For the parent sitting in the school parking lot: support for parents of neurodivergent kids
Updated: Oct 16
If you've ever walked out of a school meeting and sat in the parking lot doing the math on whether you're the problem, you're not the only one, and you're not the first.
That question follows you home. It's in the way you rehearse a sentence three times before you say it to someone who has your child's file open in front of them.
This post is for you. It's about support for parents of neurodivergent children, and it's written by someone who has sat on both sides of that table.
Both sides of the table
I'm a Registered Social Worker who has administered developmental and autism assessments with more than 320 families. I'm also a mom raising a child on the spectrum. When my son started school, the school system was never prepared for his exceptional needs.
It took me years to believe that a building that isn't set up for your child says nothing about your parenting. It sure feels like it does, and that's the part that fools you.
The grief nobody lets a parent say out loud
You can love your child more than anything in this world and still be quietly grieving in the middle of their assessment. No one warns you that's coming.
It starts with what they can't do. Page after page: the delays, the gaps. Every time, that list reopens a grief you're not supposed to have.
Somewhere along the way, you quietly grieve a version of things you'd pictured before you knew. Not your child. Never your child. You wouldn't trade them for anyone. But there was a road you thought you were on, and it didn't go that way. You're not allowed to say that out loud, because your child is right here, alive and loved. So who are you to grieve?
So you grieve in private. Then you feel guilty for grieving at all.
It doesn't happen just once, either. It comes back with every assessment, every birthday party that doesn't send the invite, every milestone chart on the clinic wall. It lands again, fresh, right next to how much you love them. In the same breath.
Grief and joy aren't opposites; they live side by side. We don't grieve so that one day we can pretend the loss never happened. We grieve so we can carry it, and still make room for the love, the laughter, and the connection that's right here too.
The grief doesn't mean you love your child any less. It means you're human, carrying something heavy, in a world that keeps handing you the list and forgetting to ask how you're doing.
A school year strategy: change the ecosystem, not the child
Relying on willpower and forcing a child to fit a rigid system is a failing strategy. The real strategy for a better school year isn't changing the child. It's changing the ecosystem around them.
Here's the approach I use with parents in my practice:
Audit the environment. Look at where the friction is happening (morning routines, sensory overload, transitions) rather than blaming the behaviour. Behaviour is communication.
Build the right team. You cannot do this alone. Bring together educators, advocates, and therapeutic support who understand you and your child's inner world.
Shift from compliance to connection. Replace rigid behavioural demands with accommodations that nurture emotional safety and nervous system regulation.
A tailored, compassionate team that's willing to learn about your child is what every kid should get. If you don't have one yet, that isn't because you asked for too much.
Who looks after the parent?
Guilt? Shame? Questioning if you're a good parent?
Many parents, especially parents of neurodivergent kids, come into my office anxious, thinking, "What if you judge me?" Honestly, I understand. I've been there too. You've been told what you "should" be doing, what would make it "better," and lain awake replaying the same conversations.
We do things differently here. In order to heal, you need a place where you can be honest. A place where your whole story can breathe, and your experiences are met with compassion instead of judgment. You won't have to explain the basics to me.
Some seasons feel long, and we often just survive them. While it's sometimes hard to see… seasons turn.
You're not alone in this
Whether you're homeschooling to protect your child's light or staying in the system to push for change, I see you, and I'm with you.
I offer online therapy for parents across Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Alberta and British Columbia, in English and French. My practice is neurodiversity-affirming. Read more about how I work or meet me here.
If today's the day you'd rather not do this alone, book a Java Chat: fifteen free minutes, bring your coffee.
Frequently asked questions
Is it normal to grieve after my child's autism diagnosis?
Yes. Many parents feel grief alongside deep love, and then feel guilty for grieving. It doesn't mean you love your child any less, and it often comes back at assessments, milestones and birthdays.
How can I support my neurodivergent child at school?
Start by looking at the environment instead of the behaviour: routines, sensory load and transitions. Build a team that understands your child, and ask for accommodations that support emotional safety.
Do you offer therapy for parents of autistic children?
Yes. I'm a Registered Social Worker and a parent of a child on the spectrum. I work online with parents across Manitoba, Saskatchewan, Alberta and British Columbia.
