The same could be said for when Back to School time comes around. Some parents are relieved to be able to take their children back to the place where they will be educated and have fun with others their own age; others are not so happy for a variety of reasons.
Today I'm hosting an anonymous guest post which explains some of these feelings. I'm sure this mum would like some support so please do feel free to leave any comments...
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That sick sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as the start of school approaches. And that's just me, his mum. It must be so much more difficult for him.
Every year I hope it will be different. Every year I hope that this will be the year when he turns a corner, finds a way to deal with his anxieties, finds a way to get up out of bed every morning, get dressed, eat breakfast and get on the bus to school. Then stay in his classes, do his homework . Every year my hopes have been dashed. Every year, school refusal has won. Every year his autism has got in the way of his education and there seems to be nothing anyone can do about it.
Just three weeks to go, and we're both heading into the final two years of school, an intensely stressful period for any teenager, but ten times worse for an autistic, or so it would seem.
The signs are already ominous. He says he's not sure now that he wants to go back to that school. He hasn't yet agreed to choose his exam subjects, or go to the school uniform shop. Yet all he needs is a new jumper.
In the next breath, he says he wants to be able to go to school. But where else would he go? There are no realistic alternatives: I spent 6 months searching. There are NO schools near us for academic autistics who cannot cope in mainstream.
I see no solution, there are no more options left unexplored. Other education options have been rejected for now and he won't even consider home education.
My son has come a long way from the angry 10 year old whose behaviour frightened everyone. But he has so much potential, and I feel sick and sad at the idea that it may never be realised.
Somehow I have to find a way to face the daily dread of the response I get to that early morning knock on his bedroom door.
Two more years of this to go....
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