“My child doesn’t listen.”

It’s finally bedtime, thank goodness. You tell your daughter three times to go get ready. This routine happens EVERY DAY. She's standing right there. She clearly could hear you. And yet... it doesn’ t happen.

You're exhausted. You desperately need her in bed so you can have five minutes to yourself. It feels like she's ignoring you, like she doesn't respect you, like she is being defiant when you need her to please, for the love of everything, just go brush her teeth.

Why won’t she just LISTEN?!

“My child doesn’t listen” is one of the most common concerns that bring parents to The Huddle for Families. Sometimes they mean their child truly doesn’t seem to be able to listen or hear. Most of the time, what they mean is “she doesn’t do what I say.” *

As with everything, when kids seem to be ignoring us, it's usually because something is getting in their way. Super frustrating, yes. But our job is to figure out what, so we can address the real problem, help her do the thing, and finally get to bed. 

One thing to remember: Power struggles never help. Sometimes, when our kids aren’t doing the thing, our reflex is to turn up the volume. We use firmer voices, add consequences, make threats. Trust me: I have been there. But us getting less regulated rarely helps.

If something is getting in her way, whether it’s processing, anxiety, distraction, or depletion, adding pressure doesn’t remove the obstacle. It just adds another one. Instead of coming over the top, step sideways. Assume something is hard. Your job is to figure out what’s jamming the gears so she can actually move.

I realize the advice below requires MORE energy from you, and if we are talking about bedtime, it’s more energy when you yourself are depleted. Knowing that energy is better spent on strategies than on power struggles doesn't magically refill your tank. You do not need to do ALL of this. And you won’t have to do it forever. Choose 1-2 things and experiment for a week.

Scroll down to what sounds familiar (see the "You might notice" notes).

What might really be happening

Her brain hasn’t switched tracks yet.

You might notice:

• The hardest part is getting her to stop what she was doing before the new directions. 

• Any transition is hard, even to something she loves. 

• She says, “You didn’t tell me” or “I didn’t hear you”

• She seems to “come to” a few seconds after you speak.

Some kids’ brains struggle with shifting their attention or focus. You’re asking her to brush her teeth, but her whole brain is still in Lego world, so she genuinely doesn’t register what you’ve said. Or she registers it, but then it disappears because her focus on what she’s doing is so strong. Or she only registers it once your voice hits a certain volume or pitch.

What to try:

• Make sure she’s with you before giving the directions. Put yourself in front of her (no yelling directions from the kitchen), make sure the game is paused or her hands are not still building Lego. You don’t need to force eye contact if that’s uncomfortable for her, but make sure you have her attention.

• Ask her to confirm the directions, by repeating what you’ve said or looking at you or tapping on a visual cue.

• Give the transition some time. Start with a 2 minute warning. When it’s time to transition, give her a little more time to make the switch.

• Give her a nonverbal reminder. Use music or a visual timer to signal it’s time to transition (remember the clean up song from preschool?).

• More ideas: Why are transitions so hard?

There’s a communication break down.

You might notice:

• She seems to listen but never gets started.

• She says, “What?” even though she clearly heard you.

• Multi-step directions fall apart after she does the first step.

• She goes upstairs, you hear nothing, you come up ten minutes later and she's standing in the bathroom holding her toothbrush but not sure what to do next 

Your child’s brain has to figure out what each word you say means, what they mean together in that context, and then figure out what she’s supposed to do or say. Sometimes there’s a breakdown in the process. 

Maybe she genuinely didn’t hear you clearly (a hearing check is always a good idea if you haven’t done one). Some kids genuinely struggle to orient to a voice calling their name. Maybe “get ready” isn’t specific enough for her to translate into separate steps. Or there are too many steps to process, so she just does the first one and hopes for the best.

Maybe she’s still processing what you’ve said. By the time she’s worked through it, you’re understandably frustrated and repeat the directions, or rephrase them. Now she has more information to process.

There are a lot of things that can make processing language hard enough that it looks like a child isn't listening: exhaustion, stress, ADHD, autism, auditory processing differences. But these kids usually are listening. They're just working much harder than it looks to figure out what you said and what they're supposed to do about it.

