When H was getting ready to start primary school, my suspicions about him being autistic were growing stronger by the day. My instincts weren’t just whispering—they were screaming THIS IS A THING. But despite that, I’d had no formal feedback from anyone who actually knew about autism.
I didn’t want to come across as dramatic or—worse—as that parent. You know the one: storming in, diagnosing their kid with Google as their co-pilot. I have a history of going full Go Go Gadget Fixation when something bugs me, and I didn’t want to scare off H’s new teachers before they’d even unpacked his first book bag.
If this is something that has been worrying you, you might want to read: 10 Signs Your Quiet Preschooler Might Be Autistic (and It’s Not Just Shyness)
The Summer Meeting
During the summer holidays, we had a home visit from H’s new reception teacher. We’d chosen this primary school for three specific reasons:
- It was small
- It was quiet
- The reception class teacher, Mrs. Honey, had decades of experience
Let me tell you—Mrs. Honey was everything we could’ve hoped for. Calm, measured, warm but no-nonsense. If Mary Poppins and Supernanny had a love child, it would be her.
During our chat, I shared that I was waiting on an autism assessment for myself and was beginning to see similar traits in H. I wasn’t looking for confirmation, but I felt it was important to be honest—neurodivergence runs deep in our family, and some of the signs were starting to feel very familiar.
Mrs. Honey listened intently and reassured me she’d keep a close eye on him as the term began.
Two Weeks In: The Realisation
Two weeks into reception (which were dramatic—but that’s a story for another day), I nervously asked Mrs. Honey if she’d noticed anything about H.
Her answer was immediate:
“YES. I’ve worked with all sorts of kids over the years, and H very clearly presents as autistic.”
I nearly burst into tears. I felt seen. Validated. Finally, someone with experience could see what I saw.
Mrs. Honey was shocked that the preschool had missed such obvious signs. It turned out they’d taken a very hands-off approach—letting H quietly do his own thing and never encouraging participation. Because he didn’t cause any disruption, his autism had flown under the radar.
Thanks to Mrs. Honey’s support, the school referred H for an autism assessment right away, and he’s been treated as though diagnosed ever since. I’m still so grateful for that early action—it’s made a huge difference.
Reception: A Shock to the System
Starting reception was a culture shock for H. Suddenly, he was expected to:
- Sit at a table for long periods
- Follow multi-step instructions
- Complete tasks with a time limit
For a child who thrived on routine, autonomy, and quiet, it was like being thrown into an alien world. It wasn’t just difficult—it was distressing. Imagine asking a fish to climb a tree. That was my kid.
What Went Wrong Before School?
Looking back, I can see how the preschool’s approach did him no favours. Without structure, feedback, or encouragement to participate, H hadn’t developed any resilience to the expectations of school. There was no gradual build-up—just a crash landing.
And it made me wonder:
How many other autistic children are being overlooked because they’re quiet, compliant, or don’t “tick the usual boxes”?
How many parents are doubting themselves because no one else is raising concerns?
We need a better bridge between preschool and school for neurodivergent children. Recognising needs early isn’t just helpful—it can be the difference between thriving and completely falling apart.
What’s Next?
H’s reception year was a bumpy ride—think meltdowns, ear defenders, and even a short-term withdrawal from school. I’ll share more about that in my next post, so stay tuned.
Read more here: How Starting School Broke My Autistic Kid
Your Turn
Have you had a gut feeling about your child being neurodivergent before anyone else did? Did teachers listen—or dismiss you? I’d love to hear your story in the comments. Let’s stop kids falling through the cracks by sharing our experiences.
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