A Wet December Drive, a Coffee in Tullamore, and The State Examinations Commission Symposium

I had the privilege of speaking at the State Examinations Commission Symposium in the Tullamore Court Hotel before Christmas. It was the 17th of December. The kind of Irish December day wrapped in grey skies, steady rain and that quiet sense that Christmas is almost here but not quite yet. The roads were wet, the light fading early, and as I drove across the country I found myself thinking about the message I hoped would land with the people in that room. Because this topic matters deeply to me.

Every year I meet Autistic young people who are drowning in the pressure of the state exams. Not because they are incapable. Not because they lack knowledge or intelligence or motivation. But because the environment in which they must demonstrate that knowledge often works against their nervous systems. And when the nervous system is overwhelmed, potential cannot surface.

When I arrived at the hotel I did what many Autistic people do before walking into a room full of strangers and expectations. I paused. I grabbed a coffee in the bar and met the person I had been liaising with over email beforehand. He was warm, professional and immediately accommodating when I mentioned that I like to take a few minutes to gather myself before speaking. No fuss, no pressure, just a simple kindness that made the space feel easier to step into.

I finished my coffee outside and moved to sit alone for a few minutes outside the conference room, focusing my thoughts on the message I wanted to land. Not the slides, not the timing, but the message. When you work with Autistic young people every day you carry their stories into rooms like that. Their effort, their exhaustion, their determination to keep going in systems that were rarely designed with them in mind.

As I sat there another attendee stepped outside. She smiled warmly and asked if I was “with them”. I explained that I was actually speaking next. What she said next, I imagine, came from a place of kindness and practicality. “They’re tired,” she said. “It’s been a long two day symposium. Keep it as brief as you can and try not to say what they’ve already heard.”

Let me be clear. I had not heard a single word of what they had already heard.

In that moment I wished with all my heart that the ladybird from the Julia Donaldson stories my daughters loved would suddenly appear. What the Ladybird Heard. Because that ladybird always knows everything. I would have welcomed her summary of the previous two days very gladly.

Instead my brain did what Autistic brains often do when new uncertainty arrives five minutes before a big moment. It spiralled slightly. Had everything I planned already been covered? Would I repeat something they had heard ten times already? Would I bore them?But then I caught myself, because the message I came to deliver was not complicated. And it was not something that had been said often enough. I was as far as I knew, the only Autistic speaker, and so regardless of what I was covering, I would be speaking from both deeply personal and professional stand points. 

So I walked into that room and brought it back to what matters most. Autistic students sitting the Junior Certificate and Leaving Certificate. Students whose knowledge, understanding and effort deserve the same opportunity to be seen as anyone else’s. And the truth is this. Accommodations do not compromise exams. They level the playing field. Supporting a nervous system is not lowering a standard. It is removing a barrier.

My focus was simple and practical. Not sweeping change. Not complex reform. Just thoughtful adjustments that protect exam integrity while allowing Autistic students to access the process more fairly.

I spoke about the importance of predictability, because Autistic nervous systems thrive on clarity. Small things can make an enormous difference: familiarisation visits to exam centres, clear written schedules, knowing where to go and who will be there. When uncertainty reduces, anxiety reduces. And when anxiety reduces, cognitive capacity returns.

I spoke about sensory safety. Many exam environments unintentionally overwhelm Autistic students through lighting, movement, noise and unpredictability. None of these are part of what the exam is actually measuring. Low stimulus spaces, access to sensory tools like ear defenders, and quieter exam centres where appropriate can be implemented without changing a single question on the paper. 

I spoke about relational safety, having a predictable person in the room and a familiar face upon arrival.  And I spoke about regulation and energy. Autistic students often expend extraordinary energy managing their nervous systems. Timed rest breaks, clear regulation plans and compassionate processes for overwhelm allow students to pause and return rather than shut down entirely. This point is vital. 

The exam content does not change. The marking schemes do not change. The academic standards remain exactly the same. What changes is the environment around the exam so that it stops disabling the student before they even begin.

One of the most important points I made in that room was that these accommodations do not interfere with exam validity. They do not change the knowledge being assessed. They simply allow the student a fair opportunity to show what they know. The goal is not advantage. The goal is equity.

I see the cost when these things are missing. Young people who know their subjects but cannot access them under pressure. Students whose nervous systems tip into fight, flight or shutdown before the paper even begins. Teenagers who walk out believing they have failed when the reality is that the environment failed them. We cannot continue to confuse endurance with ability. And we cannot continue to mistake overwhelm for lack of effort.

When I finished speaking I felt something I often feel after conversations like this. Hope. Because the people in that room care deeply about fairness. They care about the integrity of our exams. And they care about the students who sit them.

Supporting Autistic nervous systems in exam settings is not radical. It is practical. It is achievable. And most importantly, it allows us to see what these young people are truly capable of when the environment stops working against them.

That wet December drive to Tullamore felt worthwhile.

Even without the ladybird.