There’s a particular kind of tired that doesn’t show up on paper. It’s not the school refusal itself. It’s the mornings before it. And every breathing minute around it. Standing at the door, out of words, watching your child disappear somewhere you can’t reach, wondering if you’re the problem. I’ve stood at that door. Not just as someone who studied it from the outside - but as a mum who lived every one of those mornings. University mental health trained and still completely undone by it. What changed wasn’t more patience. It was understanding that her body needed to feel safe before her mind could hear anything I said. Maybe later feels safer than trying something new right now. I understand that. But the sooner their body feels safe, the sooner mornings stop being the hardest part of your day - and every week you wait is another week they’re carrying it alone. You’re not behind. You’re not failing them. You just haven’t been shown the layer underneath yet. It took ...