaucracy, and welcomed a rotating cast of social workers - four or five so far, none of whom seem to stay long. The award has gradually increased, and thankfully the cost of respite hasn’t, so we now receive enough funding for one night of respite per month.

Why persist?

Because respite isn’t just about catching our breath. It’s about preparing Andrew for a future where he can thrive independently. We’re older parents; we won’t always be here. He needs to be comfortable waking in a different home, supported by different carers, managing his daily needs with dignity. That’s not just a luxury - it’s a life skill.

If there’s one thing this journey has taught us, it’s the power of persistence. We didn’t set out to be campaigners or legal challengers - we just knew that Andrew deserved better, and so did we. “No” wasn’t the end of the conversation; it was the beginning of a longer, harder one. If you’re in the thick of it now, know this: your voice matters. Keep asking. Keep challenging. Keep showing up. Because sometimes, the system only listens when you refuse to be quiet.