What to try:

• Time. Most kids could do with more time to process our questions or directions. Give the direction, then wait. Count to ten sloooowly in your head. Then, if you feel you need to repeat, say the exact same words. Don’t stack more language on top of what she’s already processing.

• Use fewer words and give one specific direction at a time. “Pajamas on” not “Okay, it’s bedtime, so go get yourself ready – don’t forget to bring up your water bottle – and I’ll be there in ten.”

• Give her other ways to access the information. Visual routines are great for this. Hang the “bedtime list” with pictures on her wall and point to the steps as you say each one. 

• Read more: Understanding Communication

The thing really is too hard.

You might notice:

• She does parts of the task, but gets stuck on (or protests about) the same step every time. 

• She follows directions just fine in other contexts.

• She falls apart, gets frustrated, or says, “I need help!”

• She goes to do the thing, and you find her ten minutes later putting hair clips on the dog

Maybe her body genuinely can't do this on its own right now, even if that seems impossible given that she's done it a hundred times. Her fingers don’t work well enough to get the toothpaste on the brush. 

Or maybe her brain simply cannot, or cannot right now when she’s exhausted or depleted from doing things the whole day. School was really hard, and she has zero capacity left for multi-step directions. Maybe the planning involved is too complicated; she knows she has to tidy the toys, but the path to get from this mess to tidy is impossible to imagine (we’ve all been there). 

Maybe it’s the focus that’s hard: She has the skills, but the world is full of distractions (the dog is RIGHT THERE!). Her executive function can’t stick with the less fascinating goal of getting ready for bed. 

What to try:

• Lower the bar. Make the task easier. Give her one direction at a time. Be flexible about what’s essential for her to do (or to do independently) and what can be shelved for now

• Start the task. Hand her the pajamas, put the toothpaste on for her.

• Step in right before she usually gets stuck, to get her over the hump, or finish tasks she usually can’t finish.

• Help it stay in her head. Make up a chant with the sequence of tasks or things she needs to remember, and put the fun part last (“Toothbrush, pajamas, story! Toothbrush, pajamas, story!”). 

• Read more: Lower the bar.

Her anxiety is louder than the directions.

You might notice:

• Clinginess, tears, sudden desire to tell you you’re the best mom in the world

• She’s fine when doing the things sometimes, but falls apart when she has to do them in certain contexts or at bedtime

• She becomes a master procrastinator or distractor: you give the directions, she starts negotiating, and somehow it’s you putting hairclips on dog to get her to go to bed

• She yells or screams (signs of fight mode)

When we get anxious or overwhelmed, our thinking brains go offline. If she’s fighting, escaping, or simply not doing the thing, it’s worth pondering if something has her stressed out.

Maybe it’s something specific to the task: she’s anxious about going upstairs alone or the sound of the bath. Or maybe she’s as stressed as you are about the fight that always happens around pajamas.

Maybe it's what comes after that has her worried: being left alone in her room, nightmares, the loss of control during sleep. Her nervous system is responding to that future threat right now, ramping her up and flooding her with "do something!" signals. Delaying bedtime might feel like self-protection.

What to try:

• Help her system settle. Her nervous system is loud right now, and it needs something to bring it down before she can do much of anything. Go with her if you can. You don't have to do everything for her; just be there. Stand in the bathroom while she brushes her teeth. Your presence might be the thing that makes it possible, and you won't have to do this forever. If you can't be there (other kids!), find her a substitute: a lovey, a flashlight, an audiobook, a favorite song. Anything to help anxiety loosen its grip a bit.

• Find out what specifically is worrying her, if you can. Is it being alone upstairs? A noise? What happens after you leave? Ask her about it at a calm moment. Not in the middle of the struggle, not right before bed. "I've noticed bedtime feels hard lately. Is something bugging you about it?" Sometimes kids know exactly what's worrying them and just need an opening. Sometimes the fear is something you can address: a nightlight, a check-in promise ("I'll come back in five minutes"), leaving the door open. You can't fix the worry, but sometimes you can remove the specific obstacle it's latched onto.

