Before E started preschool, I was confident he wasn’t neurodivergent. He was the opposite of his older sibling, who was quiet, reserved, and happy in their own company. E was a bundle of chaos—boisterous, outgoing, and seemingly fearless. He loved meeting new people and thrived on adventure. These weren’t traits I associated with autism.
I had eagerly anticipated the start of preschool and signed E up to begin the day after his 2nd birthday. This headbutting, climbing, whirlwind of a child (which, in hindsight, was a red flag) was wearing me out. I needed time to work, drink a hot coffee, and have a break from being his personal climbing frame. E was excited too—ready to play with other kids. What could go wrong?
I’ve learned a lot of my journey and now know how to handle life changes with my kids – Parenting an Autistic Child Through Change
The Preschool Meltdown Begins
The first day went smoothly—at first. E was eager to explore, and I left him with minimal fuss. But just an hour later, I got the dreaded call.
He was crying hysterically, inconsolable, and begging for me. When I arrived, he was red-eyed, snot-covered, and clinging to me as if his life depended on it. I assumed he’d calm down once we got home.
He didn’t.
The crying continued for hours. He refused food, drinks, cuddles—nothing soothed him. I told myself it was the standard preschool adjustment period. Lots of kids struggle at first, right?
But this wasn’t just a tough first day. Every day was the same: happy drop-off, followed by distress, panic, and endless phone calls. He never made it through a full session. At home, the meltdowns lasted for hours. It wasn’t sustainable—for anyone.
Missing the Signs of Autism
At first, I assumed it was separation anxiety. But E’s reactions weren’t typical. He wasn’t just sad—I saw real fear in his eyes.
At home, his behaviour began to shift too. He started headbutting more frequently, climbing all over me, grabbing, seeking intense physical contact. It didn’t feel like aggression—it was more like his body was demanding input he couldn’t explain.
I now know this was sensory seeking.
Sensory-seeking behaviour is common in autistic children. They often crave deep pressure or movement to regulate themselves. E wasn’t being “naughty.” He was overwhelmed and trying to self-soothe.
But back then, I didn’t understand. I just thought preschool would help him burn off excess energy.
Why Preschool Didn’t Work
Preschool quickly became a battleground. The staff did their best, but E’s distress was so intense that we couldn’t leave him. I work from home, so I decided to stay with him during sessions, slowly reducing my presence.
It didn’t help.
The moment I left the room—or even stood up—he would panic. We tried everything: social stories, sticker charts, fidget toys, cuddly objects. Nothing helped. His fear wasn’t fading—it was escalating.
I blamed myself. Was I too soft? Did I coddle him too much? Did he pick up on my anxiety?
The Turning Point
One day, exhausted and desperate, I noticed my ear defenders on the table. I’d started wearing them myself to cope with the loud, chaotic preschool environment. On a whim, I placed them on E’s head.
He paused. Then relaxed. Then giggled.
He got up, grabbed a toy fire engine, and played. Calmly. Happily.
It was the first time I saw him comfortable at preschool.
That moment changed everything.
Understanding Sensory Overload
E wasn’t just scared—he was overstimulated. The bright lights, noise, and unpredictability of preschool were too much for his nervous system. His “behaviour” wasn’t misbehaviour. It was sensory overload.
E was both a sensory seeker (needing intense physical input) and a sensory avoider (struggling with noise and chaos). This mixed sensory profile is common in autistic children and often overlooked.
Strategies That Actually Helped
Once we realised what was happening, we made adjustments:
- Ear Defenders: These were a lifesaver. They reduced noise to manageable levels. At first, E wore them all session. Later, he learned to ask staff when he needed them.
- Visual Timetables: Predictable routines eased his anxiety. Knowing what was coming next helped him feel safe.
- Consistent Snacks: He found comfort in familiar food. I sent the same snack from home each day to eliminate surprises.
- Comfort Objects: A favourite toy and strong bond with one key worker gave him emotional security.
- Personal Equipment: His own forest school backpack gave him control over his environment and prevented distress caused by unfamiliar clothing.
I’ve also written about how to cope with the school run – Surviving the School Run with Neurodivergent Kids: A Battle Won Before 9 AM
Diagnosis and Support
By his second year, E was referred for an autism assessment. With the right accommodations, he began to thrive. I saw how much he had in common with his older sibling after all.
Both of them cry or withdraw when overwhelmed. They aren’t being dramatic—they’re trying to cope in a world that often feels like too much.
Given space, structure, and support, they can absolutely flourish.
Looking Back (and Forward)
Supporting E through preschool taught me two vital lessons:
- Autistic children need environments that meet their sensory needs—not punish them for unmet expectations.
- Parents need to listen to their gut, even when the professionals aren’t seeing the full picture.
If E hadn’t gone to preschool, we might not have recognised the signs of autism until he started school. The early challenges were hard—but they led to earlier understanding and support.
Has This Been Your Experience Too?
If your child has struggled to settle into preschool and you’re wondering whether autism or sensory processing issues might be involved, you’re not alone. I’d love to hear your story—please share in the comments or reach out. Supporting each other is how we grow. and support each other.
Leave a comment