When a child suddenly wants to go back to school: a trauma-informed, neuroaffirming reflection

Earlier this week, The Guardian reported on new research from Ambitious About Autism that should alarm anyone paying attention to the state of SEND provision in England. One in six autistic pupils haven't attended school at all since September 2025. More than a quarter are now persistently absent. When researchers asked families why, 62% cited “mental health issues” - not behaviour, not defiance, but mental health.

Behind those statistics are thousands of families navigating something that rarely gets discussed openly: what happens when a child who has been out of school for weeks, months or, in some cases, years, suddenly announces they want to go back. Not cautiously, not as a tentative experiment – but with certainty, energy and motivation. They want to go back “properly” – diving straight into the deep end of a full 6-hour school day – no phasing.

For families who've been living through months of distress, shutdown or complete non-attendance, this moment can feel like a switch being flipped. There's relief - deep, almost overwhelming relief. But alongside it, something else: unease. Fear. The quiet question: what if this goes wrong?

As one mother, Sarah Greaves, described her son Sam's experience to The Guardian: "He no longer wanted to be here, let alone go to school. The old Sam is now completely gone; he rarely leaves the house." When a child in that state suddenly expresses a desire to return, the stakes feel enormous. Another young person, Erin, now 20, captured something that sits at the heart of this entire pattern: "It wasn't that I didn't want to be in school, it's that I couldn't."

That distinction - between won't and can't, between choice and capacity, between motivation and ability to sustain - is what this reflection is about. Because what looks like recovery to professionals, schools, and even relieved family members is often something far more fragile and contingent.

Families navigating this moment often feel pulled in opposite directions. They want to honour their child's wishes and autonomy, while also wanting to protect them from further harm. They want to feel hopeful without letting that hope turn into pressure. They want to trust their own instincts whilst being told those instincts are overprotective.

Professional responses can add another layer of complexity. Some respond with caution, questioning whether a full return is realistic or sustainable. Others, sometimes unintentionally, frame the moment as confirmation that school was never really the problem, or that the child "just needed time". Nearly half of families surveyed by Ambitious About Autism said they felt blamed by the government for their child's absence - and that blame narrative shapes how sudden returns get interpreted.

What tends to get lost in all of this is the complexity of what is actually happening. A child wanting to go back to school does not automatically mean that burnout has resolved, that capacity has returned, or that the environment which contributed to their distress will now be experienced differently.

To understand this pattern properly - and how to respond without inadvertently creating pressure or harm - it helps to step away from attendance altogether and look at what children are actually recovering from.

What children are recovering from

For many children, the difficulty has never been school in a simple or singular sense. It is not just about lessons or learning, and it is not only about the pressure to attend. More often, it is about the cumulative impact of being in an environment that has become overwhelming to their nervous system - particularly once their needs are not being consistently recognised or met.

School environments place multiple layers of demand on a child at the same time. There are academic demands, but also constant social demands, expectations around interaction and compliance, emotional regulation demands, and a near-continuous stream of sensory input. Noise, movement, visual clutter, proximity to others, unpredictable transitions and the pace of the day all place load on a nervous system that may already be operating close to capacity.

For neurodivergent children, it is rarely any single demand that becomes unmanageable. It is the cumulative effect of all of this happening simultaneously, for long stretches of time, with very limited opportunity to pause, withdraw or recalibrate. Many children cope by masking - pushing themselves to appear “fine” in school while expending enormous internal effort. That effort often shows up later, at home, in the form of exhaustion, emotional volatility, shutdown or despair.

Over time, this sustained mismatch between the child and the environment can tip into burnout. This is not ordinary tiredness or low motivation, but a genuine depletion state in which tolerance narrows and even small demands begin to register as threat. Importantly, burnout can develop even in schools that are well-intentioned and trying to be supportive, if the overall intensity of the environment remains too high.

Sarah Greaves described what her son actually needed: "Less focus on strict rules for minor issues which trigger anxiety in autistic young people and less focus on rigid school uniform policies which trigger sensory needs." She added: "What Sam needed at school would make life better for everybody." She's right. But those changes rarely happen, because the system tends to respond to non-attendance by focusing on the child rather than examining the environment.

