When Summer Break Doesn’t Feel Like Freedom
The social media posts are rolling in now. Photos of backpacks hung up for the last time, kids grinning holding those Pinterest worthy chalkboards of what they love, their best school subjects and, parents celebrating with champagne emojis about “freedom” and “summer fun ahead!”
There’s an infectious joy in these posts, and I want to feel it too. I really do.
But as I sit here in the chaos of my house, where the air always feels so heavy, watching my child navigate another difficult day, I’m carrying a different kind of end-of-school-year story. One that has left my camera roll empty, which for me as a photographer fills me with so much sadness.
One that’s messier, lonelier, and filled with a grief I didn’t expect to be carrying this deep into June, to be be honest it truly sucks. I am happy for you and your children, I really am, and I want our story, one that I know many others carry, to be known.
I write not just for my family, but for all the other families who too have children like out son.
The Year We… you Pulled Away
This was our first full year outside the traditional school system, for reference our kiddo was in a school in Port Moody, British Columbia, which is School District SD43. We made the difficult decision to remove our child from an environment, despite endless advocating for support, doctors letters and official diagnosis of many things, we were not met with compassion at all, let alone being offered neuroaffirming help. The school system simply wasn’t working for our kiddo and our family, and we were quite frankly tired of fighting it, alone.
The promise when we announced leaving was that we’d stay connected, that friendships would continue, that the community we thought we’d built would remain. Everyone loved my kid I was told, and they would hate to lose touch. We kept hopeful.
I want to be clear: I’m not angry at the kids. Children forget, it’s developmentally normal. When you don’t see someone on the playground every day, they fade from your immediate world.
But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting to watch those promised connections dissolve one by one. All those playground conversations, all the ways I tried to show up for your children, all the connection I thought we were building… please don’t look away from our pain now.
Acknowledging My Privilege
Before I go further, I need to acknowledge something important: I have the privilege of being able to pull my child from school. I have the privilege of time and resources to write this post, to advocate, to seek alternatives. Not every family has these options. Many parents are watching their children struggle in systems that don’t serve them, knowing they have no choice but to stay because they can’t afford alternatives, can’t take time off work, or don’t have the social capital or support to navigate other options.
I write this post for all of us walking this path – those with choices and those without. And I believe that those of us with privilege have a responsibility to use it not just to serve ourselves, but to help our communities. To speak up for the families who can’t, because speaking up is the only way we start to get out of these messes, together. To advocate for systemic change that benefits everyone, not just those with the resources to opt out.
our Invisible Struggle, one many FAMILIES face
Here’s what I wish more people understood: having a PDA (Pathological Demand Avoidance) Autistic, ADHD child isn’t the quirky, math-genius narrative that popular media often portrays. It’s watching your child struggle with demands that seem simple to everyone else. It’s seeing them unravel when the world expects them to fit into boxes that were never designed for their neurotype.
This year has been full of watching my child learn some hard lessons about friendship and community.
When the going gets tough, people bounce, or a least that is what this year has revealed. Trust me I know this was not out of malice, but out of busy lives and the natural drift that happens when proximity disappears.
Still, my child has internalized this as confirmation of their worst fears about themselves.
The Ripple Effect of Isolation
When our neurodivergent kids struggle, families struggle, period.
When families struggle, communities feel the impact.
We’re not investing in child mental health and neuroaffirming support the way we desperately need to.
Our school systems, while filled with caring individuals, aren’t structured to be truly inclusive in any sense of the word, let alone trying to be neuroaffirming, heck most people don’t even know what that means and are stuck with looking at kids like mine through a behavioural lens… ugh! Instead of fixing systems that clearly aren’t working, we keep placing blame on the children, on parenting, on red dyes and video games, ok I am not a fan of those either but still! While our most vulnerable children and families slip through the cracks.
Let me be crystal clear here: when I criticize “the system,” I’m not talking about the dedicated teachers and support staff who show up every day trying to make a difference within impossible constraints.
