There is No Room for “Agreeing to Disagree” in Transition Planning
IEP teams are tasked with making big decisions that shape a student’s future. And while disagreements are inevitable, they can’t be the end point.
In May and June, I’m a frequent flyer at IEP team meetings.
And, as anyone who’s attended a few of these meetings knows, they’re not always easy. There’s often some tension. We can have very large teams, and we don’t always see eye to eye.
IEP teams have to grapple with difficult decisions and do the hard work of creating a meaningful plan that includes all of the instruction and services a student needs in the year ahead. And, they have to make sure that plan is well-aligned with a student’s post-high school vision and goals.
Not everyone in the room has the same knowledge of the law, the school, the process, or the student. Not everyone has the time, energy, or support they need to contribute meaningfully. And at this time of year, many teams are tired. Many families are worn out.
But lately, I’ve noticed a pattern in meetings that I find concerning, especially for students who are nearing the end of their high school careers.
I’ve been in several meetings where critical decisions were delayed or left unresolved. And more than once (sometimes even more than once in the same team meeting), I’ve heard the phrase “agree to disagree.”
Here’s the problem: That phrase has no place in an IEP meeting.
We Are The Student’s Team
When it comes to writing an IEP, especially during the transition years, the team exists to collaborate, find agreement, and support the student. The team’s job is to show up at the meeting with enough data to make decisions about what the student needs. That means we need to be aligned on the facts and clear about the student’s vision, strengths, preferences, interests, and challenges.
It’s not always easy to reach consensus—and certainly, people will have different perspectives—but if we can’t find agreement, it means we probably need more information, more discussion, or more people at the table.
“Agreeing to disagree” might feel like a way to keep things civil, but it usually means we’re avoiding a harder conversation.
And when that happens, the student is the one who loses out—and loses time.
The Beauty of What’s Possible
With all that said, I want to acknowledge that when teams really engage in the transition planning process, the work can be incredibly meaningful—and even enjoyable. I’m going to share a story from a team meeting several years ago because it was exceptionally positive, but even though I’ve been to some concerning meetings this spring, I’ve also been to meetings where I’ve left with a smile and felt very grateful to the student, family, and educators involved because we did great work together.
However, the meeting that sticks out most in my mind was a few years ago when I was invited to consult on a team meeting for a student—let’s call the student Lee. Lee had spent four years in a small therapeutic program, working hard to manage both academic demands and complex social-emotional needs. She had made a lot of progress, but as she approached graduation, the team recognized that she still needed more time to develop critical life skills like self-advocacy, executive functioning, and readiness for postsecondary life.
There wasn’t an existing program available for Lee, but instead of viewing that as a roadblock, the team came together to figure out what was needed—and how to build it.
Lee had a strong transition assessment that gave us a good foundation. Her vision was clear: she wanted to earn a college degree and become a nutritionist. Her mom had done a lot of preparation ahead of the meeting—she had helped Lee apply for vocational rehabilitation services, connected with a local Pre-ETS (Pre-Employment Transition Services) provider, found a summer volunteer job, and even enrolled her in an adaptive driver’s ed course. She had also explored local college classes that might still have open seats for the fall.
Lee’s Special Education Director also came prepared. He identified internal staff who could provide support—like the school’s social worker and a lead teacher from the therapeutic program—and looked into local programs, including a transition coach already working on a nearby college campus.
When we met, we weren’t talking about whether Lee fit into a particular program. We were figuring out how to design the right plan for her—one that combined school-based services, community supports, and family involvement.
We brainstormed ways to build her writing skills—maybe she could draft a research paper about becoming a nutritionist or take a dual enrollment class. We talked about money management and how she might work on those skills through an online finance course paired with real-life practice, like visiting a bank or ATM with her occupational therapist.
By the end of the meeting, we had outlined a plan that addressed Lee’s needs across a number of areas—social, emotional, academic, vocational, and adaptive. We had a shared understanding of who would be doing what, and everyone walked out knowing their next steps.
I remember driving home that afternoon feeling energized—because this felt like the best example of what it can look like when everyone shows up focused on the student, ready to problem-solve, and open to thinking differently about what’s possible.
What Makes the Meeting Work?
In my experience, when a transition planning meeting really works, a few things are almost always true:
Of course, doing this work well takes time, preparation, and support—and I know not every team has everything needed. But when it does come together, these are the things I usually see:
The student’s vision and goals are shared early—ideally by the student—and the team is genuinely working to support that vision.
Everyone comes in willing to engage, ask questions, and work collaboratively.
There’s good assessment data that gives the team a clear understanding of the student’s strengths, preferences, interests, needs, and priorities.
Team members have done their homework—people know what resources are available, and we’ve taken steps to bring the right people to the table.
When Things Come to a Halt
On the flip side, when I hear “agree to disagree,” it often means:
We’re short on time or rushing decisions.
People don’t feel fully informed.
We don’t actually have the full team we need in the room.
There’s disagreement that we don’t know how to work through.
The team isn’t sure how to move forward, so we default to doing less.
But students don’t get to hit pause—on their needs, their development, or their educational timeline—while we figure it out.
If we don’t have enough information, we need to collect more. If there are disagreements, we need to talk them through. If someone key is missing from the conversation, we need to bring them in.
It might take more planning. It might take more time. It might take more effort.
But that’s what the process is supposed to be.
Final Thought
I’ve been part of a lot of team meetings over the years—some inspiring, some disheartening. But when it works, it works because the team doesn’t shy away from working through disagreement. We stay focused on the student, we stay at the table, and we find a way forward together.
So the next time someone says, “let’s agree to disagree,” I hope we all pause and ask:
What’s missing? What do we need to better understand? And how do we get to a place where we can make a decision that’s truly in the student’s best interest?
The work of the team is to problem-solve through disagreement—and to find common ground that allows us to move forward in a way that genuinely supports the student.