When a child is out of school during burnout, what they are often recovering from is not simply conflict around attendance, but prolonged exposure to an environment that has been too much for them in multiple, overlapping ways. Time out of school can therefore bring relief on several levels at once: relief from demands, relief from constant sensory and social input, relief from masking, and relief from the feeling of being perpetually on edge.

The nervous system finally has space to settle. And it is often only once this settling has begun that desire and motivation can resurface.

Why motivation returns suddenly

Motivation often returns in huge, unexpected, blow you out of the water waves rather than gradually. Once a child’s nervous system begins to feel safer - once there has been genuine relief from the intensity that tipped them into burnout - the wish to reconnect with the world can come flooding back.

That motivation is real. It is not manipulation, avoidance, or a sign that the child was “choosing” not to attend before. For many children, it reflects emerging hope, curiosity and a longing for connection after a prolonged period of withdrawal and distress. However, at the same time, motivation is not the same as capacity.

A child can genuinely want something while still lacking the nervous-system bandwidth to sustain it. This distinction is easy to miss, particularly when enthusiasm feels like evidence that things are finally improving. In reality, recovery rarely happens evenly or in a linear way.

Relief and safety tend to come first. Motivation often follows. But the ability to sustain engagement depends not on the child 'building tolerance', but on whether the environment adapts to meet their needs rather than continuing to demand that they stretch beyond them.

It is also important to recognise that when a child says they want to go back to school, they may be reaching for what school represents rather than the lived reality of the environment itself. School can symbolise connection with peers, belonging, shared routines, identity and reassurance that life has shape again after a long period of disruption. There can also be a strong pull towards external structure once things have felt chaotic or uncontained.

This is where a familiar paradox often re-emerges. Many of these children genuinely crave structure, while struggling profoundly with rigid systems. They may feel calmer when there is rhythm and predictability, but become overwhelmed by inflexible timetables, constant transitions and externally imposed demands. What they often need is flexible structure - shape without punishment, scaffolding without surveillance.

Mainstream school rarely offers this distinction, even when everyone involved has the best intentions.

Why re-engagement is often all or nothing

From an adult perspective, phased returns usually feel sensible and protective. From a child’s perspective, they can feel like being managed, tested, or gradually pulled back into something that no longer feels truly optional. A full day chosen by the child can feel safer than a partial day imposed by adults, because it preserves a sense of control and agency. Agency is often the condition that makes trying possible in the first place.

Knowing that they can stop again if they need to is what allows many children to take the risk of re-engaging at all. When that sense of choice is removed - even subtly - the attempt can quickly begin to feel unsafe, regardless of how well-intentioned the adults around them are.

This is also the point where families often feel most conflicted. Relief can be immense - finally, something is moving. At the same time, fear sits close behind. Parents may worry that allowing the attempt risks undoing months of recovery, or that hesitation will damage trust or autonomy.

Children are often highly attuned to adult emotion, particularly after long periods of distress. Even when parents try not to show it, relief can be felt. That relief can quietly turn into pressure: I can’t let them down. I can’t take this hope away. I have to make this work.

Families can find themselves pulled between leaning too hard into the attempt or becoming so cautious that autonomy is inadvertently undermined. Neither response is wrong. Both are understandable. But both can increase pressure if they are not noticed and named.

The blame narrative

Here's something that doesn't get said enough: the Ambitious About Autism research found that nearly half of families felt blamed by the government for their child's absence. Not misunderstood. Not unsupported. Blamed.

This matters because that blame narrative warps how sudden returns to school get interpreted. When a child expresses motivation to return, it can be weaponised as evidence that parents were being overprotective, that the child just needed "encouragement", or that the problem was anxiety rather than environment all along.

This framing is both inaccurate and harmful. The child's nervous system has settled because unbearable pressure lifted. Motivation resurfaces because safety returned. But instead of that being understood as confirmation that the environment was the issue, it gets twisted into proof that the child was simply avoiding.

And then - when the child tries school again and cannot sustain it - the narrative flips back: they're not trying hard enough, they're anxious, they're refusing to engage.

The environment rarely gets examined. The load rarely gets reduced. The cycle repeats.

How this phase often unfolds

In practice, this phase tends to unfold in a few recognisable ways.

