When H started preschool at two and a half, it felt like a huge milestone—for both of us. Thanks to the delightful chaos of Covid, we’d already been delayed by six months, so I was thrilled he’d finally have the chance to grow, learn, and, ideally, become someone else’s problem for a few hours a day. Mumma needed a break!
At first glance, everything seemed fine. Sure, he cried at drop-off, but once I got him busy with the train set, he settled in. The staff quickly clocked that anything with wheels was his happy place—and that socialising with other kids was absolutely not.
They put it down to personality: quiet, independent, a bit shy.
There was a brief mention of delayed speech, but I knew better. H was chatty and articulate at home. He just didn’t care for small talk or strangers. I assumed everything was normal.
But behind the scenes, Austim Pro was booting up and getting ready to launch, we just didn’t know it yet. I wish I’d known about the signs of autism in preschoolers.
The Hidden Struggles of “Easy” Autisic Kids
Over time, little comments started trickling through:
- He refused to join snack time—every single day.
- There were sensory sensitivities around noise and texture (particulary with messy play)
- Group activities? Nope. Avoided them like they were made of glitter (he hates glitter).
- The smallest disruption to his routine would end in tears.
But here’s the kicker: none of this was mentioned to me until I brought up mealtime struggles at home. The response?
“Oh yes, he does that here all the time.”
Sorry, what? If it was happening “all the time,” why wasn’t I told?
That’s when it hit me: because H wasn’t disruptive—because he didn’t meltdown in dramatic fashion, instead he shutdown completely—his struggles flew under the radar. He was quiet. Compliant. No trouble. And therefore, overlooked.
Read about how I tackled the issues over lunchtimes here: From Lunchbox Meltdowns to Lunchroom Success: Our Journey
The Performance Anxiety That Changed Everything
The clearest moment came during the preschool’s end-of-year performance.
It was meant to be a joyful celebration—kids dancing, singing, proud parents weeping into their iPhones.
H? Sat at the back, clinging to a staff member’s hand like a lifeline, his ear defenders firmly clamped on. He didn’t sing. Didn’t dance. Didn’t so much as wiggle.
The other kids were full of energy—tiny party animals hyped on juice and applause.
As I watched him sitting there, overwhelmed and silent, my heart broke. He wasn’t “just shy.”
Why Quiet Doesn’t Mean OK
That performance was a turning point. I realised that kids like mine—quiet, withdrawn, non-disruptive—often go unnoticed in early years settings.
They’re not demanding attention, so they don’t get attention. But that doesn’t mean they’re not struggling.
These children are often battling sensory overload, anxiety, or internal shutdowns. But because their pain is silent, it goes unseen—and unsupported.
Autism wasn’t raised as a reality for H until he started school and his reception class teacher clocked it within the first week. The fact he was being pushed to engage with activities and his peers brought his traits out in a blaze of glory, tears and an insane amount of stress for everyone.
What Can We Do Differently?
💬 For Parents:
- Trust your instincts. If something feels off, don’t wait—ask questions and keep pushing until you’re heard.
- Check in regularly. Don’t rely on formal meetings. Ask about everyday behaviour.
- Learn the subtle signs. Not all neurodivergence looks like meltdowns or outbursts.
🎓 For Educators:
- Look deeper. A child who avoids group play or routine activities may need support, not just space.
- Speak up. Communicate with parents—don’t assume quiet equals fine.
- Be proactive. Inclusive environments help all children thrive, especially the ones who won’t (or can’t) ask for help.
Final Thought
Looking back, I know H would’ve had an easier transition to school if his quiet struggles had been noticed sooner. This isn’t about blame—it’s about awareness.
Ensuring children are being asked to take part in routines and activities that will be expected of them in school is a sure fire way to rat out any pesky traits that have been able to fly under the radar through withdrawal and refusal.
Quiet shouldn’t mean invisible.
Let’s start listening to the kids who don’t shout.
Read here about how we adapted our approach with our youngest autistic child and saw a wildly different result: School Transitions Take 2: Supporting My Second Autistic Child
Your Turn:
Have you ever felt your child was overlooked because they weren’t disruptive?
Share your experience in the comments—your voice could help another parent feel less alone.
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