There were mornings — especially in the depths of winter — where getting dressed for school turned into an absolute war zone.
It was freezing outside. All I wanted was to keep Blake warm. And he was point blank refusing to wear a jumper.
Not just a bit of resistance. Full. Blown. Refusal.
It nearly always ended in tears, frustration, and arguments that left us both completely frazzled before we’d even made it out the front door. And I mean both of us — there were mornings where Blake and I were standing there absolutely distraught, both of us at our wit’s end, and we hadn’t even had breakfast yet.
At the time, I’ll be honest — my first thought wasn’t sensory issues. I was still learning about all of that, still trying to piece it all together. My first thought was what the school was going to think. Here I am, sending my son out in the middle of a Scottish winter in nothing but a short sleeved shirt. What kind of mother does that? I was convinced his teacher would take one look at him and think I hadn’t bothered. That I didn’t care. And that made me push harder — which of course only made everything worse.
Some mornings I’d stand there thinking — it’s a jumper. It is literally just a jumper. Why is this happening?
At the time, it felt like defiance. Like stubbornness. Like we were constantly butting heads over the most ridiculous things.
What I Understand Now
Looking back, I see it so differently.
It wasn’t about being difficult. It wasn’t about not listening. It wasn’t even really about the jumper.
It was about how it felt.
That extra layer — the jumper over his shirt — made him feel restricted. Trapped. Uncomfortable in a way he didn’t yet have the words to explain. And when you’re a child who is already trying to make sense of a world that can feel overwhelming at the best of times, that sensation isn’t just annoying. It’s unbearable.
And imagine feeling that strongly about something… but having absolutely no way to tell anyone why.
No wonder he got so upset. Honestly, when I think about it like that now, I don’t blame him one bit.
The Morning It All Got Too Much
Eventually, I hit a wall. I was done with the battles. Done with us both starting every day in tears. It wasn’t good for Blake, and it wasn’t good for me either — and I knew that if I didn’t find another way through this, nothing was going to change.
So I contacted the school.
I explained the situation — that Blake couldn’t tolerate wearing a jumper, that mornings were becoming really distressing for both of us, and that my worry was him sitting in a cold classroom all day in just a shirt. I asked if there was any chance they could move his seat to somewhere next to a heater, so that he’d at least be warm without me having to force him into something that was making him so miserable.
And they did. Simple as that.
No more jumper battles. No more tears before 9am. Just a small, practical solution that made an enormous difference to both of us.
I wish I’d done it sooner, honestly. But I think I needed to reach that point of enough is enough before I was willing to admit I couldn’t fix it on my own.
When Behaviour Is Communication
This is something I’ve had to learn — and unlearn, and relearn — over the years.
When children can’t explain what they’re feeling, they show us instead. The refusal. The meltdowns. The complete and utter distress over something that seems, from the outside, totally insignificant.
It’s all communication.
For children with sensory sensitivities, clothing can be a massive trigger. Textures, seams, tightness, the feeling of layers — it all matters. What feels completely fine to you or me can feel genuinely painful or overwhelming to them. It’s not dramatic. It’s not an act. It is completely, one hundred percent real.
What I’d Do Differently Now
If I could go back to those mornings — and honestly, sometimes I wish I could — I’d try to meet those moments with a lot more curiosity and a lot less control.
Instead of “You need to wear this” — “What doesn’t feel right?”
Instead of pushing through the struggle — pausing, and actually trying to spot the pattern.
Instead of assuming it was behaviour — looking for the sensory reason behind it.
Because once you understand the why, everything shifts. It doesn’t mean the mornings suddenly become easy. But they become a little more manageable when you’re both on the same side.
For Any Parent Going Through This
If any of this sounds familiar, I just want you to know — you’re not failing. Your child isn’t being deliberately difficult. And those horrible, exhausting, want-to-cry-in-the-kitchen moments? They’re not for nothing.
They’re clues.
Sensory sensitivities are invisible. You can’t see them, you can’t measure them, and to anyone on the outside looking in, they can seem completely baffling. But they are real. So real.
And sometimes, the biggest shift comes when we stop asking “Why won’t they just do it?” and start asking “What might this actually feel like for them?”
It changes everything.