In rarer cases, pressure genuinely stays off. Attendance remains flexible, fluctuation is tolerated, and adults resist the urge to formalise progress too quickly. The child is able to regulate their engagement over time, drawing on the same sense of safety that allowed motivation to return.

More commonly, expectations begin to creep back in. Attendance is praised. Consistency is emphasised. The child senses that something which once felt optional is becoming compulsory again. Language shifts subtly, flexibility narrows, and the idea of “keeping it going” begins to take hold.

Alongside this, the full intensity of the school environment reasserts itself. The cumulative sensory and social load begins to catch up. Masking increases. Exhaustion builds. When distress returns, it is often sudden and intense, and is frequently misread as regression, lack of insight or unwillingness, rather than a nervous system responding to overload.

There are also situations where a child overextends themselves. Motivation is mistaken for capacity, and the excitement of re-engagement masks how depleted they still are. Without genuine exits and recovery time built in, this can lead to a sudden crash - one that is often framed as the child failing to cope, rather than the environment failing to adapt.

One of the most important things to hold onto is this: a surge of motivation does not mean burnout is over. Wanting to do something is not the same as being able to sustain it. A child can genuinely want to return to school while still masking heavily, exhausting quickly, and needing long periods of recovery afterwards.

Honouring their choice means also honouring the possibility that they may need to stop again - and that stopping is not failure.

What helps families navigate this moment

A trauma-informed, neuroaffirming approach during this phase is less about protecting a plan and more about protecting safety. That often means:

·      Keeping attendance genuinely optional, rather than quietly conditional

·      Explicitly naming that stopping again is allowed – not just in theory, but in practice

·      Avoiding success-and-failure narratives that can turn hope into pressure

·      Resisting the urge to formalise progress too quickly, even when things appear to be going well

·      Watching for signs that adult relief or anxiety (either at home or school) is shaping decisions

·      Remembering that fluctuation is not failure – it is information

Many families find it helpful to hold belief and caution at the same time. Messages such as “we’re really glad you want to try” alongside “you don’t have to prove anything” can reduce pressure more effectively than any timetable or reintegration plan.

Flexibility here is not about lowering expectations or avoiding challenge. It is an active safeguard that protects the very conditions that allowed motivation to return in the first place. When flexibility is removed too quickly, children can feel trapped by their own hope.

This phase also calls for close attention to how adult anxiety, relief or urgency may be shaping decisions. Even well-intended reassurance, praise or encouragement can begin to feel loaded if it carries an unspoken expectation to keep going. Naming uncertainty out loud - rather than trying to manage it silently - can help keep pressure from building beneath the surface.

Protecting safety at this stage often means prioritising genuine exits and recovery time as essential elements, not as concessions or rewards. When children know they can stop without being seen as failing, they can explore whether this environment actually works for them - rather than forcing themselves to make it work at all costs.

Neurodivergent children are exquisitely sensitive to relief

Neurodivergent children are exquisitely sensitive to relief. Even unspoken hope - maybe life can be normal again - can land as pressure.

For families navigating this now, that doesn't mean you've done something wrong. It means this moment needs gentleness, honesty and shared language. It might mean having conversations like:

"I'm so glad you want to try school again. I want you to know that stopping again is completely okay if you need to. This isn't a test. We're just finding out what works."

Or:

"I know I've seemed really relieved that you're back at school. I am relieved - but not because school is the only answer. I'm relieved because you're feeling well enough to try. That's what matters to me."

These conversations don't guarantee that pressure won't build. But they create space for the child to articulate if it does.

Trusting parental instinct

Parents often know, at a gut level, when something doesn’t feel right - long before it becomes visible to others. That instinct is incredibly valuable. At the same time, it can be incredibly hard to trust after months or years of being told you are anxious, overprotective, or overreacting.

This is particularly true during moments that look hopeful from the outside. When a child says they want to go back to school, parents may find themselves questioning their own unease: if my child wants this, who am I to hesitate? That internal conflict can be deeply destabilising.

