For the author of this article, a student with a disability, the Samammish school graduation ceremony became not a celebration, but a source of anxiety. While classmates proudly showed T-shirts with college names, she was already thinking about the fact that within a few months all the special accommodations that helped her learn would disappear. Sammamish is an affluent suburb of Seattle with a predominantly white and Asian population; more than 70% of adults here have a college degree. The Lake Water School District, which includes Sammamish, is known for high academic standards and extensive resources: parents often push for more intensive IEP services, and the school approves expanded plans more quickly, but also holds students with disabilities to high expectations.
The girl has been diagnosed with ADHD and selective mutism—an inability to speak in certain social situations. Organizing information takes her hours, and ordering food or asking a teacher a question becomes impossible when “her throat closes up.” To learn fully, she relied on an Individualized Education Program (IEP)—a legal document that provides specific conditions and services. An IEP includes accommodations (for example, extra time on assignments) and services (for example, one-on-one instruction with a teacher). According to data from the Office of the Superintendent of Public Instruction, about 16% of students in Washington state have an IEP. She received one-on-one instruction, extended deadlines, and the ability to use smart devices for communication.
But an IEP works only within the school setting. After graduation, getting support is much harder: you have to fill out mountains of forms yourself, prove your disability, and constantly renew applications. “The difficulty of actually carrying out this support is immense,” says Molly Hayes of Neurodiverse Connections, a Seattle nonprofit that helps young people with autism spectrum disorders and other neurodivergences through social groups, life-skills training, career guidance, employment support, and help for families navigating the education and healthcare systems.
Going to college or getting a job requires skills that a person’s disability can make hard to achieve. The post-school support system is a puzzle in which every step takes effort—and the outcome isn’t guaranteed. And unlike IEPs, colleges and employers aren’t required to provide accommodations on the same scale.
State programs—such as the Washington State Department of Vocational Rehabilitation (DVR)—could help, but there are long waitlists that are getting longer because of budget cuts. DVR helps people with disabilities find work: it conducts assessments, offers training, and pays for equipment and internships. However, in 2024–2025, the state cut funding for DVR, leading to fewer staff and wait times of 6–12 months—especially critical for school graduates who may lose momentum. Disability is often lifelong, and without support, young people risk ending up without an education or a job.
A potential solution could be the IEP section devoted to transition services. It is developed when a student turns 16 and includes goals, as well as steps to achieve them: internships, communication with adult agencies, and college assistance. In theory, it’s a good plan. In practice, though, it falls far short. The problem is that starting transition planning at 16 is often too late. The process takes time, and a school can graduate a student even if the transition goals have not been met. “Schools often forget the most important part—connecting students with adult agencies,” warns Jay Shepard of the University of Seattle, where the Center for Inclusive Education conducts research on effective transition models and trains educators and parents. Shepard advocates for including students’ own voices in plan development and publishes research on barriers in the system.
The statistics are alarming: only 19% of students with IEPs who left school in 2024 sought help from adult agencies, and among those who enrolled in college, just 3% contacted disability support offices. Without the right “onboarding,” young people give up on trying to get services because the system seems unbearably complex.
To fix this, transition planning needs to start earlier. “I’d like it to be done by law starting at 12 or 14,” says Jennifer Strahle of the Bellevue School District. Starting early allows teenagers with IEPs to test careers in advance, develop independence skills, and adjust their course plan. Unlike many other districts in the state—where transition planning formally begins only in high school—Bellevue focuses on an individual pathway already in middle school, including internships and volunteering. In some states (Florida, Massachusetts, Texas), that’s how it’s done; Washington is still lagging behind.
Sharing best practices and starting earlier can help turn fear of the future into pride in what students achieve. Additional support for graduates with disabilities in Seattle and the surrounding area is provided by other organizations as well: Arc of King County (IEP and transition consulting), the DO-IT program at the University of Washington (preparing students for college and IT careers), PROVAIL (employment programs), Opportunity Center (help finding jobs and internships), and the Washington State School for the Blind (resources for people who are blind or have low vision). A system where students with disabilities don’t fear the end of school—and instead look ahead with confidence—is what needs to be achieved.
Based on: Ready or not: The largest leap for special education students