When I look at the IEP system in our schools, I see a lot of people trying their best-and still getting it wrong.
I’ve been a middle school teacher for over 20 years, and I’ve seen the full spectrum of IEPs. Some are beautifully written, thoughtful, and honest. Others? Let’s just say they read like a template pulled from a dusty folder and slapped into a meeting minutes doc before anyone could blink.
That’s not what an IEP is supposed to be.
An Individualized Education Program is just that-individualized. But lately, the only thing individual about some of these plans is the student’s name at the top. The rest? Copy, paste, repeat.
We Need to Talk About the “Get-Over” Mindset
There’s a phrase I use a lot when I’m talking about disability and education: get-over culture. It’s that attitude-whether conscious or not-that some people adopt when they start using the system to get more than they need, instead of what they actually require to succeed.
And before you get defensive, hear me out: this isn’t just about students or parents.
Teachers and case managers can be get-overs too. Writing the same three accommodations for every student with a disability isn’t just lazy-it’s a disservice. It hurts the student who needs a real, targeted plan. It also burdens the teachers expected to implement vague, unclear support strategies without context.
There’s nothing empowering about being handed a document that says “preferential seating” and having no clue what that means for a specific child. Near the front? Away from the door? Close to the AC? What are we even doing?
I Know This Because I Lived It
Here’s something personal I’ve said before, but it still surprises people: my mom and I don’t remember me ever having an IEP. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen—it just means no one remembers it clearly. This was the 1980s, after all.
I have osteogenesis imperfecta, and I’ve used a wheelchair for as long as I can remember. I went to school in New York from the 1970s until 1981, when I moved to Miami. Back then, I was placed in the gifted program. My teachers saw my wheelchair, but they didn’t know how fragile my bones were-unless they had a real conversation with my mother.
My needs weren’t written down-not in any formal way that I can recall. They were often guessed at, adjusted on the fly. Sometimes they got it right. Other times, not even close. The stories I could tell would fill up a library.
Which brings me to this: Just because two students are in wheelchairs doesn’t mean they need the same support. I knew it then. I see it now.
And that’s exactly why our IEP process needs a serious overhaul.
When Teachers Are Left in the Dark
One of the most frustrating things I see today is how general education teachers are often given a one-page summary of a student’s IEP-called “At a Glance”-but no real explanation of the student’s actual diagnosis or challenges.
Legally, yes, student disabilities are confidential under FERPA. But IDEA, the law that governs special education, clearly says that staff responsible for implementing the IEP must have access to the information they need to do their job.
So why are we still pretending that a bullet list of accommodations-without context, without explanation-is enough?
If a student has dyslexia, the teacher should know that. If a student has chronic fatigue from a mobility condition, the teacher should know that too. Otherwise, we’re just guessing. And that’s not support. That’s hoping for the best.
Not Every Child Needs Every Accommodation. IEP Without the I
This is where I’m going to give you a little tough love.
Just because your child has a disability doesn’t mean they need every accommodation on the menu. I say this with full respect: We hurt our kids when we demand things they don’t need just because they’re available.
Extended time on tests? Great-if your child has a processing issue that requires it.
Voice-to-text software? Excellent-if your child has difficulty writing due to motor control issues.
A full-time aide in every class? Only if your child truly needs that level of support.
Otherwise, what we’re doing is over-accommodating, and that teaches the wrong lesson. It teaches dependency. It sets up an expectation that the world will adjust to every need automatically, without self-advocacy, self-awareness, or documentation.
The real world doesn’t hand out IEPs.
In college, you’ll need a paper trail and a meeting with Disability Services. At work, you’ll need to disclose and go through HR. At home, in relationships, and in life? You’ll have to explain your needs-and not everyone will say yes.
That’s why our kids need real, purposeful accommodations, not blanket statements and empty support.
What a Real IEP Should Look Like
A good IEP is crystal clear. It connects the dots between the student’s diagnosis, their needs, and the strategies that will help them succeed. There’s nothing vague about it.
Instead of “preferential seating,” try:
“Student will sit near the board and away from hallway distractions to support focus and visual access due to ADHD.”
Instead of “extended time,” try:
“Student will receive 50% additional time on in-class writing assignments due to dysgraphia.”
If a substitute teacher walks in and can’t tell what to do based on the IEP, it’s not well written.
Ask Better Questions. Expect Better Answers.
Parents, students, educators-we all have a role to play here.
Parents:
- Ask what your child really needs-not what everyone else gets.
- Ask how those accommodations build independence.
- Ask how the school plans to ensure implementation across all classrooms.
Teachers:
- Push back on vague language.
- Ask to see the full IEP if you’re responsible for it.
- Advocate for training if you don’t know how to support a disability you’ve never encountered.
Students:
- Learn what your accommodations are.
- Speak up when they help-and when they don’t.
- Build the skills now to explain what you need later in life, when there’s no IEP to back you up.
The Point of the IEP Is to Be Real
An IEP that’s honest, specific, and aligned with the student’s needs is a powerful thing. But an IEP that’s vague, copied, or inflated becomes just another piece of paperwork. It does nothing for the student. And it trains everyone else-teachers, staff, society-to stop taking our needs seriously.
We deserve better. Our kids deserve better.
But we’ve got to start by telling the truth-especially to ourselves.
We can all do better. Whether you’re disabled and navigating this process for your child or for yourself, or whether you’re a professional trying to do right by your students. This affects all of us. This article isn’t just about the system, it’s about the people living in it. If you’re disabled like me, you know the consequences of being misunderstood or underestimated.
That’s why we must advocate for IEPs that are specific, not symbolic. Let’s keep raising the bar, asking better questions, and demanding better answers. Because the next generation of disabled students deserves a system that actually sees them. The more honest we are about what’s needed and what’s not, the more effective this process becomes. And that’s the kind of system our students deserve: one rooted in clarity, compassion, and courage.
Let’s rewrite the IEP story the right way.
This is my educational story. Read on.
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