Bridging the safety gap

When Kathrine Peereboom’s sons were diagnosed with profound intellectual and developmental disabilities, she was launched into a world most parents don’t expect to navigate – one filled with long waitlists, delayed milestones, and concern for her children’s safety. But instead of letting fear consume her, she channelled it into something powerful: A campaign of action for understanding, empathy, and change.

Today, she is the founder of Spectrum Support, an organisation training police officers and other first responders across Australia to better understand how to interact with people on the autism spectrum. She’s also the creator of iSafe Connect, a voluntary tech platform that empowers people with disabilities – or their caregivers – to share key information with emergency services. Both initiatives are rooted in Kathrine’s firsthand experience as a mother, and both aim to make one thing easier: Living safely and with dignity in a world that often doesn’t understand.

In the deep end of parenting

Kathrine’s three sons – Oliver (11), Joshua (10), and Tyler (9) – each have their own complex needs, including autism, ARFID, ADHD, and severe intellectual disabilities, among other diagnoses. But their unique personalities shine through – for example, Tyler, the youngest, is talkative, sharp, and “a 29-year-old trapped in a nine-year-old’s body,” Kathrine jokes. The Peereboom household is full of love, laughter, and a lot of Wiggles music.

But behind the warmth is a carefully managed environment that reflects the real challenges of raising children with profound disabilities. Safety is a constant concern, particularly because one of Kathrine’s sons has a habit of eloping if a door is left unlatched, even briefly.

“We’ve got the house locked down,” Kathrine says. “But once, when he was younger, he got out at five in the morning, and was lost for an hour-and-a-half. I went running through the neighbourhood, barefoot in my nightie, screaming for him.

“People saw him walking along the streets – non-verbal, alone in just a nappy – and no one stopped until two nurses who were on their way to work saw him and pulled their car over, then kept him safe until the police got there.”

That experience – terrifying and unforgettable – sparked Kathrine’s research into how first responders interact with autistic individuals. “When I started understanding what my children’s lives were going to be like, honestly, the only thing that I was really concerned about was their safety,” Kathrine says.

“I knew in the core of my being that they were going to be loved, they were going to be spoiled, they were going to be given every opportunity, because that’s who me and my husband are, that’s who our family are. What worried me was what happens when we’re not there to protect them? That’s what kept me up at night, what drove me to start researching.”

Building spectrum support

What Kathrine found when she went looking was, to be frank, nothing. No programs, no training, no systems to support safer, more informed interactions between police and neurodivergent people. So she created one herself.

Spectrum Support began with autism training for law enforcement, but has since expanded to include sessions on online safety, communication strategies, de-escalation techniques, and trauma- informed response. Kathrine’s sessions are always full. Police ask questions. They stay after class. They care.

“I’ve had detectives with autistic kids themselves tell me they’re personally afraid to call for backup during a meltdown at home because other police officers might not understand what autism looks like,” she says. “They’re dealing with the same things we are. Complex jobs, complex home lives.”

Kathrine is fiercely protective of both the disability community and first responders. “I serve both,” she says. “If we don’t talk to each other, people get hurt. That’s the reality.”

Enter iSafe Connect

Kathrine’s latest initiative, iSafe Connect, is an evolution of that mission. The platform allows individuals or caregivers to voluntarily disclose key information like diagnoses, de-escalation strategies, and medication needs to first responders via app-based wearable tech and secure Bluetooth beacons.

“It’s about choice,” Kathrine explains. “Not surveillance. Choice is what creates safety.”

Users control what information is shared, who sees it, and when. The system is being trialled by Queensland Police officers, and it’s already creating buzz: It allows geofencing (ideal for known runners), SOS alerts, emergency contact info, and real-time updates.

More importantly, it takes the burden of communication off families in those high-stress moments of crisis. “It means that when you’re panicked, in a meltdown, or can’t speak, the right information is already there,” she says.

Kathrine hopes to expand iSafe Connect nationally and then globally. But for now, she’s focussed on getting it right at home. “One of my sons has severe anxiety, and when he’s anxious, he goes into a fight or flight response,” she explains. “His triggers can change every few weeks. And it’s my role to pay attention to his triggers, to change his de-escalation strategies, and to communicate these changes to others in his life.

“I’m trying to prepare my children for the world they live in. It’s important that we learn who they are in order to do that. We need to understand our loved ones’ capacity, so we can follow through with information and action that will help them. This is where iSafe Connect can bridge the gap.”

The personal cost of advocacy

Behind the scenes of Kathrine’s inspiring professional life is a very human story of burnout, grief, and rebuilding.

Kathrine is open about the toll this journey has taken on her mental health. She’s lost friendships, family connections, and many of the things she once thought would be part of motherhood. “I thought I’d be taking the kids to soccer and having big family holidays,” Kathrine says. “That didn’t happen.”

For a long time, she felt like she had to be everything to everyone.

It nearly broke her. But over time, she began creating small rituals to support her own wellbeing.

“I take mini staycations now – just two nights, somewhere cheap and quiet,” Kathrine says. “It took me a while to even learn how to relax again. But I’ve learned to notice the signs now, when I’m starting to feel overwhelmed. And I plan these time-outs- scheduled time away from everything, which I can look forward to and which keeps me going when things are difficult.”

Music is also her outlet. A singer and dancer, Kathrine regularly spends time at the inclusive dance studio she founded for children with disabilities. “Even if I don’t choreograph anything or don’t feel inspired because it’s been a hard day, I still show up. And that matters. I’m proud of that.”

Resilience with a dose of realism

Kathrine’s story isn’t one of easy triumph. She rejects toxic positivity and the idea that disability is always a gift. “I don’t say disability is a superpower,” she says. “It’s complicated. It’s hard. But It’s our children’s lives, and we need to prepare them for the world.”

She’s also frank about the emotional rollercoaster that parents ride, especially when support is scarce, and the system is stretched. “You’re allowed to feel emotional. You’re allowed to have days in your pyjamas. Just don’t stay there forever.”

Over the years, she’s rebuilt her social circle.

“Now I’ve got people in my life who just say, ‘Let’s go for a walk’ or ‘Tell me what’s going on.’ I don’t need them to fix it. I just need them to get it.”

Her advice for other parents is equally grounded. “You’ve got to learn your child. Their triggers, their de-escalation strategies, what works for them. And then teach it to everyone else. Create a little ‘bible’ – a folder or document with their info for support workers. Make it easy for others to help you.”

Kathrine shares that some of her children’s support workers now come to her with suggestions to update the “bible” – a profile of each of her children, talking about who they are, what their foods are, their toileting or nappy routines, medications, and also the things they’re working on, the things that will trigger them, and the cool things they love to do.

“Our caregivers are very observant and know my boys well,” she explains. “I find that they’re even more willing to learn about my kids when they can take a look at this little book that shows they’re real people, not just diagnoses.”

That document, like everything Kathrine creates, is about preparedness. About reducing the emotional labour. About making life easier – for parents, carers, and kids.

Lighting the way

Kathrine Peereboom isn’t trying to be inspirational. She’s trying to be useful. Her work is practical, scalable, and rooted in lived experience. Her advocacy is shaped not by theory but by the day-to-day chaos of real family life.

What she offers is something rarer than inspiration: Hope with instructions. Not a promise that things will get easier, but a roadmap for navigating when they don’t. “What I’ve learned, especially in the last few years, is that I have to make sure that my cup is full,” she says. “Because if I’m happy, if I’m thriving, then it filters down to my kids, to my family.”

It’s not always pretty. It’s not always perfect. But it’s powerful. And it’s making a difference.