Kate Coldrick explores SEN interventions, SEND support, evidence-informed practice, reasonable adjustments, and the importance of matching provision to individual needs.

A recent evidence summary by Peps Mccrea and Dr Jennifer Barker, 10 Common SEN (Mis)Interventions, has prompted considerable discussion about the kinds of support routinely used for children with special educational needs in mainstream classrooms. The paper reviews a number of familiar approaches, including fidget spinners, coloured overlays, Zones of Regulation, universal mindfulness programmes, working-memory training, weighted products, sensory circuits, learning styles, Brain Gym, and ear defenders. Its argument is not that every approach on this list is identical, or that no child could ever find any of them useful. Rather, it asks whether some widely accepted forms of SEN support are being used with greater confidence than the evidence justifies.

This is an important question, but it is also a difficult one. Many of the approaches discussed are used by adults who are trying to help children who are experiencing real barriers to learning, participation, communication, or wellbeing. Schools are often working within significant constraints, with limited time, limited funding, large classes, and varying levels of access to specialist advice. In that context, it is understandable that staff may reach for approaches that are visible, practical, and relatively easy to implement. A programme can be timetabled, a resource can be purchased, and a strategy can be written into an individual plan. In each case, the child appears to be receiving support.

The difficulty is that visible support is not always the same as meaningful support. The fact that something has been put in place does not necessarily mean that the underlying barrier has been understood. In some cases, an intervention may function less as a response to an identified need than as a substitute for the more complex work of asking what is actually preventing the child from accessing learning. A child who is restless, for example, may not need a fidget toy so much as movement, clearer instructions, a shorter task, reduced cognitive load, a different seating arrangement, or a more predictable routine. A child who appears dysregulated may not need a branded emotional regulation curriculum so much as relational safety, adult co-regulation, reduced demands, better transitions, or a classroom in which early signs of overwhelm are noticed before behaviour escalates.

This does not mean that interventions are inherently unhelpful, or that schools should avoid structured approaches altogether. Rather, it suggests that the value of any intervention depends on the quality of the question that precedes it. If the question is simply what can be added to the child’s provision, the answer may be a longer list of strategies without any clearer understanding of the problem. If the question is what is preventing this child from learning, participating, or feeling safe in this particular context, the response is more likely to be precise.

Diagnosis, Need and the Limits of Generic Provision

One of the most useful aspects of the evidence summary is its emphasis on matching support to assessed need rather than to diagnostic category. Diagnostic labels can be important. They can provide explanation, validation, access to provision, and a shared language for difficulties that may otherwise be misunderstood. For many children and families, diagnosis can make visible experiences that have previously been interpreted as laziness, defiance, immaturity, or lack of effort. It would therefore be a mistake to treat diagnosis as irrelevant.

At the same time, diagnosis does not, by itself, identify what a child needs in a particular classroom, at a particular point in the day, within a particular set of demands. An autistic child may be struggling because of noise, uncertainty, sensory overwhelm, social exhaustion, transitions, interoception, language load, anxiety, or the effort of masking. A child with ADHD may be affected by task length, working memory demands, lack of movement, emotional impulsivity, sleep, interest, executive function, or the structure of the lesson. A dyslexic child may need explicit phonics teaching, assistive technology, additional time, reduced copying, or support with written organisation. The diagnosis may indicate an area of vulnerability, but it does not specify the barrier with sufficient precision.

This is where provision can become misleadingly individualised. A strategy may be written into an individual plan, attached to a particular child, and delivered by a named adult, while still being based on a generic assumption about a category of need. The provision appears personalised because it belongs to one child on paper, but its logic may still be diagnosis-led rather than needs-led. The more useful question is not what intervention usually goes with a label, but what is happening for this child in this environment, and what would make access more possible.

That question is more demanding because it does not offer a ready-made answer. It requires observation, discussion, review, and often a willingness to adjust practice in response to what is actually happening. It may also require schools to look beyond the child and examine the structure of the task, the pace of the lesson, the sensory environment, the language being used, the expectations around independence, and the forms of participation being required. In this sense, a more precise approach to SEND provision is also a more relational and contextual one.

