Can I go back to school after dinner?

We started a reduced timetable at school w/c 17th March (so 4 weeks ago). The plan was for my son to do half days at school where I picked him up at 12. I wasn’t sure whether this would help or not but of course I was willing to give it a try. So on the 17th March I woke up and as per usual I felt sick. I could have quite easily gone to the toilet, stuck my fingers down my throat and threw my guts up. This was no different to any other school morning I had had in the last year. The anxiety I felt on a school morning was without doubt the worst feeling I had ever experienced consistently. And each morning I had to push on through how I felt and maintain a calm exterior and I did it. Remarkably well I might add. But with the reduced timetable I felt even more pressure. My argument had been that my son found a full day at school too much for him so half a day would work better. He himself had said numerous times he wanted to do half days but until now nobody ‘official’ had listened. And now that we finally had half days what if he still couldn’t go?

The first morning though he went, I actually couldn’t believe it. And then the next day he went, and the next day. And for 3 whole weeks he went every single day. Each morning we ran through the same routine and each morning he went. But more than that he was happy to go. He seemed so much more settled with it. I couldn’t quite believe it. And then something even more spectacular happened. Part of the agreement of the reduced timetable was that my son would do some work at home – now I didn’t have a hope in hell that this was going to happen. Then one day he brought a maths sheet home and said he wanted to do it and he sat at the table and did it all. He was so proud of himself. And then he asked to read me a poem. He sat and read me this poem about mothers day and getting breakfast in bed. The lump in my throat was massive, my eyes filled up and I am not joking I could have cried my eyes out. I hadn’t heard him read in so long. And it was the most beautiful reading of a poem I had ever heard. I didn’t make a big thing of either of these events to my son. I obviously told him how good that was but I left it at that. I didn’t want to overwhelm him. This was a crucial point in our school journey, too much and it would break it, too little and it wouldn’t help. So I kept it neutral but positive.

And on the fourth week – the final week of term something even more unbelievable happened. My son asked to wear school uniform. He hadn’t worn school uniform at all this year. He had worn his own uniform – nike trackies, nike jumper, nike t shirt and nike socks. But on the Monday he asked to wear his trackies and his school jumper not the nike jumper. So that is what he did. I dropped him off at school as per usual on the morning. I flew home and did as much work as possible in the 3 hours I had before I had to pick him up and at 12 I went back to school to get him. And when he came out he asked:

“Can I go back to school after dinner?”

I nearly collapsed. Was I actually hearing this? Of course my answer was yes so we arranged with school I would bring him back at 1. He came home, had his dinner and watched his ipad for a bit but also jumped about on the floor as he does and spent a lot of time making these noises that he had now started making. I could see he was having a reset and getting out everything he needed to in the comfort of his own space. And when I asked him if he wanted to go back to school he said yes. And off we went back to school. He then asked if he could do this every day and I wondered if we could. I wondered if this was a solution that might see my son be happy. I had said to school and the EWO several times that there was something about dinnertime that my son struggled with, he himself had told school this so they did at one point arrange an early lunch for him. School could not keep this up though so it fell by the wayside, like most things they seemed to put in place so I wondered if allowing my son to come home for dinner might provide him with a break from school, give him the sensory input he so desperately requires and allow him to eat what he wants without feeling embarrassed about it. This could be what I ask for in the next school meeting.

But for now, like always, I asked myself: what had changed?

That night, still thinking it all through, I scrolled through Instagram and came across a post about the five stages of autistic burnout:

1. The Coke Bottle Stage – when your child is holding it all in and then melting down at home.
2. The Breaking Point – when they just can’t cope anymore.
3. The Empty Tank – burnout. Exhaustion. Anxiety. Disconnection.
4. Recovery Begins – energy returns, slowly, but they’re still sensitive and easily overwhelmed.
5. A New Normal – where they begin to re-engage, on their terms, and find joy in their special interests again.

I stared at it, because I knew this was where we had been. We had lived every single one of those stages. Stage 1 — this exact time last year. Stage 2 came shortly after. Stage 3 swallowed us whole. Then slowly, painfully, we moved through recovery. And now… here we are. Stage 5. A new normal.

But recovery didn’t just happen. Throughout this journey, I changed. I changed how I parent. And its because of how I parented my son, and the contributions of everyone else in my house, and beyond who have committed to this style of parenting that we are where we are today.

Looking back over the past year, it had been nothing short of brutal. But around summertime, I made a decision — a decision to change everything. I started treating my son differently. I buried myself in research and became more and more convinced that my son was autistic, with a PDA profile. I just needed professionals to see it too. So, I changed my approach completely. The strategies I found went against everything I thought I knew about parenting, but I committed fully. At its most simple and at the core of it all was one simple truth: my son needs to feel in control. He either is in control — or believes he is. And believe me, getting him to think he’s in control is an art. And over time, I got better at it. If he so much as suspects he’s being manipulated, it’s game over.

I don’t persuade. I don’t coax. I offer choices — and then step back which completely reduces the demands on him. There are no expectations on him to do anything, if he does it great, if he doesn’t then we move on and try again another day. And yes, I know there’ll be people who think this is the wrong way to parent, that I’m too soft or making excuses. But I’ve been desperate. I’ve tried everything else. Traditional parenting does not work here. And this new type of parenting didn’t work immediately but over time after consistently treating him in the same way I saw improvements in every aspect of him, he started to become happier, more settled, better at coping with day to day life. And I fully believe because I reduced the demands of day to day to life for him this really helped. Of course, there are still things he doesn’t have a choice about — school, for example. But even that’s changed now. With half days, he had a choice. And what did he do? He chose to go. And not only that, he chose to stay longer.

So, to anyone still pointing fingers at my parenting, saying I am the problem, I hope this shows you something. Given the right environment and the freedom to choose, my son wants to be at school. Something which I have said all along.

But I’m under no illusion that this is permanent. Just because things are going well now doesn’t mean it won’t all come crashing down again. My son’s capacity will always fluctuate. That’s not a failure. That’s just the reality of living with an autistic child. And it’s something we’ll need to keep watching and adjusting for — no matter how inconvenient that might be for the system.

And if half-days, and school dinners at home are part of that, then so be it. Whatever works.

Update: As the week has gone on, the toll on my son has slowly begun to show.

On Monday, when he first asked to go back to school after dinner, he was calm and settled. It felt like such a breakthrough. Then Tuesday came — and again, he asked to return after lunch. But this time, something shifted. At home, he closed all the curtains and ate his dinner in the dark. And when I picked him up from school that afternoon, he was like a caged animal. Manic is the only word I can think of. He was unsettled, uncomfortable in his own skin, and didn’t seem happy anywhere.

Wednesday was different again. I picked him up at 12, and as soon as we left the school gates, he said he didn’t want to go back. I’ll be honest — I felt deflated. But I reminded myself to focus on what he has done this week, not what he hasn’t. He was tense all through dinner, and certain that he wouldn’t be returning. I emailed school to let them know. But then, two minutes before the afternoon session was due to start, he changed his mind. He said he would go. And so we went.

It’s clear the want is there. It’s clear we’re making progress, but it’s also clear how much it takes out of him. Where we go from here I’m not sure but for now we will enjoy the school holidays and thankfully forget about school for a bit.