I’ve met incredible educators who genuinely care about every child in their classroom, who lose sleep over the kids they can’t reach, who spend their own money on supplies and their own time researching how to better support their students. These teachers and support staff are being failed by the same broken system that’s failing our kids. They’re drowning in paperwork, overwhelmed by class sizes, and hamstrung by policies that prioritize test scores over actual learning and wellbeing.
The good teachers – and there are many – deserve our support and advocacy too. In fact when our son was in the public school system we often told his last teacher who we adored, that we wanted her to have help too, that we could see how far she stretched for our kiddo, and that we knew that these systems were failing her too. We were always advocating for not just him, but for everyone. They’re not the enemy; they’re fellow casualties of a system that sets everyone up to fail.
I’m carrying hurt, yes. But more importantly, my child is carrying hurt. The lesson children like mine are learning is that support disappears when you need it most. That community is conditional. That their struggles make them unworthy of friendship.
Small Acts, Big Impact
But here’s the thing I need you ALL to hear – it doesn’t have to be this way, we are allowing it to be this way, |
and we have power to change this, or in the very least to get better at community care.
Because if the systems are going to stay broke, why should we all sit back and allow them to break our children?
Not this mama, not for my kid I will not allow it and not for yours either.
If you’re the parent of a neurotypical child who knows a family like ours, you have more power than you realize to change this narrative.
And it’s easier than you might think, in fact here’s some simple things you can do to help out kiddos like mine:
Stay connected: Send a text, seriously kids love a ridiculous meme as much as adults do. Mail a postcard filled with fart jokes!
Set up a virtual gaming session or movie night: Connection doesn’t have to be complicated.
Be flexible with invitations: Keep inviting us, even if we can’t always attend. Knowing we’re thought of matters more than you know.
My kid literally memorized when his friends birthdays are, and not getting one invitation to a party this year hurt so deeply.
And on that note, consider how you might include a child who is neurodivergent to parties or do something special for them and your kiddo.
Adults modelling non-ableist approaches to friendship is so key in all of this.
Educate yourself and your child: Learn about parallel play, sensory needs, and different communication styles.
Teach your child that their friend’s brain works differently, and that’s not something to fix but something to understand.
Offer practical support: Drop off a meal. Send a “thinking of you” text on a tough day. Offer to help with siblings or errands
when things get overwhelming.
Be patient: Our kids might need more time to warm up, please teach your kids about this, and please check your ableism
cause adults are rife with it. Some neurodivergent kiddos might seem “rude” when they’re actually overwhelmed,
they might cancel plans at the last minute because while they so want tos see their friends, the anxiety takes over them.
None of this is personal – it’s neurological.
Oh and when your kid shares that it’s hard to be friends with my kid now as he’s changed, that is when your moment
to shine like a loving supporting, breaking down ableism opportunity comes, so take it. Take the time to teach your child
about what other children are moving through, because while kids may see that their friend seems “weird” or “different now”
what they don’t see is the why, and the pain that their friend is carriying in so desperately wanting connection, despite struggling to make it happen.
Community Care, in Action
I’m not sharing this to shame anyone or make people feel guilty. I’m sharing it because I believe in our collective ability to do better.
Community care isn’t just a nice idea – it’s a lifeline for families like ours.
We need to be witnessed in our pain, yes, and I have made it a habit to share our pain because it’s important for people to
know about. But we also need to be supported in our journey.
We need you to understand that summer break, for us and many families like ours, summer isn’t about freedom from school
schedules. It’s about navigating more months of unstructured time while managing the grief of lost connections and the anxiety
of not knowing what September will bring.
Finding Hope in Hard Places
Despite everything, I still believe in the possibility of true community.
I still want to believe that we can create spaces where all children, neurotypical and neurodivergent, can thrive.
When you listen to our families you will learn that a lot of what we need really isn’t that much, but it requires you acknowledge
your internalised ableism, especially when it comes to parenting.
