I still remember that morning so clearly.
My son was three years old at the time, and still non-verbal. We were heading to nursery, just like we did every day. But that day, we were running late. It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time — just one of those rushed mornings every parent has.
When we arrived, the usual gate we always used was closed. So, without thinking too much about it, I took him around to the main entrance of the school instead.
That’s when everything changed.
Almost instantly, he became distressed. Not just a little upset — but completely overwhelmed. At the time, I didn’t understand why. And because he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t tell me either. I remember feeling confused, trying to soothe him, not realising that something as simple as using a different entrance had completely thrown him off.
I carried him inside, hoping that once we were in, he might settle.
But the moment I put him down, he dropped to the floor and began hitting his head against the concrete.
It all happened so fast.
I scooped him up immediately, trying to stop him from hurting himself any further — but the damage had already been done. A lump, the size of an egg, rose on his head almost instantly. I can still picture it.
The school staff rushed out from the office. They brought a cold compress, but more than anything, they tried to calm me down. Because by that point, I was in complete shock. I didn’t know what had just happened or why it had happened. I just knew my child was hurting, and I hadn’t understood how to help him.
That night, when I got home, I talked it through with my husband. We replayed the morning over and over again, trying to make sense of it.
And then it clicked.
We had changed his routine.
Something as simple as entering through a different door had made the world feel unfamiliar and unsafe to him. And without the words to explain how he felt, his distress came out in the only way he could express it — a meltdown.
That moment was a turning point for us.
It was one of the first times we truly began to understand how deeply routine mattered to him, and how overwhelming small changes could be. It helped us realise that his behaviour wasn’t “out of nowhere” or “difficult” — it was communication.
As we learned more about autism, we started to see the patterns. We began to anticipate triggers, to prepare him for changes, and to support him in ways that made him feel safer and more understood.
And slowly, over time, the meltdowns became less frequent.
Not because he changed — but because we did.
We learned to see the world from his perspective. And that made all the difference.
