My Son Was Supposed to Start Kindergarten. Here’s What We Did Instead.

Written By Nikki Sammet

“Kindergarten starts next week, right?” a woman at the pool asked me.

For most public schools in my area, the answer was yes.

In the weeks leading up to that question, I had been flooded with Instagram reels about 2020 babies heading into kindergarten—back-to-school shopping, sales, and brand-new backpacks.

He was going then he wasn’t.

He was going again and then he wasn’t.

If you’re a parent of an autistic child you’ve most likely had experiences like this ...thinking life was going to be one way only to get to that “milestone” and realize it’s different than what you expected.

When we finally landed on the decision to not send Jake to kindergarten right now I stood in a lot of grief. No, “First Day” hand held dry erased board picture. No back to school nights or PTA.

Another year of therapies, HIPAA, and “when is the right time?”...so many questions– are we holding him back? Does he need more? What’s best for him right now?

And then one day it hit me: my child is not “traditional” so why would I think the “traditional” path is made for him.

It’s not.

For the past 3 years we have created a path for him.

Full of support, thoughtful therapists, and built in more as he’s aged.

And now at almost 5.5 we are scaffolding a kindergarten year that is just Jake’s.

This blog entry is meant to be educational in the sense that you DON’T HAVE TO DO WHAT EVERYONE ELSE IS DOING. This blog entry is meant to be a reminder that you’re not alone in carving a non-traditional path. This blog post is a reminder that everything is temporary and what you decide today might not be what you choose next week. This story is to remind you that you’re doing the best you can with the information you have RIGHT NOW.

Here’s what you should expect to receive in this story…

  1. What we have done up to this point

  2. Why we decided to delay the start of Kindergarten

  3. And what we are doing instead

My Story Shapes His Story

When I was 10 years old I was diagnosed with ADHD. It wasn’t a public diagnosis until I reached high school and I was given a 504 plan. My parents had their reasons for not disclosing my diagnosis and as a parent of a neurodivergent child myself I completely understand. They were concerned I would be labeled and not given fair opportunities. Especially being a girl in the 90’s. In many ways I was very lucky to receive this diagnosis…my mom is a psychologist and that gave her an inside view pediatricians probably would have missed.

My academic career was hard. Socially, educationally, and finding my way was plain hard. I truly didn’t find grace within school until my masters degree at Chapman University. I was 25 years old when I began that program. So I went almost 20 years hating school believing I was stupid.

My parents started me in a private school hoping it would give me the best chances. Unfortunately, the school was the complete opposite and although it had smaller classrooms and were open about accommodations I did not fit there. Even down to being the ONLY GIRL in her first grade classroom.

I transitioned to public school in 3rd grade and when I tell you it was an adjustment…. Man it was an adjustment.

I struggled HARD.

I didn’t start medication until my 6th-grade year, and by that point, I had already internalized negative messages about how my brain worked and who I was. (see this article, which notes that children by the age of 12 with an ADHD diagnosis are more likely to internalize 20,000 negative beliefs)

I’m in my late 30’s now and I’m still undoing these messages that were sketched so deep into my existence.

So you can imagine that getting Jake started in school was something I took exceptionally personally and very protective of.

Jake and I are different and we have different stories but the similarity between us is that we are different. We learn differently and we need more support.

But what do supports look like and how do we build them so they match the individual?

Building the Right Support

We knew early on that Jake was special. If you’ve read another blog post of mine, like this one, you’ll know that Jake was an early reader and later we were able to put a name to that ability: hyperlexia. We also learned at 2 years old that Jake was a Gestalt Language Processor (GLP) and the way he learns communication is atypical (click here to read my blog post on GLP).

In 2023, at age 3, we also tried early special education preschool at the public school. The speech therapist told me, “He won’t stop singing,” and “All he wants to do is play with cars.” That stopped me in my tracks. For a GLP and a musically inclined child, singing is communication, and preferred interests (like cars) are a bridge to connection—core ideas in neurodiversity-affirming practice. If a provider can’t see that—and build from it—then him at this school is definitely not the right fit. There were multiple times he came home soiled and dirty with no explanation why and the teacher would give us less than 15 minutes to meet when we wanted to connect with her about Jake.

I was the ONLY parent at back to school night and knew pretty early this would be a stepping stone. By March we knew we wanted to pull him out.

We unenrolled from public school that spring and went back to full time ABA.

I began touring private neurodiverse schools in 2024. Thinking that would be where he would “belong” after he graduated from ABA.

