15 year old verbally lashing out

Having had to change schools three times during my teenage years (for external reasons, nothing to do with me), the third time of which was at age 15; I can say this was (by far) the most unsettling school transition experience.

Looking back on that time, now as a much older adult, with the benefit of hindsight I feel puberty kicks-off and you begin to adjust to all that entails.  Unfortunately, then at some point, often around the age of 15, the full social adolescent scene starts to step up a gear.  

You are 15, you just lost your previous school cohort, you are Autistic, you effectively didn't get issued the "same handbook" as the Neurotypical young people who are your new social peers (often school adults around you may act as either: you are not really Autistic (so there is nothing they need to do differently to support you), or there is no "handbook" written with a 15 year old soon-to-be young woman in mind (so you should just get on with it).

Your new peers at school will be expert at picking up on any points of difference - in anyone - not just you (after all, that is precisely what their Neurotypical 15 year old's "handbook" social scene section is all about!).

In looking back to that time, I now recognise: the type of things which were helpful (to provide an outlet and stability, away from school-related anxiety and bullying - actual or perceived) included: a) continuity of pastimes outside of school, b) maintenance of connections with friends / neighbours / relatives / hobby groups who were independent of anything to do with school, and c) being prepared by your trusted adults for impending changes to routine (as few surprises as possible).

Each adolescent will reach levels of emotional maturity development at a different rate and across varying duration.  However, the difficult balance to be achieved revolves around your trusted adults not forgetting that you are a 15 year simultaneous contradiction in presentation: you are going to have both you childlike side and you grown up side oscillating in a seemingly chaotic maelstrom (got to love those hormones!).  Adding the Autism into the whirlwind and the regulo can then be set to spicy.  That may not be true for all Autistic adolescents - but it may be the case (I was generally more the quiet / shutdown variety of Autist at school ...until physically bullied = meet Ms. Maximum Spicy!!!).  However, even on a "quiet" school day, by the time I reached home = often Meltdown R Us (there isn't a wall plaster on the market that could outperform my 15 year old bedroom door banged-shut prowess).

Thank goodness for those non-school young people and adults in my life / community beyond my immediate household members at the time.

In my case, the supportive benefit from my non-school community was often from seemingly an innocuous, but identity-affirming, regular encounters.

A few adult non-school community character examples:

The kindly elderly gentleman neighbour who would often be miraculously "busy with his car" on his drive, daily, just as the school bus disgorged its charges, plus me, each afternoon.  Any nonsense heading my way from fellow students (as I alighted from the bus) would become the instant target of my neighbour's very best, steely, silent, alpha male staring contest (until I was safely home and indoors).

The local Librarian who would talk with 15:year old me about potential materials in support of my interests as though I were assisting a college student (even if my rucksack did still sport "Hello Kitty".

The retired lady, who had been my very first Primary School Teacher, a decade earlier, who always generously took time out of her shopping errands to talk with me (at length) about my latest creative endeavour.

The crusty allotment curmudgeon elderly man (whose "bark" was legendary among all ages of allotmenteers) who would turn a "blind eye" and pretend he hadn't noticed me (sulking, in quiet refuge) sat solo on an old upturned galvanised bucket on my family's plot.  Until, I eventually started to made a move to return home, when he would invariably just silently hold out to me across the mown grass path: either an armful of fresh-trimmed rhubarb stems, or a twisted-topped brown paper bag of that day's runner beans (I now guess, probably to ensure me a cast iron "get out clause" at home in response to the inevitable greeting of "where have you been?".  (To the best of my knowledge, that old chap never broke solidarity and mentioned  to my Parents about my contemplations on our family allotment).

I hope your young person's transition to the specialist school will be proactively supported by both their expertise, plus the kindly souls to whom she might have access within her own exposure to her non-school community cast of characters.

Having had to change schools three times during my teenage years (for external reasons, nothing to do with me), the third time of which was at age 15; I can say this was (by far) the most unsettling school transition experience.

Looking back on that time, now as a much older adult, with the benefit of hindsight I feel puberty kicks-off and you begin to adjust to all that entails.  Unfortunately, then at some point, often around the age of 15, the full social adolescent scene starts to step up a gear.  

You are 15, you just lost your previous school cohort, you are Autistic, you effectively didn't get issued the "same handbook" as the Neurotypical young people who are your new social peers (often school adults around you may act as either: you are not really Autistic (so there is nothing they need to do differently to support you), or there is no "handbook" written with a 15 year old soon-to-be young woman in mind (so you should just get on with it).

Your new peers at school will be expert at picking up on any points of difference - in anyone - not just you (after all, that is precisely what their Neurotypical 15 year old's "handbook" social scene section is all about!).

In looking back to that time, I now recognise: the type of things which were helpful (to provide an outlet and stability, away from school-related anxiety and bullying - actual or perceived) included: a) continuity of pastimes outside of school, b) maintenance of connections with friends / neighbours / relatives / hobby groups who were independent of anything to do with school, and c) being prepared by your trusted adults for impending changes to routine (as few surprises as possible).

Each adolescent will reach levels of emotional maturity development at a different rate and across varying duration.  However, the difficult balance to be achieved revolves around your trusted adults not forgetting that you are a 15 year simultaneous contradiction in presentation: you are going to have both you childlike side and you grown up side oscillating in a seemingly chaotic maelstrom (got to love those hormones!).  Adding the Autism into the whirlwind and the regulo can then be set to spicy.  That may not be true for all Autistic adolescents - but it may be the case (I was generally more the quiet / shutdown variety of Autist at school ...until physically bullied = meet Ms. Maximum Spicy!!!).  However, even on a "quiet" school day, by the time I reached home = often Meltdown R Us (there isn't a wall plaster on the market that could outperform my 15 year old bedroom door banged-shut prowess).

Thank goodness for those non-school young people and adults in my life / community beyond my immediate household members at the time.

In my case, the supportive benefit from my non-school community was often from seemingly an innocuous, but identity-affirming, regular encounters.

A few adult non-school community character examples:

The kindly elderly gentleman neighbour who would often be miraculously "busy with his car" on his drive, daily, just as the school bus disgorged its charges, plus me, each afternoon.  Any nonsense heading my way from fellow students (as I alighted from the bus) would become the instant target of my neighbour's very best, steely, silent, alpha male staring contest (until I was safely home and indoors).

The local Librarian who would talk with 15:year old me about potential materials in support of my interests as though I were assisting a college student (even if my rucksack did still sport "Hello Kitty".

The retired lady, who had been my very first Primary School Teacher, a decade earlier, who always generously took time out of her shopping errands to talk with me (at length) about my latest creative endeavour.

The crusty allotment curmudgeon elderly man (whose "bark" was legendary among all ages of allotmenteers) who would turn a "blind eye" and pretend he hadn't noticed me (sulking, in quiet refuge) sat solo on an old upturned galvanised bucket on my family's plot.  Until, I eventually started to made a move to return home, when he would invariably just silently hold out to me across the mown grass path: either an armful of fresh-trimmed rhubarb stems, or a twisted-topped brown paper bag of that day's runner beans (I now guess, probably to ensure me a cast iron "get out clause" at home in response to the inevitable greeting of "where have you been?".  (To the best of my knowledge, that old chap never broke solidarity and mentioned  to my Parents about my contemplations on our family allotment).

I hope your young person's transition to the specialist school will be proactively supported by both their expertise, plus the kindly souls to whom she might have access within her own exposure to her non-school community cast of characters.