When my son turned three, I found myself living with a quiet worry that grew each day. He had only a handful of words, and something inside me told me this was more than just a delay.
Despite my professional background as a teacher, I hesitated to act. I told myself I was just an anxious parent. It wasn’t until I finally approached his nursery staff that things began to move forward.
To my surprise, they hadn’t been worried. Knowing his older brother, who was outgoing and chatty, they assumed my younger son was simply shy. It was only when I voiced concerns that they began to look closely. That moment was pivotal.
Shortly afterwards, he was referred to speech and language therapy. Over the course of four appointments, the phrase “developmental language disorder” (DLD) appeared tentatively, eventually confirmed a year later when he turned five.
Even with all my years in education, hearing that diagnosis brought a mix of relief and grief. Relief, to have an explanation. Grief, because it marked the start of a journey I hadn’t expected.
What DLD can look like
DLD is a lifelong condition that affects roughly 1 in 14 children yet remains relatively unknown. It is not a delay, and the diagnosis is given when there is no other explanation for language difficulties.
Children with DLD may have limited vocabulary, find grammar challenging, or struggle to form sentences. Some may appear not to listen or follow instructions because they genuinely cannot process the language quickly enough.
No two children present in exactly the same way. My son often leaves out small but important words or misuses them, which makes his sentences harder for others to follow. At nine, he still speaks mainly in the present tense and struggles to find words. He forgets the names of favourite relatives.
In some areas, professionals still tell families that, while a child clearly has DLD, their service “doesn’t recognise” the diagnosis
We are still working on reciting the alphabet, and nursery rhymes feel out of reach.
We took part in research that asked him to match pictures with spoken sentences. He understood “I brush my teeth then go to bed,” but saying “Before going to bed, I brush my teeth.” meant he chose the wrong picture every time.
He also has many strengths. He loves history and can recognise flags from around the world. The knowledge is there—but hidden behind a barrier of language.
Support and the “postcode lottery”
Speech and language therapy in the UK is still a postcode lottery. Families are told that early intervention is vital, but when they reach out for help, resources are scarce.
We were given four appointments, followed by a three-month break during which could practise strategies at home. After that, we could reapply for the waiting list, only to wait months before being offered another block. This meant that over a year, we only saw a professional a handful of times.
Recently, our local service has shifted to supporting schools directly. Therapists guide staff to implement strategies in class. His school is supportive, introducing colourful semantics to help him with grammar, but they are limited by money and staffing.
Parents often turn to Disability Living Allowance to fund private therapy and pursue EHCPs, but these are long and emotional journeys.
In some areas, professionals still tell families that while a child clearly has DLD, their service “doesn’t recognise” the diagnosis.
At home, we have our own toolkit. Pre-tutoring—finding out in advance what the class will be learning—helps us prepare him with first-hand experiences, video clips and key words and recasting: repeating back his sentence with the correct grammar.
The social and emotional impact
Language is also the foundation of social life. My son often struggles to join in playground games, missing cues or being misunderstood. Sometimes, children drift away simply because communication feels too difficult.
This takes a toll on self-esteem. Frustration builds, and over time, children with DLD can become withdrawn, anxious, or angry. Research shows that children with DLD are more likely to experience anxiety and depression as they grow older, especially if their needs are overlooked.
Looking forward with hope
Living with DLD isn’t easy, but has taught us patience, and the importance of celebrating small victories. A new word, a longer sentence, an attempt to join a game—these are milestones we treasure, and I am enormously proud of him.
It has also shown me how urgently we need greater awareness, and greater investment in speech and language therapy. Moor House Research & Training Institute, Raising Awareness of DLD (RADLD) and organisations such as NAPLIC and AFASIC are leading the way with training. RADLD’s annual DLD Day (this year on 17 October) is helping to shine a light on the condition.
The stakes are high: research shows around 25% of young people with DLD are not entered for any formal exams. We cannot allow a lack of awareness and support to continue shaping these outcomes.
If I could go back, I would tell myself not to wait, not to hope it might “just go away.” Trust your instincts, ask the questions, and push for support.