I still believe that connection is possible, even when it looks different than what we expected.
This summer, while others are celebrating freedom, we’re continuing to work on healing, as so much damage was done to our
children in brick and mortar schools.
We’re building resilience.
We’re learning that our worth isn’t determined by how well we fit into systems that weren’t designed for us.
And maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll find our people along the way.
The ones who understand that true friendship isn’t about convenience or similarity, but about showing up for each
other when it matters most.
What Schools Could Actually Do
First off, they could simply listen to us and believe us when we say our children are suffering.
And while we’re talking about systemic change (a fav topic of mine!), let’s get specific about what neuroaffirming support
could look like in schools. These aren’t pie-in-the-sky dreams, they’re practical changes that could transform the experience
for neurodivergent students of all ages.
Sensory regulation spaces that aren’t punishment rooms but genuine places for kids to reset, accessible to ALL children
with or without an official diagnosis – because there are many children who can’t even access the assessments they need
due to cost, wait times, or systemic barriers.
Flexible seating options – wobble cushions, standing desks, quiet corners that aren’t stigmatizing.
Alternative communication methods – for kids who struggle with verbal processing under stress.
Individualized movement breaks instead of forcing everyone into the same PE mold, also have you been in a gym!
Talk about extreme sensory overload, yet we force all kids to participate. ugh*
Quiet lunch options for kids overwhelmed by cafeteria chaos, I would have volunteered to support kids this space in a heartbeat.
Staff training on neurodivergent communication styles so “defiant” behavior is understood as regulation needs,
and we stop judging kids as bad and seeing them as struggling little humans that need compassion and support.
Predictable routines with clear advance notice of changes posted visually throughout the school
Strength-based learning approaches that build on what kids CAN do rather than constantly highlighting deficits
School events being mandated to be inclusive of all neuro types. Here’s a fun real life story. I was on the committee
at my last school for the Halloween dance and I suggested a quiet sensory room (or as quiet as we could try for it to be
while kids are all jacked up on sugar! and I was met with “it’s a dance, it’s supposed to be noisey”. This very attitude,
from fellow parents on PACS is also what keeps us in the same damn place, harming children. There are so many
ways to create inclusive community events, like the school carnivals so many have, yowzers that tops lack of inclusion
on SO MANY levels. Yet we throw around the word ‘inclusion’ like a hot potatoe and like a hot potatoe no one wants to truly hold it.
There are SO MANY ways we could make school fun and inclusive for all children, and I as a willing parent volunteer
would have happily read stories to kids while the others convened in the gym for a concert.
Don’t come at me with “there’s no money for this.” I am SO DAMN TIRED of this sentence that upholds all of what I have written here.
The government provides funding specifically to support our children with additional needs. These kids deserve to reap
the benefits of that investment. The money exists – it’s being spent on compliance paperwork and deficit-focused interventions
that don’t work instead of on creating environments where neurodivergent children can actually thrive.
Saying there is no money simply upholds the system and allows it to keep doing it’s toxic system thing. Stop saying that,
please I beg you, and start asking, where is the money going.
We’re not asking for the moon. We’re asking for basic accommodations that recognize different neurotypes as natural human
variation, not problems to be fixed.
I am Calling you In, Not Out
If you’re reading this and feeling defensive, maybe even guilty, I encourage you to pause and notice that feeling.
Sit with it for a moment.
Ask yourself: why am I getting defensive?
That reaction suggests you’re not fully hearing the pain I’m sharing here, that you’re quicker to protect systems than
to witness suffering, that you’re not ready to sit with the discomfort of knowing that families like mine are hurting.
And trust me when I say, I’m not writing this for sympathy. I’m writing this as a call in, a call for us to do better, together.
Because here’s what I’ve learned: there are many families like mine. Too many kids suffering in isolation.
Too many parents carrying grief they never expected to hold. Too many summers spent alone in isolation for so many.
