Will My Child Ever Talk?

Will My Child Ever Talk?

It’s one of the most common and emotional questions we hear from parents — will my child ever talk? It’s a question that often comes with exhaustion, tension, and a deep sense of worry. It’s not just about words, but about hope, connection, and a desperate need for reassurance. Parents want to hear that everything will be okay, that their child will one day say “Mum” or “Dad,” or simply tell them what they need. The truth is, we can’t always give that answer. We aren’t medical professionals, and often, we don’t even know the child in question.

But what we do know is this: your child is still your child. Their inability to speak does not make them less human, less intelligent, or less deserving of understanding and respect. Their thoughts, feelings, and frustrations are just as valid and important as anyone else’s. They have opinions, preferences, and emotions that are every bit as real.

The desire for speech is completely understandable. Speech is one of the main ways humans connect. It’s how we build relationships, express needs, and make sense of our world. When speech isn’t developing, it’s normal for parents to worry about the future. They imagine the things their child might struggle with — getting a job, forming friendships, finding love, or living independently. Without speech, these milestones can seem further away, and that fear is very real. But speech is just one form of communication. It’s not the only way to be heard or understood. For some children, spoken language may come later in life; for others, it may never come at all. But that doesn’t mean they can’t communicate. Communication takes many forms, and every single one of them is valid.

Have you heard of the Social Model of Disability? It’s an idea that changes how we see disability entirely. It suggests that people are not disabled by their impairments, but by the barriers society puts in their way. In simple terms, people are disabled more by how the world is built than by their own differences. Think about that for a moment. A non-speaking child isn’t necessarily disabled by their inability to speak — they are disabled by a world that doesn’t know how to understand them.

Let’s take a simple example. Picture a kebab shop in any UK town late at night. Many people who go in can’t clearly communicate what they want — not because of a disability, but because they’ve had a drink or two. Yet every kebab shop in the country has found a clever solution: big menus with pictures, clear writing, simple options, and no complicated steps. That’s inclusive design. It works for everyone — whether you’re non-speaking, anxious, drunk, or just tired. Now compare that to a coffee shop that locks its toilets behind a six-digit keypad. To use the toilet, you have to buy a drink, collect your receipt, find the code printed in tiny letters, then enter it correctly to unlock the door — sometimes even the disabled toilet. Imagine how many barriers that creates for someone with learning differences, anxiety, or limited literacy. If we look through the lens of the Social Model of Disability, it’s not the person who is the problem — it’s the system. The solution is so simple it’s almost funny: put a big clear sign that says Toilet and leave the door open. Problem solved.

We see this all the time — systems, processes, and environments that make life unnecessarily hard for neurodivergent people. When challenged, we often hear, “Well, they can just ask.” But that assumes someone can ask. It assumes they aren’t anxious, that they know they’re allowed to, that they can form the words and approach a stranger. These assumptions create invisible barriers that exclude people. The same thing happens every day to non-speaking children. Society assumes communication looks one way — through speech. But what if communication was supported more creatively? What if we made the world easier to understand?

Parents who want their child to talk often jump straight to words and sentences — skipping the early stages of sound, gesture, or symbol use. It comes from love, of course. They want to hear their child’s voice, to know what they’re thinking, and to feel that connection. But the process of communication starts long before speech. For a child who doesn’t yet make sounds, it can feel like a mountain to climb. That’s where sign-supported speech, AAC (Augmentative and Alternative Communication), and symbols come in. The goal isn’t only speech — it’s communication in any form that works. We want to give children multiple ways to express themselves: through signs, pictures, gestures, or technology.

Imagine an eight-year-old pulling you toward a cupboard because they want crisps. They point, you look confused, and they get frustrated. You try to guess, they climb up, things get messy, and everyone ends up upset. If this pattern repeats, the child learns one thing: I point, I get what I want. That’s not bad behaviour — it’s communication. But it doesn’t teach language or emotional regulation. Now imagine adding a small step — a symbol for crisps stuck on the cupboard. You teach them to touch or point to that symbol, and when they do, they get the crisps. Suddenly, they’ve learned: I use a symbol, and I get what I want. That’s communication development. That’s the foundation of language learning. There’s nothing wrong with pointing — it’s a start. But we want to build from there so that communication grows, step by step.

Communication doesn’t have to start with full words. It can begin with a gesture, a sound, a sign, or even eye contact. It’s about recognising what your child already does to communicate and building from that. If a child pushes your hand toward something, that’s communication. If they take you to a door because they want to go outside, that’s communication. The job of adults — parents, teachers, carers — is to notice, label, and expand on those moments. “Outside, you want to go outside? Let’s go outside.” Every time you do that, you’re modelling language, even if they can’t copy it yet. For parents, this takes patience. Progress might be slow, but consistency is everything. If you use the same sign, the same word, or the same symbol every day, you start building understanding. A great starting point? The word more. It’s useful, motivating, and can apply to almost anything — more drink, more play, more music, more hugs.

You don’t need to be a speech and language therapist to make a difference. What matters most is that you offer consistent opportunities for your child to be heard, in whatever way works for them. The most honest answer is: we don’t know. No one does. But we do know this — communication can always grow. Speech may come later, or it may not, but your child can still learn to express themselves, form relationships, and feel understood. You’re reading this right now through written words — that’s communication too. We text, we sign, we point, we use pictures, we make facial expressions. Speech is just one piece of a much bigger puzzle.

The goal isn’t to make every child talk. The goal is to help every child communicate. Because once communication happens — in any form — connection follows. And that connection is what truly matters.