Evidence and the Average Child

The role of evidence in this discussion is therefore essential, but not straightforward. Research evidence often tells us about average effects. It can show whether an intervention tends to produce measurable improvement across a group of children, within a defined context, using particular outcome measures. This kind of evidence is valuable because, without it, schools are vulnerable to confident marketing, professional habit, anecdote, and the reassurance that comes from doing something visible. It can show that some approaches do not reliably produce the outcomes claimed for them, and it can also draw attention to opportunity costs or possible harm.

However, evidence about average effects does not fully resolve the question of what may be useful for an individual child. This is particularly significant in SEND, where children’s profiles vary widely even within the same diagnostic category. A strategy that does not improve reading speed in controlled studies may still reduce discomfort for a particular child. A sensory resource that does not improve learning outcomes across a group may still offer comfort in a specific situation. Ear defenders may not be an intervention for autism, but they may be an appropriate adjustment for a child who experiences a particular noise environment as intolerable.

The distinction is important because different claims require different kinds of evidence. If an approach is presented as a learning intervention, it is reasonable to ask whether learning improves. If it is presented as a way of reducing sensory distress, then the question is whether it reduces distress and improves access. If it is used as a comfort preference, it should not be described as though it is treating an underlying difficulty. If it is used as a reasonable adjustment, its purpose is not to change the child but to remove or reduce a barrier in the environment.

Confusion often arises when these categories blur into one another. A child’s preference may be important without proving that a strategy has wider educational impact. An adjustment may be necessary without being an intervention. A resource may help in one context without justifying routine use for all children with the same diagnosis. Conversely, the absence of strong evidence for a general intervention does not mean that every individual use is automatically invalid. The point is not to dismiss what children find helpful, but to describe it accurately and review it honestly.

Reasonable Adjustment or Intervention?

The distinction between intervention and reasonable adjustment is particularly important because it changes the way success is understood. An intervention usually aims to produce change over time: improved reading, better emotional regulation, greater attention, reduced anxiety, or increased independence. It should therefore be possible to ask whether the intended change is taking place. A reasonable adjustment has a different purpose. It removes or reduces a barrier so that the child can access the curriculum, the environment, communication, or participation.

Ear defenders illustrate this distinction clearly. Used thoughtfully, they may allow a child to manage assembly, a fire alarm, a busy dining hall, or a noisy transition. In that situation, they are not treating autism, nor are they teaching the child to regulate in any broad sense. They are reducing a specific auditory barrier. Used less thoughtfully, however, they may become a default response to an autism diagnosis, applied without careful attention to when they are needed, whether the child wants them, whether they improve access, or whether they inadvertently reduce participation in classroom and peer life.

The same principle applies more widely. Movement, quiet spaces, reduced visual clutter, additional processing time, assistive technology, adult support, sensory tools, and adapted tasks may all be appropriate in particular circumstances. Their usefulness depends on the relationship between the support and the barrier. When that relationship is clear, provision can be purposeful and proportionate. When it is unclear, the strategy risks becoming part of the background machinery of SEND support: present, well-intentioned, but not necessarily doing the work it is assumed to be doing.

What Counts as Working?

A further complication is that discussions about evidence often assume agreement about outcomes when no such agreement has been established. One person may be asking whether an approach improves reading accuracy, while another is asking whether it reduces visual discomfort. One may be asking whether a programme improves emotional regulation, while another is asking whether it gives a child language to describe their internal state. One may be asking whether a sensory routine improves attainment, while another is asking whether the child feels calmer afterwards. These are related questions, but they are not the same.

The distinction is not merely semantic. An approach may appear successful or unsuccessful depending on the outcome being measured. If the claim is that coloured overlays improve reading, then reading outcomes are relevant. If the claim is that they reduce discomfort for a particular child, then discomfort and access to reading are the appropriate focus. If a sensory circuit is intended to improve readiness for learning, then its effect on access to learning should be reviewed. If it is intended to provide a moment of regulation or physical release, that purpose should be named more accurately.

