You know it.
You can’t get your kid in the car. You can’t get them to bed. Everything is a fight.
It’s exhausting — and it feels so personal.
Transitions are hard for a lot of kids, especially neurodivergent ones. It’s a loss of control, a shift in rhythm, and sometimes a sensory overload. And though it might feel like it, it’s not manipulation — it’s a meltdown of capacity.
I used to think my child was just being difficult. Or defiant. Or trying to push my buttons at the exact moment I was holding it together with a thread and a lukewarm cup of coffee.
But then I started learning about how kids experience change — especially kids with sensitive nervous systems. And it changed everything.
When my child resists putting on shoes or screams about turning off the TV, it’s not about me. It’s about them hitting a wall. Their brain goes from “okay” to “I can’t handle this shift” — and they lose access to calm, logic, and cooperation.
So what do we do — especially when we’re exhausted and overstimulated, too?
How To Get Through It
I’m not going to give you all the standard fare.
You know the timers.
You know the five-minute warnings.
You’ve tried narrating the day like you’re the world’s most exhausted preschool cruise director.
Let’s talk about what actually works when you’re on the brink:
👉 Prison lights
Yep. My living room lights go off at 7:30. No announcement, no argument — just darkness. Time to go. It’s not mean. It’s not magical. It’s just a cue. Lights off = we’re done here.
👉 Weaponized counting
Bath time ends when I count to 60. Sometimes he wants to do the counting — and boom, now it’s a learning activity. Early math and exit strategy. I’ll take it.
👉 Meltdown management 101
Ignore the chaos. Offer 2 choices that still lead to the same place.
“You can walk or hop to the car.”
“You can wear shoes or carry them.”
Either way, we’re leaving.
👉 And sometimes?
Take a deep breath, hoist them over your shoulder like a fireman, and know in your heart:
This isn’t about me.
This is about their brain trying to cope with the shift.
And if you cry a little in the car afterward? That’s okay too.
You Survived!
You are doing a good job.
You planned a great day out.
You rolled with the tide.
Your family had moments of joy, even if they were covered in goldfish crumbs and sudden screaming.
Yes — I’m thinking about the time my kid yelled,
“I HATE THE ZOO AND WE’RE NEVER COMING BACK!”
…in front of a family of tourists and a lemur.
But you know what?
The next day, he asked if we could go back.
Because it wasn’t the zoo. It wasn’t me.
It was the transition.
And when we stop taking those moments personally, we create space — for our kids to struggle, and for us to breathe.
You’re doing enough.
You are enough.
And if the only thing you accomplish today is getting from Point A to Point B with everyone more or less intact?
That’s a win.
