Letting go - a lesson from autumn

At this stage of the school year, we’re really in the thick of all the things. If you have children doing exam courses, they’re probably heading towards mock exams, juggling coursework, and thinking about life beyond the current programme.

Students in early secondary years are learning more complex content and developing executive function skills they’re still growing into. Many are in the midst of projects that require planning, focus, and deep learning — and that can bring up a whole range of challenges, especially for neurodivergent students.

And on top of that, you’ve probably just had parent–teacher conferences or received the first set of reports.

Christmas holidays are looming. The run-up is busy. The break is close… but not quite close enough.

This is usually the moment in the school year when the wheels fall off a bit. Any hopes or plans you had about staying organised, keeping routines steady, or supporting your child’s school journey may be starting to wane. And maybe the wheels have already fallen off.

Around this time last year, that was definitely true in my family. My oldest was in her final year of the IB Diploma, trying to finish Internal Assessments while aware that mock exams and finals were looming. There seemed to be no let-up in the pressure, and she crashed. There was a period of about ten days where she really couldn’t do much at all. The focus became rest, recovery, and calming her mind.

Before that point, there were clues that all was not well — the same clues I missed in myself before I hit burnout two years earlier. A relentless fatigue. A foggy mind. A need for isolation. Emotions and stress responses taking over. I knew these signs, because I’d lived them.

In those moments, it’s tempting to pick up the pace, push harder, or deliver a pep talk — to ourselves or to our kids.
“Come on, it’s not that bad.”
“Everyone feels like this — you just need to…”

We think the solution is to coach ourselves through the marathon.

But sometimes the most powerful thing we can do for our executive function, our wellbeing, and our kids is simply… to stop.

I’m so grateful I had a boss who could cut through the drill sergeant voice in my head and tell me to pause. I ended up taking six weeks off work — time I desperately needed to regulate, reconnect with my body and mind, and let my nervous system settle.

And it makes me wonder: if I had challenged that drill sergeant voice earlier, how would things have been different?

Sometimes we try so hard to keep it all together when, really, we need to let it fall to the ground.

I’m learning that again this autumn. It’s my first autumn in the UK for sixteen years, and I’m in love with it — especially walking the dog through the woods and watching the leaves fall. The trees know the secret of letting go. They know that shedding the leaves that served them all summer will leave them bare for a while… but they do it anyway. They know it’s not the end.

They know that sometimes we need to release the things that once served us but no longer do.

I wonder if any of this resonates with you?
What are you trying so hard to hold together right now?

A child feeling the pressure of school?
A communication pattern that worked when they were younger but isn’t landing now?
An organisation system that used to carry you through but is failing under the weight of exam stress, SEN needs, or sheer exhaustion?
A strategy of bracing, gritting your teeth, and pushing through?

What would happen if you let one of those things fall to the ground like leaves in autumn?