• Read more: Understanding Anxiety.

Her nervous system perceives directions as threats.

You might notice:

• It seems like ANY directions or demands immediately escalate into power struggles.

• The resistance feels disproportionate to the request. Even simple asks trigger huge reactions.

• You ask her to do something that has to happen EVERY day, and it’s still a battle.

• She does the same task fine when she chooses to do it.

Some kids (especially autistic kids, but others too) have nervous systems that interpret demands as threats, even reasonable demands that they WANT to comply with. It’s not conscious or defiant. Their fight-or-flight response misfires, so you say, “please,” and her system floods with “DANGER, RESIST.” The more you push, even gently, the more her system locks up.

The really unfair part for everyone: the standard toolkit (clear expectations, consistent consequences, reward charts, a firm voice) tends to pour gasoline on this particular fire. The more "correct" you are, the harder she resists. Which is maddening, and also leaves parents convinced they’ve broken something, or are broken themselves.

What to try:

• Step out of the power struggle. You might be able to overpower her – carry her upstairs, threaten something big enough that she complies. But that won’t calm her nervous system. It teaches it "escalate faster next time." The road to authority isn't overpowering. It's reducing what her system has to fight against, so you get her where she needs to be.

• Reduce demands as much as you can. This doesn’t mean letting your child run the house. It means deciding in advance what is essential and what you can let go. Do this BEFORE the power struggle: you are not “giving in;” you are proactively lowering the demands her system has to deal with.

• Give her control where you can. "What should we do first?" Offer choices instead of directions if possible. “I see it’s pretty cold. I’m bringing gloves. Do you want some?”

• Make it a “we.” Race her upstairs, do your teeth alongside hers, use "we" and "let's" constantly. The demand fades when you're doing it together.

• Narrate instead of direct. "I'm heading upstairs" instead of "go upstairs." Or just start doing it with her ("I'm putting my toothpaste on, I'll do yours too") without making it a request at all.

Remember

This isn't about making her listen. It's about figuring out what's making it hard. When you shift from "she won't" to "she can't (yet)," your very valid frustration has somewhere useful to go: toward the problem, instead of at each other.

Still not sure what’s getting in the way?

Let’s talk about it one-on-one. It’s free, confidential, and online.

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*If your child genuinely doesn't seem to register your voice at all (i.e., it’s not a following-directions issue, more like you don't seem to exist), that's a different puzzle that I’ll explore separately soon (or, let’s talk one-on-one).

“He just wants his own way.”

Some days it feels like you’re raising a tyrant. He wants a certain seat, the monkey cup, the same routine, to play with the same friend every day at recess, and if you deviate: meltdown. It's exhausting. 

Teachers call him "rigid" or "inflexible" or "spoiled" or "stubborn." Sometimes he’s "obsessed" or "fixated" on having a certain object, partner, or space. Sometimes he’s "just being difficult."

Except: we ALL want our own way. I want my own way right now. Many of us learn to be flexible or to effectively explain our needs and advocate for ourselves. Most of us still stand in line being annoyed at anyone who’s ahead of us.

When a child insists on something so fiercely that they'll melt down without it, there's a reason. To explore what might be going on behind this kind of rigidity, let's take one example: a child who insists, every day, loudly and sometimes to the point of tears or aggression, on sitting in the blue chair.

Adults think, "What's so important about a blue chair?"

Actually, I can think of a ton of reasons.

What might really be going on

There are a million reasons a child might feel they need the blue chair, and none of them is because they're spoiled or trying to be difficult:

1. Anxiety and lack of control. They're really anxious about something, even if they aren't sure what, and keeping the blue chair the same every day grounds them. Sometimes we eat the same thing or shower in the same order. They might be taking control of what they can, trying to limit how much change or unknown is in their life. They might just really need not to "give" on this one thing after coping and masking all day long.

2. OCD or panic. They might believe that sitting in this chair daily is what's holding everything together or keeping something awful from happening. They're facing the door, which is keeping any bad guys from storming through it. When we try to get them to move, they panic (naturally, since now something terrible will happen) and in their panic they can't explain. Or maybe they worry explaining will ruin the magic of the chair.

