Nearly ten years ago, my toddler was kicked out of preschool.
I remember walking into that meeting alone.
I remember the professionals seated around the table.
I remember the words hyper, possibly ADHD all spoken about my two-year-old child.
I remember the list of “better fit” schools handed to me like a consolation prize.
What I remember most was the feeling.
The kind that sits in your chest and doesn’t leave.
The kind that makes you question everything you thought you knew about parenting.
The kind that whispers, What did you do wrong?
At two years old, my child had already been labeled.
And I carried that label heavily.
The Part No One Talks About
You don’t often hear about children getting kicked out of preschool.
Sometimes it happens quietly. Gently. Politely.
A meeting. A suggestion. A “better fit.”
Other times, it becomes something others feel entitled to discuss, whispered conversations, shared opinions, details that were never theirs to carry.
Either way, it leaves a mark.
It is jarring.
It is isolating.
It makes you feel like a failure in a way that is hard to explain unless you’ve lived it.
You begin to replay everything:
- Did I miss something?
- Did I work too much?
- Is this my fault?
- Will he struggle forever?
The guilt is loud.
The worry is relentless.
And the loneliness? It’s suffocating.
Ten Years Later
Here we are, nearly a decade later.
The setting has changed. It’s middle school now instead of preschool.
But the feeling when the school’s name pops up on my phone?
That hasn’t changed much.
There’s a quick rush of panic.
Then a quiet numbness.
Because deep down, you already know it won’t be a call to say things have been wonderful.
It won’t be to celebrate growth or effort or resilience.
It will be about what didn’t go well.
It’s tiring.
It’s heavy.
It can feel paralyzing.
It can feel ostracizing.
And here’s the complicated part, we are good parents. We try our best. We advocate. We research. We adjust. We show up.
And sometimes our child still struggles.
What I Understand Now
I understand now that some children don’t fit neatly into traditional school expectations.
I understand that behavior is communication.
I understand that sensory needs are real.
I understand that having other neurotypical children does not prepare you for the emotional toll of navigating school with a child who struggles.
Most importantly, I understand that the pain is vivid for families walking this road.
I see it weekly in Facebook parent groups.
Mothers pleading for a school that will accept their child after being dismissed elsewhere.
Parents asking if anyone knows of a school willing to “work with behaviors.”
The desperation in those posts is unmistakable.
Because being asked to leave a school doesn’t just affect your child.
It shakes your confidence as a parent.
To the Parent in the Thick of It
If you are walking this road right now, I want you to hear this clearly:
You are not a failure.
Your child is not broken.
And this moment does not define your family’s future.
It may feel like you are fighting a system that was not designed for children who move differently, process differently, or regulate differently.
But there are educators who understand.
There are schools that adjust the environment instead of trying to change the child.
There are schools that celebrate progress instead of only calling about problems.
I feel compelled to be part of that change.
Because no parent should dread seeing the school’s name light up their phone.
Why This Matters to Me Now
That early experience shaped me more than I realized at the time.
It shaped how I view behavior.
It shaped how I speak to parents.
It shaped how I design classrooms.
It shaped how I train teachers.
At Hill Country Day School, I want families to feel safe bringing their whole child, not just the easy parts.
I want phone calls home to include growth and celebration.
I want teachers to see behavior as information, not inconvenience.
And I want mothers to know they are not alone in this journey.
Three Months to Go
This school year in particular has been extra heavy with extra phone calls.
There are still three months left in this school year, and some days that feels like an eternity.
But here’s what I know ten years later:
Children grow.
Brains mature.
The right support makes a difference.
There will be that one educator who understands your child and stands up for them.
The hard seasons do not last forever, even though it feels like they may.
And parents who continue to show up, even when they are exhausted are doing extraordinary work.
If you are in that season right now, I see you.
And you are not walking it alone.
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