Schools don’t just hand out IEPs because your kid needs one. They “monitor.” They stall. They hope you get tired. Unless you put it in writing, the legal clock never starts.

You know that “quick update” email from the school?
The one that hits your inbox and makes your stomach drop before you even open it?

Yeah. That’s September.

School starts in 2 days and my “functioning adult” mask is missing.

Not the KN95. Not the Halloween cat face.
The one I wear for drop-off smiles, PTA potlucks, and pretending I read the 37 school emails in my inbox.

Last year’s masks don’t fit anymore:

• The “chill mom about new math” mask? Stretched out.

• The “on top of permission slips” mask? Lost since 2022.

• The “yes, I have dinner planned” mask? Retired. Ashes scattered at Target.

If yours doesn’t fit either, maybe it’s time to loosen the straps.
That’s what I did and the lighter I felt, the less I cared about finding the “right” mask.

Six months. That’s the average wait time to get an IEP moving. Six months your child spends without the support they needed yesterday. I wasted too many of those months writing ‘perfect’ emails that went nowhere. Then I learned how to write for impact and I put all my best, proven scripts in one place so other parents don’t have to lose time the way I did.

If your child was struggling in May, July isn’t the time to hope for miracles. Learn why executive function coaching and IEP planning should start now—not during back-to-school panic. Includes case studies, FAQs, and expert tools.

After the IEP meeting ends, most parents are left alone to follow up, track services, and fight for what was promised. This guide breaks down what to do after an IEP meeting, how to make sure the plan is followed, and why your exhaustion is not a failure—it’s part of the system’s design.

IEP or 504? The system makes it sound simple—but the truth is tangled in power, paperwork, and gatekeeping. This guide breaks it down, calls it out, and names what every neurodivergent child actually deserves.

Burnout isn’t a badge of advocacy—it’s a warning sign. Here’s how to fight for your neurodivergent child without losing yourself in the process.