3. It worked last time. Always having the same partner, being first, or getting the blue chair might be an effort to replicate something that worked in the past. Your child might not understand themselves well enough to know what makes things harder or easier. But that one day they did great and got to bring home an "I was good!" sticker, they sat in the blue chair, so yes, please, let's do that every day. They're going to insist on that friend or that seat because it works for them, and other options have failed spectacularly or at least used up a lot of coping capacity. If in the past, this activity has ended with them overwhelmed and panicked or in big fat trouble, they're desperate to avoid that and may not be thinking rationally or generously.

4. Practical considerations. The blue seat is away from the door so there isn't hallway noise or a draft or they can hear the teacher better. It's the only chair where their feet land firmly on the ground, or there's a bookshelf to lean on, so they don't need as much core strength to stay upright. They can see the whiteboard. They can see the clock, so they know how long they have left to sit still. They're lefty, and there's more room in this spot to write left-handed. They're further from the supplies so other kids disrupt them less. They're closer to the supplies or faster to be first in line when math ends, which makes transitioning to lunch much easier.

5. Sensory issues. This chair has a place to put your feet that maybe they can rub their shoe on or it wobbles a little bit and offers some sensory input. It's away from the terrible buzz of the heater or closer to the fan that's keeping them from overheating. They can't hear the noise in the hallway, or they can hear the grounding whirr of the air system. There are tons more sensory possibilities.

6. Social stuff. The coolest kid in the class sat in this chair, and, not understanding at all what makes some of us cool and some of us shunned, it makes sense to keep trying the chair. From the blue chair, they can't see the kids who whisper about them, or they can see everyone, so they know nobody's pointing or laughing behind their back. It's close to the teacher, so they get a little extra attention or social input. It's far away, so they're much less likely to get called on. It's next to a friend or someone the child thinks is safe (and nobody has noticed that friend always sits there because they don't fall apart when they can't). They're across the circle from someone who's friendly. There is a really good reason that it seems like injustice to have to move, but they're the only ones who know it.

It's not just the blue chair. The same principle applies whether your child is insisting on the same breakfast, the same route to school, wearing the same outfit, or always being first in line. Behind the rigidity is always a reason.

Now, yes, sometimes a toddler wants the purple cup because they're learning about consistency and preferences. That's normal development. But if rigidity is causing daily battles, meltdowns, or seems out of proportion to the situation, there's usually something deeper underneath.

Where to start

You might recognize your child immediately in one of these descriptions, or you might be thinking "could be any of them" or "sounds like three of these at once." That's normal; these things often overlap, and kids themselves don't always know what's making something hard. That's where detective work comes in.

Ask your child. Now, a child maybe can't explain what's going on, especially if they have communication challenges or they're already overwhelmed. It took me several drafts and years of life experience to write that list. What they can say is "I need the blue chair."

But when they're calm, you can try: "Hey buddy, I notice you really like that blue chair. What makes it work for you?" Or make some guesses: "Some kids like chairs where their feet touch the ground, or some kids like to sit away from the door because it's quieter. Does any of that sound like you?"

[Link to: Figuring out what might be behind the behaviour]

Let them have it while you figure it out. Remember, they really feel they need it, like maybe terrible things are going to happen if they don't get it. It's super frustrating and scary to be told, "No, you had it last time." They think, "Yes, I know, and it worked, that's why I want it now," but they can't say that (because of panic and overwhelm and maybe communication difficulties). Panic ensues. Things escalate, and now they're in tears in the office, frustrated because they were trying to do the right thing and ask for the option that would have helped them "be good," and instead they're terrified and embarrassed and feeling horridly alone and misunderstood, and everyone else is saying, "Gee whiz, all this over a chair?!"

So let them have the blue chair. Not forever, necessarily, but while you investigate. You're not "giving in" to a tyrant. You're giving your child what they need while you figure out how to teach them to understand and articulate what makes certain seats work and what makes others hard. You're teaching them that telling their teachers and caregivers about something they need, even imperfectly, is worth the effort. You're making sure they don't feel alone or suffer in silence.

