Phillip Niles, a resident of Bridgton and a parent, works in health care operations.

I believed, perhaps naively, that when a child reports being harmed at school, the adults in charge will respond with urgency, care and seriousness. I believed that repeated incidents would be recognized as patterns, not brushed off as coincidences. And I believed that when a child already carries documented vulnerabilities, the systems designed to protect them would do exactly that.

What I learned instead is how easily trauma can be dismissed as “preteen drama.”

In our family’s experience, serious incidents involving our child were minimized, compartmentalized and treated as isolated moments rather than part of a larger, escalating problem. What we encountered was not a lack of policies or procedures on paper, but a lack of follow-through when it mattered most.

Each time we raised concerns, the response sounded reassuring. We were told the situation would be “looked into.” We were encouraged to trust the process. We were reminded that adolescence can be messy and emotional. But behind those reassurances was a troubling pattern: no meaningful investigation, no clear communication and no protective measures to prevent further harm.

When schools treat harm as drama, they confuse discomfort with danger. Drama is loud, fleeting and mutual. Trauma is cumulative, destabilizing and often carried quietly by the same child again and again. The difference matters.

For children with disabilities or documented emotional needs, this distinction is especially critical. These students are already navigating a world that can feel unpredictable or unsafe. When their reports are minimized — or when families are repeatedly asked to justify why an incident is “serious enough” — the message becomes clear: your safety is negotiable.

Recently, just one district over, reports circulated of a student with autism being physically assaulted, followed by dozens of peers stepping in to confront the aggressor. According to those accounts, no punches were thrown by the students who intervened, yet they faced suspension, while the alleged aggressor did not. When institutions fail to act decisively and transparently, children fill the vacuum. That is not a breakdown of discipline. It is a breakdown of trust.

What made our own experience especially painful was not only what happened to our child, but how much responsibility fell on us as parents simply to be heard. We documented incidents. We followed up in writing. We escalated concerns only after informal avenues stalled. None of this was done out of hostility; it was the result of silence and delay.

Too often, parents who persist are quietly reframed as “difficult” rather than recognized as advocates responding to institutional inertia. Advocacy does not emerge in a vacuum. It emerges when systems fail to act.

Schools sometimes believe that minimizing incidents will prevent situations from “blowing up.” In reality, the opposite is true. When harm is not addressed early and transparently, it compounds — emotionally for the child, socially among peers and institutionally for the school. Silence does not deescalate. It isolates.

There is also a broader cost. When students see reports of harm dismissed, they learn which voices matter and which do not. They learn that endurance is expected, that speaking up carries risk, and that accountability is optional. That lesson does not end at the schoolhouse door.

This is not an indictment of educators, many of whom work under extraordinary pressure and enter the profession because they care deeply about children. But good intentions are not enough. Systems must be willing to act when situations are uncomfortable, inconvenient or complex — especially when vulnerable students are involved.

Schools can do better. That begins with taking reports seriously the first time, recognizing patterns instead of isolating incidents, communicating clearly with families and prioritizing student safety over reputation or expediency. It requires understanding that trauma does not always look dramatic — and that calm children can still be deeply harmed.

Parents should not have to become investigators to ensure their child’s safety. Children should not have to prove their pain to deserve protection.

When schools stop treating trauma as drama, they don’t just protect individual students. They build trust, accountability and communities where children know they will be taken seriously when it matters most.