To get ready for “school” we started him at a private school pre-k program where he and his little sister could both attend.

An RBT went with him.

He was there for 7 months and we pulled him out exactly 1 month before pre-k graduation and he went back to full time therapy.

It wasn’t the right fit for many reasons, but mostly because he wasn’t able to achieve what we hoped for him: more autonomy, more language, and more learning.

If anything, it was more restrictive—since it was a neurotypical environment, there was less language because there were so many students, and because he was dysregulated, his brain wasn’t open to learning.

At this point we learned that Jake needed a smaller environment so he would get more attention (less restriction), feel more comfortable to engage with peers, and let his body and brain relax in order to learn.

So that’s how we’ve built out his kindergarten year. Activities that drive and motivate him. Supports that uplift and elevate him. Tools to help regulate and educate him.

After touring the schools and even spending shadow days at a few of them we just felt he wasn’t ready…YET. So we wanted to create a bridge.

A Kindergarten Year That’s Just His

We narrowed it to two choices:

  1. Full-time public school special education kindergarten, or

  2. 28-30 hours of ABA + scaffold plans around him (academic tutoring, social skills, therapies, sports etc)

Public school had real appeal: daily academics, peers, and the protections of an IEP (ed.gov IDEA overview, Understood.org on IEPs).

But even in supportive programs, instruction is built for the “typical” learner. Jake learns differently.

With option 2, we felt we could focus on what matters right now:

  • Potty initiation 

  • Preventing/eliminating elopement

  • School readiness—fading 1:1 support and reducing prompt dependence

At the end of the day we decided we were looking for a middle ground. A bridge that wasn’t all clinical and wasn’t fully school. Something in the middle that could make the transition easy and yet build on the skills he’s been learning—and for us that was a learning pod with other children his age one or two days a week while staying in his therapy programs.

We also felt the team we built was so strong and supporting his growth that uprooting that would only do a disservice to him RIGHT NOW.

Now this doesn’t mean we won’t transfer into a school setting later this year but this is where we are today.

Think of learning pod like homeschool except I’m not the one doing the schooling. :) Learning pods, microschools, and homeschool/hybrid options exploded around 2020 and continue to serve families looking for smaller, flexible environments (Learn more: NPR on microschools, EdChoice on pods).

Additionally, many families don’t agree with traditional methods or don’t have the funds for private academies and are choosing to build their own pathway.

We’re open to school in the future—whatever is best for Jake at that time.

This mix allows him to practice being in group settings without losing the individualized attention that helps him thrive. It’s not about avoiding school. It’s about making sure that when he walks into a classroom, he has the tools, confidence, and independence to access the learning and social opportunities he wants.

Two other important reasons we decided to keep Jake in his current situation (for now) was 1) we had moved him prior – sooner than he should have thought it was the right thing to do. This time we wanted to finish what we start especially since there has been so much progress and 2) research shows early, tailored supports improve language, cognition, adaptive behavior, and family outcomes—especially when aligned with a child’s learning style and interests. See: CDC “Learn the Signs. Act Early.”, American Academy of Pediatrics ASD guidance, National Research Council, Educating Children with Autism. And for Jake that early intervention window is coming to an end– technically he will be out of it March 2026 when he turns 6. 

More autism-specific early intervention evidence:

There also has been thought on starting kids later– but what the research actually shows is that redshirting can show short-term academic advantages, but long-term outcomes are mixed; the quality of support matters most: USC Schaeffer summary.

This Is Temporary (and That’s the Point)

This choice for Jake isn’t forever. It’s not a life sentence; it’s a season. Next year may look different. Heck, it could change next month. The beauty of deciding for right now is that you can change course as your child’s needs change.

At the end of the day, kindergarten will still be there. First-day photos will still be there. Opportunities for Jake to learn, grow, and connect will still be there.

Right now, this is where he’s meant to be.

I’ve learned there’s no prize for rushing kids to the next milestone, and no shame in taking a different road. The goal isn’t to keep up with someone else’s timeline—it’s to honor Jake’s.

If you’re standing where I was—feeling the weight of what you thought this year would look like—remember: You’re not behind. You’re exactly where you need to be. And so is your child.

If you’re navigating your own “not yet” season and want a sounding board, I’d love to help you explore options. Book a free 25 minute consultation here and we’ll walk through what’s best for your family right now.

Nikki Sammet
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Are You a Neuroaffirming Provider? Here’s How to Know.