What if you can't let them have it? There aren't enough blue chairs, it's not your choice to make, or another child needs it too? Start with believing your child needs it for a reason, even if you can't give them the exact thing right now. Can you offer something that might meet the same need? If you're stuck, focus on the detective work first: understanding why they need it helps you advocate for accommodations or find workarounds, even when the blue chair itself isn't available.

What to remember

Once you understand what's driving the rigidity, you have options. Sometimes the answer is simple accommodations: let them have the thing, create more "blue chair equivalents," modify the environment to remove the stressor. Sometimes you need to build skills gradually: teach them to understand their needs, find language for them, and advocate for themselves. Sometimes you realize the demand itself needs to change. Every situation is different, and there's no rush. Start with understanding, then problem-solve from there.

If you want help figuring out what might be going on with your individual child or what to do about it, that’s what we do.

Schedule a one-on-one behaviour consultation.

Join a group event.

Find another article.

“Why can’t they just sit still?”

My whole family jiggles. Our dinner table registers on seismographs. Sit one of them down to accomplish something and you've got maybe three minutes before they're vertical again. It’s like whack-a-mole.

Your child can't sit through family dinner. Or homework time. Or the car ride to grandma's. Or school. Anywhere you need them to stay in one spot, they're wiggling, complaining, melting down, or finding reasons to escape.

You're not asking for perfection. You just want them to make it through without everyone ending up frustrated and exhausted.

Here's the thing: sitting still is harder than it looks, and if your child could do it, they would. Something is making it hard. Let's use family dinner as an example to understand what might really be going on, but whether it's dinner, homework, waiting rooms, or school, these same reasons apply.

What might really be happening

1. They need to move.

Without movement, some kids lose track of where they are in space or where the chair ends and they begin. Or they simply aren't getting enough sensory input to feel grounded. Maybe they already sat still all day at school, then during their brother's swim practice, then in the car, then for homework. It's just too much. The chair might not be right for their size (do their legs reach the ground?), or they might not have the core strength to stay upright in it for so long without serious effort. For some kids, their meds have worn off by the time you need them to sit, and they're full of jumping beans and agitation. Their body is demanding they move; it’s not optional.

2. The sensory environment is overwhelming (or not enough).

At dinner, maybe they can't stand the sound of chewing or silverware clinking. In the car, it's the hum of the engine or the feel of the seatbelt. At school, it's the echo and the heat and the lights. Something about the environment (temperature, sounds, smells, textures, visual input…) is making this space unbearable. Or it's the opposite: the environment doesn't offer enough sensory input, and sitting quietly makes them feel disconnected or itchy inside. They might not even know what's making them so uncomfortable. Sometimes people don't notice what's agitating them (you can get hangry without realizing you're hungry), so they may not be able to tell you what's wrong. They just know they need to get out or get more input. [link to Sensory]

3. The social or emotional demands are too much.

At dinner, maybe the conversation is too hard to follow or nobody’s including them or by the time they have something to contribute, the right moment has always passed. Or maybe they’ve messed up in conversation so much that participation is nerve-wracking. Maybe other people's gaze or expectations feel like pressure. During homework, sitting next to you while you're clearly frustrated or wanting desperately for them to get it might be overwhelming. Maybe they're getting too much emotional information from the people around them; some kids take in every bit of social info but can’t process it. Maybe they can sense the family tension you think they can't sense, and it roils their insides. Maybe “let’s go around and tell something about our day” is awful because their day was awful and maybe they dod something awful and you’re about to get a call from school, so they are jumpy or they have to get out of there NOW. Or maybe they simply do not have the energy left to be around people after a long day of trying. Sitting still often means sitting with others, and that's its own demand.

