How we got to Australia
- Stephanie Fluger
- Mar 17
- 4 min read
Airport Prep, Accessibility Hacks & First Days in Sydney
Taking your child internationally is a different kind of decision when you have a neurodivergent kid.
It's not just "will they have fun." It's "have I thought through every transition, every sensory moment, every point where his nervous system might hit a wall — and we're on the other side of the planet."
Australia was always on the list. The reef. The rainforest. The wildlife my son had already memorized through every nature documentary he could find. It felt like the right trip for the right reasons.
My husband flew out a week ahead for work. Which meant I was doing the airport solo. Just me, two kids, and approximately everything we owned.
The Airport Strategy: Leaving at 2:30pm for a 10:30pm Flight
Yes, you read that right.Our flight didn't leave LAX until 10:30pm. But rushing is its own dysregulation trigger for my son — the anxiety of "we need to move faster" compounds fast. So I left straight from school pickup at 2:30pm and arrived with an absurd amount of buffer time.
This was also during the stretch of news about TSA lines running five hours long. I was not about to find out the hard way.
The Accessibility Tools I Used — And What Actually Worked
Sunflower Lanyard — In the US, most people have no idea what it means. In Australia? Noticeably different. Whether real or inferred, we were consistently given more patience and more space. Worth wearing every time.
TSA Cares — I called ahead. Registered. Did everything they tell you to do. Nobody approached us. Nobody helped us. Complete waste of time. Moving on.
United Accessibility Desk — This one delivered. Seats together, preboarding added, and I believe they flagged our family to the crew because a flight attendant checked on us three hours before landing.
Here's what I always say: for my kids, it doesn't matter if the flight is three hours or fifteen. The flight is never the hard part. The airport is the hard part. The boarding is the hard part. If I can protect the sensory input during those windows, we're golden.
The United Lounge: Where "Luxury" Got Complicated
I don't go to airport lounges for luxury. I go for space.
A corner seat with fewer bodies moving around you isn't a perk — it's a sensory accommodation. *I'm also not going to lie, the glass of champagne was lovely too.
Getting in, however, was an event.
First attempt: waited in line, my daughter needed the bathroom, they made us leave entirely. On the way out I spotted pizza — grabbed it, knowing my kids weren't touching anything in that lounge.
Second attempt: no outside food allowed.
So we found an empty gate, ate our pizza, put the leftovers in my bag, and went back for round three. I had two entry tickets and had to buy a third. The customer service was exactly what you'd expect from a system not designed with a solo mom and two kids in mind.
But then we found the outdoor courtyard.
Fresh air, open sky, a direct view of six gates. My son sat there for five hours watching planes taxi, take off, and land. Completely regulated. Living his best life.
Sometimes the accommodation you need isn't the one you planned for.
Landing in Sydney: Oh Coffee ☕️
My husband had been there a week. He knew where we were landing. He knew what I
needed.
When we walked out of arrivals, he was standing there with a long white — Australia's answer to a flat white — already in hand. He just handed it to me.
He'd also stocked the Airbnb the night before and had everything ready. For a family with a neurodivergent child, walking into a space that already feels settled isn't a small thing. No setup chaos. No unpacking while managing two jet-lagged kids.
We dropped bags and headed straight out. Sleep could wait. Time zones could not.
Day One: Jet Lag, Anxiety, and a Swing
My son slept two hours on the plane. My daughter got four, on me. I got twenty minutes.
We headed to a park to get the kids moving and on Sydney time. But my son was struggling — not just jet lag, but the anxiety of not having a clear plan for the day. I'd kept it loose on purpose. That was my mistake, and I knew it the moment I saw his face.
He wasn't being difficult. His brain didn't have a map for the day.
We recalibrated, gave him the outline, and kept walking. Then someone found the swing. Both kids took turns. The rhythmic motion did what it always does — regulated them in a way that ten minutes of walking couldn't.
Always look for a swing.
Sydney: Museums & Croissants
Cities aren't usually my thing. I like wilderness. But cities have museums, and museums are how you understand a place you've never been before.
We found The Grumpy Café early — croissants my son would actually eat. If you travel with a child with ARFID, you understand the specific relief of finding that one thing. We went back more than once. Zero shame.
The Maritime Museum had real submarines to climb. The Museum of Natural History had dinosaurs. The Hyde Park Barracks had a Bluetooth audio system that narrated the story to you as you walked through each room — my personal favorite.
Here's what I want to be honest about: when I say we went to museums, I don't mean four hours each. We're in and out in thirty to sixty minutes. My son engages hard with one or two things and then he's done. That's not a failure. That's the pace that works for us.
Sydney rewards the slow approach. Wide open harbour, parks everywhere, ferry rides, Bondi and Manly beaches.
Comments