Wellbeing, comfort, safety, and belonging should not be treated as secondary. They are central to a child’s experience of school, and a child who feels unsafe, overwhelmed, or persistently misread is unlikely to learn well. However, these outcomes need to be identified rather than assumed. Without that clarity, provision can continue indefinitely because it feels helpful, familiar, or reassuring. It may remain in place long after anyone has asked whether it is still needed, whether it is achieving its purpose, or whether it is supporting independence or creating dependence.

This is particularly important in relation to children who have experienced repeated difficulty in school. For those children, an approach may be valued not because it directly improves academic performance, but because it provides predictability, reduces threat, or communicates that adults are trying to understand. These are not trivial effects. They may be essential preconditions for learning. The problem arises only when such effects are left vague, or when a strategy that is functioning as reassurance, comfort, or access support is described as though it were an evidence-based intervention for a broader difficulty.

The Risk of Dismissing Experience

There is also a risk that evidence summaries, if read too bluntly, may be used to dismiss the experiences of children, parents, and practitioners. That would be a serious mistake. Children’s own accounts of what helps them should matter. Parents often hold detailed knowledge of patterns that are not immediately visible in school. Teaching assistants may understand how a child’s presentation changes across the day, across environments, and across relationships. Teachers’ observations are important when they are grounded in sustained knowledge of the child. Neurodivergent perspectives are particularly important when provision is being designed for neurodivergent pupils.

Evidence-informed practice should therefore not mean replacing professional judgement or lived experience with research summaries. It should mean bringing these forms of knowledge into conversation with one another. A child saying that something helps should not be ignored simply because the wider evidence base is weak. Nor should it be treated as the end of the discussion. It should lead to more careful questions about what the strategy helps with, when it helps, how it affects access, whether it reduces distress, whether it supports participation, and whether it contributes to the child’s longer-term independence and wellbeing.

These questions do not invalidate experience. On the contrary, they take it seriously enough to examine it with care. A child’s statement that something helps is important information, but it becomes more useful when adults understand the nature of that help. Does the strategy make the environment more tolerable? Does it help the child begin a task? Does it prevent escalation? Does it provide a sense of control? Does it enable communication? Each of these possibilities would suggest a slightly different response.

Opportunity Cost and the Use of School Time

One of the strongest arguments for reviewing SEN interventions is not simply that some approaches may be ineffective. It is that every approach carries an opportunity cost. School time is limited, staff capacity is limited, budgets are limited, and attention is limited. When time is spent delivering an intervention that has little impact, that time is not available for something else.

This is especially important because some of the most effective forms of support may be less visible than a named intervention. Careful lesson design, explicit instruction, scaffolding, modelling, reduced cognitive load, well-planned transitions, consistent routines, strong relationships, and responsive feedback are not always recognised as specialist provision. Yet for many children with SEND, they may be the most important conditions for access.

There is sometimes an assumption that meaningful support must involve something additional: a withdrawal group, a separate programme, a product, a printed resource, or an adult sitting beside the child. Such support may be necessary in some cases, but it should not distract from the quality of the classroom environment into which the child is being included. If the lesson is inaccessible, the task unclear, the pace unsuitable, the language overloaded, or the environment overwhelming, then adding an intervention may not address the central problem. It may simply help the child endure a setting that has not been sufficiently adapted.

Inclusion and the Structure of the Classroom

This links to a wider issue in inclusion. SEND support is often framed as a matter of adding provision around the child. The child remains within the existing structure, while interventions and adjustments are added to help them cope with it. Sometimes this is appropriate, because some children do need additional and targeted support. Nevertheless, there is a danger in seeing the child as the only site of difficulty.