4. The task itself is difficult or boring.

At dinner, cutting and scooping require fine motor skills they haven’t mastered, or there's nothing they can eat, given their sensory challenges with food. They’ve eaten everything they feel is safe or easy to eat and now they’re sitting there while their sister sporks one pea at a time before they can “be excused.” Nobody wants to hear about their special interest. Homework might be too hard or they might not have any idea where to start, so they feel stuck, or it’s all too easy or seems irrelevant, and their brain can’t motivate to do it (this can happen especially with ADHD [link]). In the car, there's literally nothing to do. At school, the circle time length is indefinite and unpredictable. They're done, or stuck, or bored, or frustrated, and sitting there anyway feels pointless or impossible. When the activity itself isn't working, sitting through it feels like torture.

5. They're confused, anxious, or overwhelmed by expectations.

They don't understand the rules. At dinner, mom jumps up constantly, so why can't they? There are different rules when Grandma’s there. They always sit in the brown chair, which they really believe is important for everyone’s safety, or at least for routines, so any other chair feels dangerous. You said "just a few more minutes" twenty minutes ago. Or they're worried: about what happened at school today, about the state of the world, about whether they'll mess up or get in trouble. There is so much to be confused, anxious or overwhelmed about at school. Sometimes, sitting still becomes one more thing they're probably doing wrong.

Where to start

Ask them, when things are calm.

Not in the moment. Not right after a meltdown. Find them when things are calm. Pick one specific context and say something gentle and non-judgmental like, "Hey, it seems like [dinnertime/homework/circle time] has been really hard lately. What's going on?" Then listen. Take seriously whatever they say, even if it seems unlikely or small to you. [link to figuring it out]

They might have an idea you never considered. They might have no idea at all, or no way to articulate what's happening. If they say "I don't know," try some guesses: "Some kids find it hard to sit for a long time because their bodies need to move. Some kids don't like certain sounds or feelings. Some kids get bored or worried. Does any of that sound right?" You're investigating together, not interrogating.

Make one thing easier right now.

Pick the most obvious pain point and address it. If their body needs to move, can they stand instead of sit? Fidget with something? Take movement breaks? If the sensory environment is too much, can they wear headphones, face a different direction, adjust the temperature? If the task is boring or too hard, can you break it into smaller chunks, or give them something to do with their hands while they wait?

You're not "giving in." You're lowering the bar [link] so they can actually do the thing you're asking them to do. Let them eat dinner standing up or on an exercise ball. Let them do homework on the floor or while pacing the kitchen. The goal isn't perfect stillness; it's getting through the activity.

Remember what you're actually trying to achieve.

Sometimes we get so focused on the "right" way to do something that we forget what we're actually trying to accomplish. Family dinner isn't really about everyone sitting in the same chairs at the same time: it's about connection.

Your child might not sit down to study the way other kids do. They might need to stand at dinner, or bounce during homework, or fidget through circle time. And that's okay. Sitting still was never actually the goal. The goal is that they can participate, learn, connect, and be part of things in a way that works for their body and brain.

If you can figure out how to make that accessible for your child, they'll learn that when something is hard for them, the answer isn't to try harder or hide it better. It's to figure out what's making it hard and change what needs changing. They'll learn that their needs aren't character flaws. And they'll learn that you're on their side, even when it means doing things differently than everyone else.

If you want help figuring out what might be going on with your individual child or what to do about it, that’s what we do.

Schedule a one-on-one behaviour consultation.

Join a group event.

Find another article.

“He just goes zero to sixty!”

Sometimes everything is fine. Great, even. Then one little thing happens and BAM! Your child explodes, seemingly out of nowhere. It's terrifying. They escalate so fast, you don’t have time to keep up. Things are being screamed, thrown, or punched before you’ve fully processed the first seconds. There’s no time to do any of the advice parenting books recommend. 

So you start being REALLY careful, to try to make sure it doesn’t happen. You probably give in a lot more than your instinct knows is wise (I’ve been there), just to keep things calm. You never expected to be walking on eggshells around a 6 year-old, trying not to set them off. 

School calls all the time, but they have no answers. They say, “He just goes 0-60.”

Here's the thing: kids almost never actually go 0-60. It’s our job to figure out what’s happening from 0-59.

