Back-to-school season always brings up a funny contradiction for me.
There’s the part of me that thinks:
Finally! School is starting. I’ll have some time to myself. Maybe I’ll go for a walk with a friend. Or get that overdue project done…
Or just sit in a coffee shop staring out the window trying to remember who I am.
And then the school year begins…
The phone rings.
The nurse. The teacher. The counselor. The IEP coordinator.
He fell down again.
He’d been hit by a friend.
He hit a friend.
His OT was going on maternity leave.
He’d sung an inappropriate song.*
He was struggling with circle time.
It was time to schedule his IEP meeting.
In elementary school, I had the nurse’s first name and number saved in my favorites. I got so many calls to pick him up, I started to anxiously anticipate them.
By the time he was in middle school, some of the calls pissed me off. I felt like Ocean was being punished for things that were directly related to his disability. Even when the calls weren’t urgent, they were jarring reminders that I hadn’t actually escaped parenting just because Ocean was at school.
I fruitlessly requested a few calls with good news.
The transitions our kids are carrying
When Ocean was little, I didn’t always understand why seemingly simple transitions were so hard for him.
On the weekend, he could dress himself with some support.
But on school days:
He’d put his underwear on top of his pants.
His T-shirt would be inside out and backwards.
Or he’d just stand there, glassy-eyed and frozen, staring at something on the wall while I repeated the same step for what felt like the 50th time.
Eventually I realized that verbal processing was harder for him.
There were so many steps to hold in his head. Get dressed (actually a multi-step sequence). Eat breakfast. Brush your teeth. Your hair. Find your shoes. Get your backpack. Get on the bus.
For a neurodivergent kid, a transition that looks simple from the outside can involve a lot of invisible work. I learned to make it visible.
I learned that when I used pictures, I didn’t have to repeat myself as often.
That’s why I created a visual support kit for parents.
You can read more about that here.
The pressure of rushing and the stress Ocean absorbed from me just made it all harder. I learned to prepare in advance, get up earlier, and relax my rigid expectations. Even though he could brush his own hair, I did it for him if he asked.
I learned from child whisperer Amy Weber to Prepare the Environment, Not Just the Child by looking for friction points in our home, and at least avoid making things harder to find.
I also learned that I couldn’t prepare for everything. :(
You don’t have to be calm
Regulation starts with awareness, not a specific practice.
When I notice that I’m holding tension in my gut, jaw, neck, brow…
I might just pause for a few seconds.
I might have time to walk in nature, or just around the block.
Sometimes I’ll meet a friend who gets it, and we vent over coffee.
Sometimes, looking at cute pictures of my kid from the summer brings me joy.
Other times, I just need to scream.
No matter how old they are, your regulated nervous system is a resource your child can borrow when theirs is overwhelmed.
And it’s always with you. Unlike your keys, wallet, phone...
Narrating your own process is a way to model this for your kids.
You can say, “I’m feeling a little nervous right now.”
You can say, “I need a minute.” You’re noticing and accepting what’s happening inside you before you respond. That's a form of regulation, too.
It isn’t pushy to advocate for your child.
In fact, it’s your role as part of the system.
Everyone at school has your child’s best interests at heart—and the best interests of every other kid, too. Teachers and staff are working within stretched budgets, schedules, and attention.
If you can, give yourself a few weeks to settle in.
Don’t volunteer for everything, even if PTA President corners you. Don’t start a new work project if you can help it. Expect that young kids will get sick, and plan to share sick days with your partner if that’s a possibility. Expect the bus route to be a mess. Expect that you won’t get out of the house on time. Especially if you yell.
Get the first-day picture.
If your kid is smiling and wearing similar socks, call it a win.
Bribe them with Froot Loops if you have to.
Take a breath. Notice this moment. Feel your feet.
Things will go wrong, no matter how prepared you are.
Don’t expect yourself to be calm.
Just remember that you’re not the only parent nervously ushering your child into this new school year.
A kinder future for our kids begins with kindness toward ourselves.
*Guess the inappropriate song in the comments!
I'm totally aligned with "It isn't too pushy to advocate for your child." It took a heap of courage to speak up for my kids as I had little confidence to do it for myself. Opening my mouth for them changed everything for them and me.