I watched a video recently where someone commented on local government budgets and rising Special Educational Needs and Disabilities (SEND) costs. As they made their case, they casually questioned whether councils should be spending so much—citing roles like a “Director of Wellbeing” as unnecessary while SEND budgets are “spiralling out of control.”

The speaker framed SEND spending as falling into two categories: statutory—the services the council is legally obligated to provide—and discretionary—those deemed non-essential. They then implied that roles like a Director of Wellbeing, which are not exclusively tied to SEND and seen as “discretionary,” represent poor spending choices, especially in a financially overstretched council like BCP.

But this framing is not only factually flawed, it’s socially harmful—especially in a climate where public understanding of SEND is already limited and often coloured by resentment.

Because here’s the thing: when we talk about SEND spending like it’s a burden, when we point fingers at roles focused on inclusion, wellbeing, or safeguarding as frivolous costs, we are not just critiquing budgets—we’re making a value judgment about whose needs matter most.

And all too often, disabled children fall to the bottom of that list.

The Myth of “Over-Spending” on SEND

Let’s bust this myth right away: SEND services are not “overspending” because councils are splurging. They are overspending because:

• The number of children with additional needs is rising, in part due to better diagnosis, increased awareness, and more complex family and health situations.

• Mainstream schools are under-resourced, which pushes children out of inclusive settings and into costly placements when early support could have helped.

• Government funding has not kept pace with legal obligations—leaving local authorities with no choice but to overspend or break the law.

Many councils are now carrying SEND deficits in the tens or even hundreds of millions. But this isn’t mismanagement—this is a policy failure.

When Cost Framing Becomes Code for Exclusion

When we hear comments like, “Why are we spending this much on SEND?” or “Do we really need another wellbeing officer?”, it’s rarely just about numbers. It often reflects a deeper discomfort: the idea that some people’s needs are just too complicated, too costly, or too inconvenient to prioritise.

This is how ableism gets repackaged as “fiscal responsibility.”

And it's a slippery slope. Because once the idea takes root that SEND is too expensive, we start to see:

• Reduced access to Education, Health and Care Plans (EHCPs), even for those who qualify.

• Pushback on transport, therapies, and specialist placements—not because they're unhelpful, but because they're "unaffordable."

• A growing sense of resentment among the wider public, who may be led to believe that disabled children are draining resources meant for “everyone.”

But here’s the truth: disabled children are everyone. They're part of our communities, classrooms, and future. Treating their support as an optional expense instead of a basic right is a form of structural neglect.

Who Gets Framed as "Too Expensive"?

Think about it: how often do we hear people question the cost of motorways, commercial developments, or senior leadership in other sectors? Rarely. But when the cost involves someone with high support needs, it becomes open season.

And this isn’t just a SEND issue—it’s a pattern across disability services more broadly.

It’s the DWP questioning whether someone is “disabled enough” to receive support.
It’s the NHS delaying assessments because diagnostic services are too stretched.
It’s workplaces cutting reasonable adjustments when budgets get tight.

Disability becomes a line item to be trimmed, not a human reality to be supported.

Stop Blaming Inclusion for a Broken System

Let’s be clear: the SEND system is struggling. But not because too many children need support. It’s struggling because:

• The system wasn’t designed for inclusive education at scale.

• Funding structures place impossible pressures on local authorities.

• And the cultural narrative still positions inclusion as an add-on, not a foundation.

So when we attack wellbeing officers, SENCOs, or mental health roles as “wasteful,” we’re aiming at the wrong target. These roles exist because we’ve finally acknowledged the full complexity of what children need to thrive—not just academically, but emotionally, physically, and socially.

Removing them wouldn’t solve the SEND funding gap. It would just widen the wellbeing crisis we already have in schools.

The Moral Question We Keep Dodging

At the heart of all this is a question we rarely ask aloud:
What do we believe disabled children are worth?

Because when we say “SEND is too expensive,” we’re also saying:
“They’re not worth it.”
“Something has to give—and maybe it should be them.”

And that is not a budget conversation.
That is a values conversation.

I, for example, was only able to access education because of SEND provision. I had a support package in place that made learning possible for me. Without that—without a formal document that clearly outlines what support a person needs and who is responsible for providing it—I simply wouldn’t have had the same opportunity.

SEND provision isn’t a luxury. It’s the mechanism that protects a disabled student’s right to education. Without it—without commitment, accountability, and funding—disabled students will not get the same access to education that non-disabled students are entitled to.

That’s not opinion. That’s a fact.

A Call for Better Conversations

If we want to shift this narrative, we need to start asking better questions:

• Why is SEND support still seen as optional, rather than integral?

• Why are councils footing the bill for a national legal obligation?

• Why do we flinch at the idea of investment in disability inclusion, but not in everything else?

And if we must ask what SEND is costing us, let’s also ask what it would cost us not to invest in these children:
📉 Higher exclusion rates.
📉 Poorer mental health outcomes.
📉 Lost potential for families, communities, and the economy.

The real waste is not in what we’re spending. It’s in what we fail to build when we don’t.