What might really be going on

1. Panic

Kids (especially kids with something like OCD or a history of trauma) can have triggers that are hard for people around to understand or recognize. Some kids also have a consistently high baseline level of anxiety. When triggered, kids may truly believe that something awful is about to happen. So they panic.

If your house is on fire, what do you do? You focus on getting everyone out, not explaining politely. You go 0-60.

2. Nobody helped them the first 0-59 times they tried

This is my most common guess. "She just goes 0-60" usually means nobody helped her when she was at 0-59. Maybe nobody was paying attention. Maybe the child articulately and politely asked for a break or for help, or they mentioned that something was bothering them, but they got told no or that they should "ignore it." Maybe it was a failure of communication; they asked in ways that didn’t work or that made sense to them but not to adults around them. 

Remember: your child does not know their calls for help are incomprehensible to grown-ups. To them, it feels like they are asking, but being ignored. So they aren't going 0-60, they are escalating to get something they need in the face of nobody listening.

3. Nothing but 60 has worked in the past

Maybe a child has tried and tried to express that they are overwhelmed, day after day, but we keep sending them back into the same situation. They know by now: levels 0-59 don't work. Level 60, though? That gets them kicked out of the room for sure every time, which means they escape whatever it is that was too much for them to handle. So now they skip to 60 to get what they need.

This can be true in lots of situations: if we aren't showing kids we hear them when they ask for help no matter how they ask for it, they may learn to start at 60, just to be heard.

4. They simply can't hold it together another second

Maybe they've been doing a really good job coping in the face of a million hard things. They've rolled with schedule changes. They’ve white-knuckled it through sensory overload: the fluorescent lights buzzing, the too-tight waistband, the cafeteria noise that feels like it's drilling into their ears (remember, often with sensory, kids don’t even realize what’s upsetting their systems). They’ve ignored the kids whispering. They have taken their breaths and used their strategies. All this time, it's been building, like a tidal wave. And then one more thing happens, something small or dumb that in any other situation would barely register. But it is the last straw.

They aren't going 0-60. They're just keeping 0-59 inside.

5. Physical considerations

Maybe they have low blood sugar, either in a typical way or due to a medical issue. Some kids fly into "rages" just from this. Some kids' bodies fail to recognize physical pain or discomfort until it's overwhelming and needs immediate attention (this can be anything from the need to use the washroom to a migraine). When we label kids with things like "they just go 0-60," we can miss physical or medical reasons it makes perfect sense that they seem to explode.

Where to start figuring it out

Ask your child. Wait until things are calm (maybe hours later, maybe the next day). Say something curious-not-judgmental like, "Hey buddy, it seems like things got really hard for you earlier. What was going on?" Then listen. Take seriously whatever they say, even if it seems unlikely. If they say "I don't know," try some guesses: "Sometimes kids get really frustrated when..." You're looking for patterns, triggers, warning signs you might have missed. [Read: Figuring out what might be behind the behaviour]

Look for 0-59. Start paying attention before things escalate. What's happening in the minutes or hours before? What does your child look like at 30? At 45? Maybe they get quieter. Maybe they start moving more. Maybe their jaw tightens or they start making mistakes they don't usually make. Maybe their voice changes. Once you know what 0-59 looks like for your child, you can step in earlier with the help they need.

When you see them in the 0-59 place. Once you know what your child's warning signs look like, try to interrupt the cycle before they hit 60. This might mean offering a break before they ask for one, reducing demands immediately ("Actually, you know what? Let's skip the rest of those math problems"), offering connection ("Want to sit with me for a minute?"), or distracting them with something calming that helps them be in their logical mind, like a puzzle or story. Sometimes kids don't even know they're escalating, and your calm intervention can help them recognize "Oh, I'm getting overwhelmed" before it becomes a crisis.

During the next meltdown. Prioritize safety and regulation. Your job right now isn't to teach or fix or explain; it's to keep everyone safe and help them calm their nervous system. Use minimal words: "I'm here," "You're safe." Remove dangerous objects, get other kids somewhere else, if possible. Some kids do really well with space (if they don’t have someone to yell AT, they calm more easily). Other kids need presence (but that doesn’t mean you have to ENGAGE with yelling or meanness; you can be nearby without engaging). Don't try to problem-solve, reason with them, or ask what's wrong. Their thinking brain isn't available right now. You'll circle back later when they've regulated.