If many children require support to tolerate the pace, noise, language demands, transitions, or assessment culture of the classroom, then the environment itself needs closer examination. This does not mean that every difficulty is caused by the system, or that individual needs do not exist. They plainly do. But the way those needs are experienced is shaped by context. A child’s difficulty with attention, regulation, communication, or sensory processing will not look the same in every environment.

The question, therefore, is not only what support the child needs, but what assumptions the classroom is making about attention, communication, behaviour, pace, independence, and success. If the classroom assumes a narrow range of ways to listen, respond, sit, demonstrate understanding, manage sensory input, or move between activities, then some children will inevitably need additional support to survive those conditions. In that situation, an intervention may address the visible difficulty while leaving the structure that contributes to it largely unchanged.

This is not an argument against targeted support. It is an argument against allowing targeted support to obscure the wider conditions in which difficulty emerges. A child may need an individual adjustment, but the repeated need for such adjustments may also reveal something about the environment. In this sense, SEND provision should not only ask how the child can be helped to fit the classroom, but how the classroom can become more responsive to the range of children it already contains.

Towards More Thoughtful SEND Provision

A more thoughtful approach to SEN interventions would not require schools to abandon every familiar strategy overnight. Nor would it mean refusing to use anything that lacks a large evidence base. Education rarely operates with perfect evidence, and some individual adjustments will always require professional judgement. It would, however, require greater precision about the purpose of support.

For each form of provision, schools need to ask what specific barrier is being addressed, what kind of support is being offered, what outcome is expected, and how adults will know whether the support is helping. They also need to ask what the child says, what adults observe across different contexts, whether access and participation are improving, whether the support is promoting independence or increasing reliance, and whether a simpler or better-evidenced response might address the same need more effectively. These questions are not bureaucratic additions to SEND provision; they are central to making provision meaningful.

Such questions also help to prevent provision becoming habitual. A strategy may be introduced for good reasons and then remain in place long after its purpose has become unclear. It may continue because it is written into a plan, because adults are used to it, because parents expect it, or because removing it feels risky. Regular review does not mean withdrawing support casually. It means ensuring that support remains connected to the child’s current needs and actual experience.

Beyond “Does It Work?”

The debate around SEN interventions can easily become polarised. On one side, there is a legitimate concern that schools may be using unevidenced programmes and products too readily. On the other, there is an equally legitimate concern that broad evidence summaries may be interpreted in ways that dismiss individual children’s needs. Both concerns need to be held together, because SEND provision sits precisely in this more complex space.

It is not enough to say that something works because a child appears to like it, or because adults feel reassured by it. It is also not enough to dismiss every individual benefit because a strategy has weak evidence as a general intervention. The more useful question is not simply whether something works, but what it is being used for, with whom, in what context, and how adults know whether it is improving the child’s experience of education.

This requires evidence, but also attention to the individual. It requires professional judgement, but also willingness to question habit. It requires listening to children, but also clarity about what support is intended to achieve. Above all, it requires adults to avoid mistaking the presence of an intervention for the presence of understanding.

A child does not need a longer list of strategies simply because they have SEND. They need adults who are willing to ask what is actually getting in the way, and to respond with support that is precise, reviewed, and genuinely connected to their experience of school. That is harder than adopting a programme or buying a product, but it is also much closer to what inclusion should mean.

Further Reading

These questions connect closely with wider issues around inclusion, neurodiversity, school anxiety, and the structure of classroom practice. Related articles explore how children with SEND and neurodivergent learners experience school environments that may not fully reflect their needs, and how behaviour, assessment, and belonging are often interpreted through systems that do not always recognise the source of the difficulty:

• School Anxiety and Autistic Children: Rethinking Where the Problem Lies
• Inclusion into What? SEND, SATs and the Structure of the Education System
• Calm or Camouflage? How Behaviour Policies Misread Belonging
• Rethinking Behaviour and Belonging: Why “What Works” in 2025 Needs to Mean More

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Written by Kate Coldrick, literacy tutor and educational writer. Explore more of my articles and resources for teaching neurodivergent students at katecoldrick.com and find tailored support for parents at neurodiversitylsc.co.uk.