Between Christmas and Easter during Large Child’s first year at school, things started to settle. Or so I thought. But one persistent issue kept cropping up: exhaustion.
Large Child cried every day before school, saying it was “too much.” But sometimes, the cries were different—deep, guttural sobs. His face was pale, his eyes glazed. As someone who suffers from debilitating fatigue, I recognized the signs: this wasn’t ordinary tiredness. This was exhaustion deep in his bones.
At first, I didn’t know what to do. My own childhood taught me that tiredness was “laziness” and you just had to push through. But forcing my 5-year-old to push through didn’t feel right, and it quickly became clear that it wasn’t sustainable.
When he did go to school, the evenings were Armageddon. Meltdowns, sleepless nights, and escalating exhaustion created a vicious cycle. Eventually, it reached a point where he physically couldn’t wake up in the mornings. He’d open his eyes, glance at me, and fall straight back asleep. Moving him to the sofa, blasting music—nothing worked. His body was taking what it desperately needed.
Learning to Listen
I decided that fighting his exhaustion wasn’t the answer. Instead, I started listening to Large Child’s needs.
Initially, I was anxious about the impact of missing school. My own attendance was terrible growing up, and I didn’t want him to face the same pressures or stigma. But I realized that focusing on his well-being would help him attend more consistently in the long run.
On mornings when he couldn’t wake up, I messaged the school to say he’d be late. Often, he was up by 8:30, and we’d skip breakfast club and arrive about 15 minutes late. To my surprise, the staff were genuinely happy to see us. They appreciated the effort to get him there despite the challenges.
On rare days when the exhaustion was too much, I let him stay home. Giving him the space to rest actually reduced the number of days he needed off, allowing him to recharge without hitting full burnout.
Recognizing the Signs of Burnout
By the summer term, things took a turn. The ongoing stress and effort of the school year began to take their toll.
Late mornings and the occasional day off weren’t enough anymore. Large Child was falling asleep immediately after school, struggling to form sentences, and refusing to leave the house on weekends. He was shutting down, and I could see severe burnout looming.
I knew we had to act.
I requested a meeting with the school to discuss my concerns and proposed collecting Large Child early on Thursdays and Fridays for the rest of the term. My reasoning was simple: if we didn’t reduce the pressure now, he’d be unable to attend at all.
To my relief, the school had noticed his exhaustion too. They supported the plan as a temporary measure, and the impact was immediate.
Leaving school at 2 p.m. on those two days gave him the extra rest he needed to manage the rest of the week. He made it through the term without further absences, and slowly but surely, we started seeing glimpses of our happy boy again.
A Lesson in Trusting My Gut
This experience taught me a powerful lesson: trusting my instincts matters.
I’ve spent most of my life in a cycle of pushing too hard, crashing, and burning out. It’s a pattern that’s harmed both my personal and professional life. I don’t want that for my kids.
By accommodating Large Child’s need for rest, we were able to keep him engaged in the routine of school, which was critical for his sense of security. More importantly, I’m helping him learn to manage his energy levels—a skill that will serve him as he grows up and navigates the world.
Thriving, Not Just Surviving
Being autistic means the world—and people—can be overwhelming and draining. Recognizing and accommodating these challenges is essential for living a fulfilling life.
Burnout isn’t laziness, and resting isn’t failure. Teaching Large Child to honor his needs, instead of pushing himself to breaking point, is one of the most valuable lessons I can give him.
Sometimes, pulling back is the best way to move forward.
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