I’m an OT and I still struggle with the back-to-school mental load

I’ll never forget the parent-teacher conference where my daughter’s teacher complimented us on how well behaved she was. Just a few weeks before, I had emailed the teacher to give her a heads-up about my daughter’s sensory needs and high (but often masked) anxiety. At the conference, the teacher made it seem like I was talking about a completely different child. What she didn’t know was how much effort it took just to get my child in the door. 

As an occupational therapist (OT), implementing sensory lifestyles and accommodations to promote regulation in kids was something I could do with one eye closed and a hand tied behind my back. But when that kid was my own? Suddenly, I felt incapable of even getting her in the car to get to school.

The back-to-school transition — and how difficult it is for neurodivergent kids — wasn’t a new concept to me. But experiencing it firsthand? That was a whole other ball game. Not only was I not prepared for how much of a toll it would take on both of our neurodivergent nervous systems, I completely underestimated how heavy the mental load was about to get. 

In my daughter’s first few years of elementary school, I had a pretty consistent mental load. Although it seemed heavier than what parents of neurotypical kids carried, it was predictable and routine for me. I was used to keeping track of how many times she could wear her safe pair of leggings before they absolutely had to go in the wash. Calling restaurants ahead of time to inquire about what color cheese was on their mac ’n’ cheese before we went was ingrained. Meticulously planning out each minute of our vacation or weekends to optimize just enough downtime, but not too much, to avoid a meltdown was second nature. 

All of this was mentally exhausting, but familiar. 

When we started to prepare for the back-to-school transition every year, it felt like someone was stacking heavy stone slabs on top of my already heavy mental load — and also asking me to balance on one leg.

A few weeks before school started, I would need to help her brain and body start learning a new morning routine. We practiced everything: Waking up early. Getting dressed. Packing her lunchbox and backpack. Getting her shoes on within a strict time limit. 

I also spent these few weeks before school getting in touch with her principal to discuss teacher placements. I scheduled “meet and greets” with teachers before the first day of school, so my daughter could feel comfortable and get the lay of the land of her new classroom. I’d put together social stories with pictures of her school supplies, her teacher, and what the bathrooms looked like. 

After the first few weeks of school, more heavy stone slabs were added to my mental load. Now I had to desperately try to prevent meltdowns after school by showing up in a car loaded with sensory kits and self-regulation tools. I spent hours online shopping and asking other parents for the most sensory-friendly closed-toed shoes that she’d tolerate for PE.

When bedtime routines got harder, I learned to body double with her. This is a strategy that involves remaining present next to someone while they finish a task, even if you’re doing something different. It made bedtime smoother, and it wasn’t necessarily hard to do. But it still required action on my part. 

So when I heard things like “I don’t know what you’re talking about — she’s doing great in the classroom,” it would trigger multiple feelings. Relief, happiness…. It also made me feel a little bit unseen and unvalidated. Of course I was relieved that my daughter felt comfortable enough in her class to be doing great. I’m 100 percent happy that she could get through her school day “just fine.” But I also knew the invisible efforts that it took to get her to that point, and I wished it didn’t feel so isolating while going through it.

My daughter just started fourth grade. The mental load is still there, but we’ve gotten into a rhythm that makes it feel more shared and less burdensome. As she’s become more independent in her morning and bedtime routines, she’s also become more independent in advocating for what she needs both at home and in the classroom. As an OT, this makes me so proud. The goal has never been for her to need fewer accommodations, but rather to become more independent in asking for them or implementing them herself. 

Whether this is your first time handling the transition to school, or you’ve been doing it for years, get more tips from Understood.org on lessening the load on your and your child’s nervous systems: 

• School supports

• What is an IEP?

• Share your mental load with the Understood AI assistant

Laura Petix is a Filipino American, neurodivergent pediatric occupational therapist, author, and nationally recognized voice in sensory processing and nervous system–informed behavior support. She is the founder of The OT Butterfly, a leading education platform trusted by hundreds of thousands of parents, educators, and clinicians for translating neuroscience into practical, real-world strategies.