One way families can support their own judgement during this phase is by paying attention to patterns rather than isolated moments. Keeping a simple diary or timeline can help ground decisions in what is actually happening, rather than in hope, fear or external pressure. This might include:

·      Days when attendance is attempted and days when it isn’t

·      Weekends and non-school days (to compare energy levels across different contexts)

·      What happens after school – energy levels, mood, regulation capacity, engagement

·      Signs of masking, agitation, emotional crash or recovery

·      Moments of genuine joy, calm or connection

Often it is what happens outside school hours that reveals the true cost of coping. Is your child collapsing the moment they get home? Are weekends dominated by recovery? Are meltdowns intensifying even as attendance is praised?

This kind of tracking is not about proving anything to anyone else. It is about helping parents stay anchored to their child’s lived experience, spot early signs that safety is eroding, and communicate more clearly with professionals or family members when needed.

Trusting your instinct does not mean resisting your child’s wishes. It means holding those wishes alongside what you are observing and allowing both to inform your decisions.

Communicating with schools and others

Many families find that this is also the point where wider misunderstanding re-emerges. Comments like "we knew they'd be fine in the end" or "they just needed a break" can be deeply invalidating, even when not intended that way.

It can help to frame what is happening in nervous-system terms rather than attendance terms. For example:

·   "Their motivation has returned because safety increased. We're still exploring whether capacity has caught up."

·    "Flexibility is a protective factor right now, not a reward we're offering."

·    "Stopping again wouldn't be a setback - it would be them communicating something important about what they need."

You don't need to persuade everyone. Clear, consistent language - and a shared understanding that this is exploratory rather than definitive - can reduce pressure on both you and your child.

If school staff or other professionals push back, you might say:

"I understand this looks like progress to you. What I need you to understand is that we're still in a recovery phase. Attendance right now is being driven by motivation, not necessarily capacity. We need to keep things flexible so they can stop again without it being seen as failure."

You're not asking for permission - you're stating what your child needs.

The bigger picture: systemic change and individual survival

The government's current SEND reforms promise increased investment in mainstream provision and specialist places. But as Sarah Greaves put it: "Everyone's terrified that education health and care plans are going to be taken away. Don't take away our legal backstops."

The tension is real. Reforms that promise to make mainstream schools more accessible are welcome - but only if they genuinely address the environmental barriers that create burnout in the first place. Erin, now 20 and still catching up on education she missed, said it clearly: "I hope the government's reforms will create a culture change in mainstream schools that makes them more accessible to autistic pupils. There is so much rigidity in the current school system that makes things really challenging."

Until that culture change happens, families are navigating this moment largely on their own.

Sometimes, a child needs to try going back to school in order to discover what they were actually reaching for - connection, structure, belonging, identity, or simply a sense that life has shape again after a long period of distress. That does not make the attempt a mistake, even if school ultimately turns out not to be the right container.

Over time, and only once safety is secure, some children begin to realise that these needs can be met in other ways and in other settings. That understanding cannot be rushed or argued into place. It tends to emerge through experience, reflection and trust, rather than through persuasion.

What families can do is create conditions where that exploration feels safe. Where stopping is genuinely okay. Where fluctuation is expected rather than feared. Where the child's nervous system - not adult expectations or timelines - leads the way.

What to remember

Perhaps the most important thing to hold onto is this: when a child suddenly wants to go back to school, it is rarely about compliance or recovery in the way professionals might frame it. It is about safety, autonomy and relief finally allowing desire to resurface.

Our role is not to force that energy back into the same system at all costs, or to cling to the idea that this must be the "right" outcome. It is to protect the conditions that allowed that energy to emerge, and to support the child to explore - at their own pace - how their needs can be met without losing themselves in the process.

That might mean school works. It might mean it doesn't. It might mean something in between - part-time, supported, adapted. Or it might mean discovering that what they were reaching for exists somewhere else entirely.

For families navigating this now: trust yourself. Trust your child. And trust that this process - messy and uncertain as it is - is giving you both essential information about what comes next.

You are not to blame for your child's absence. The recent data makes that starkly clear: this is systemic failure, not individual failing. You are not to blame if they try school and need to stop again. And you are doing exactly what good parents do: listening to your child, protecting their wellbeing, and refusing to accept a system that asks them to sacrifice their mental health for attendance statistics.

If this reflection resonates, you're not alone. The Ambitious About Autism research that prompted this week's Guardian coverage found that thousands of families are navigating this exact situation right now. Share it with others who might benefit - sometimes just knowing that someone else understands can make all the difference.