But I’ve also noticed something else troubling. There are families who just brush off these realities with a resigned
“yeah, well, the system sucks, what can you do?” As if the suffering of vulnerable children is just an inevitable byproduct of how things are,
and I don’t know about you but that doesn’t sit right with me. In case you’re wondering last time I checked apathy is not cool,
but sticking up and by for your pals is.
Here’s the good news though! You can do something, if you truly wanted to.
When you hear that a family is pulling their child from school, you can build solidarity instead of silence.
Take it to your PAC meetings.
Advocate at the district level.
Show up for families who are fighting for their children’s basic human right to learn in environments that don’t harm them.
Stand with us.
Don’t just shake your head sympathetically and move on with your day, when you hear the hurt in my words it is because
I’ve been brushed off more times that I can count, so of course I am hurting and so is my entire family.
The “what can you do?” mentality is exactly what keeps these broken systems intact. We need to stop using all our energy to
blame the systems and use it to support each other, to push for systemic change. Those of us with privilege need to use that for
something beyond our own means, to help each other, to help the children and their famlies.
We need allies who are willing to get uncomfortable, to speak up, to use their privilege and their voice to demand better for
ALL children. Sadly I have yet to experience this for my child, and most families I have connected with like ours share the same.
Because until we do, families like mine will keep falling through the cracks, and our most vulnerable kids will keep learning that they don’t matter enough for anyone to fight for them.
Listen, I know we ALL have stuff on our plates. My plate was always overflowing when my kid was in school, I get it.
Trust me, I understand the juggle of work and life and trying to keep everyone fed and reasonably clean, trying to keep the house
together and not completely losing your mind in the process. Been there done that in many ways I am still there, my energy is just going
to different things now, to healing which does not involve spa days.
AND I also know for lived experience that we NEED community care more than ever.
We’re all drowning a little bit, which is exactly why we need each other. Because here’s what I’ve learned: there are many, and I mean MANY, families like mine.
Too many kids suffering in isolation. Too many parents carrying grief they never expected to hold.
And please: Don’t ask us if we’ve tried homeschool groups, signed up for summer camps, or whether we’ve heard about
some new essential oil that’s supposed to cure all mental health challenges (you would die if I told you about all the incredibly
unhelpful unsolicited advice we have been offered!). Our child has TRAUMA from SCHOOL (it’s a legit thing that many kids carry)
so any form of group anything is terrifying for him, and he’s developed a deep sense of distrust in the concept of having friends,
despite missing them so much. His pain runs deeper than you can ever imagine, and I am not exaggerating.
We’re also not looking for overwhelming, exhausting questions we’ve fielded a hundred times this year, I am frankly
TIRED of answering questions, with the endless medical appointments we’ve had this year, I am questioned out.
We’re also not looking for unsolicited advice or judgment disguised as concern.
We’re looking for compassion without the fix-it mentality.
We’re looking for a warm hug, maybe with a peace offering donut, and the simple acknowledgment that this is hard and we’re doing our best.
A note of solidarity
To the families walking this path alongside us: you’re not alone, and please do reach out if you feel like you have noone to lean on,
I am here for you. I have spent this last year on Facebook parent support groups, I have witnessed your stories, I have connected
with some of you, I have shared my pain and held yours along side mine with empathy and solidarty.
Thank you, with all my grieving heart, you made this year feel less lonely.
To the families who want to be allies: thank you for seeing us, we welcome any support you can offer us.
To the few friends who have been there: I love and appreciate you all so very much
To my child: you are worthy of love and friendship exactly as you are.
Thanks for Reading!
Hi I’m Michele Mateus, an award winning Vancouver Portrait Photographer specialized in raw portraits with an artistic and editorial edge.
I am the owner and Creative Director of Mateus Studios, a full service portrait and web design studio in Metro Vancouver serving Vancouver, Fraser Valley, Langley, Abbotsford, Squamish, Burnaby, Surrey, North Vancouver, West Vancouver, New Westminster and the Great Vancouver area.
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