What to remember

Behind anything kids do that seems unexpected, frustrating, disruptive, or aggressive, there's an unmet need that, for whatever reason, they can't express in other, more sympathetic, or more effective ways. Instead of focusing on scolding or punishing kids for the things they say or do when they're at 60, it’s important to understand WHY they’re ramping up so quickly, so we can figure out how to help them.

If you want help figuring out what might be going on with your individual child or what to do about it, that’s what we do.

Schedule a one-on-one behaviour consultation.

Join a group event.

Want to read more about what might be behind the behaviour? Start here.

Understanding Sensory Challenges

TL;DR? Check out our Sensory Quick Guide.

A story

My kid loves math. They’re really good at it. Then, in grade 11, they suddenly hated physics.

“The teacher hates me.” “It’s too hard.”

It was not too hard, and this teacher adored my kid.

So I go for a parent–teacher conference in the physics room. I walk in and the heat hits me like a wall of bricks.

“Oh yeah,” the teacher says. “It’s warm all winter because we’re above the boiler room.”

In that hot second, I knew my kid’s struggles had nothing to do with physics.

“Oh,” my kid said when I brought up the heat later. “That’s probably it.”

We got them a seat just outside in the hall, with the classroom door open so the teacher could be heard and keep an eye on them. They got an A in physics.

This kind of thing happens all the time with sensory challenges.

In some ways, sensory needs are low-hanging fruit. Not because they’re simple, but because sometimes moving the seat, adding headphones, or offering a swing makes more difference than years of behavior or regulation programs ever could.

When kids are struggling, especially in ways that seem “weird,” unexpected, or out of proportion, it’s worth looking at sensory factors first. Even more so if your child has autism, ADHD, anxiety, trauma history, or other things that often come with sensory differences.

Things to understand about sensory challenges

Sensory struggles are real.

This isn't just discomfort. For some kids, what seem like “normal” levels of sensory input can cause actual physical pain, panic, nausea, and/or a full-body stress response, flooding kids' systems with “do something!” signals that feel like anger or panic. Having too little sensory input can be terrifying: imagine not being able to tell where your body ends and the chair begins, or feeling disconnected from your own limbs. 

Kids aren’t being dramatic, picky, manipulative, or deliberately difficult. They are dealing with very real differences in how their nervous systems take in, filter, and make sense of the world around them, the world inside them, and the relationship between the two.

Sensory challenges don't announce themselves clearly. 

Your child isn’t going to say, “I’m overwhelmed by proprioceptive input.” Sometimes they can say, “It’s too hot in here.” Often they can’t.

They may not even realize what it is. They feel agitation, discomfort, or a sense that something is wrong, and they do their best to explain it. That explanation might sound like: “Everyone is staring at me,” or “I’m bad at math now.”

Misattribution has real consequences: the things they do to address or in response to this story they’ve made up to explain the discomfort not only won’t help but also can quietly erode confidence, learning, and willingness to try.

Sometimes kids don’t have language for what they’re feeling. Sometimes the language doesn’t exist. And sometimes kids do recognize what’s happening, only to hear adults respond with: “It’s not that hot,” “You just ate,” or “You’re fine.”

Most parents aren’t dismissive on purpose. They’re using their own bodies as reference points. But when kids repeatedly hear that their experience doesn’t match reality, they may stop trusting their own signals, or stop trying to explain them at all.

Sensory challenges are differences in how the nervous system detects, filters, and prioritizes information. 

Note: I am not an occupational therapist. Your OT might explain this differently.

They often show up as hypersensitivity (input registers as “too much” quickly) or hyposensitivity (needing more input to register). Many kids have spiky sensory profiles, with needs that vary by sense, situation, stress level, illness, fatigue, or stage of development.

You may hear the terms sensory processing differences or Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD). SPD isn’t a formal DSM diagnosis, but it’s widely used by occupational therapists and families.

Many “behaviours” are kids’ attempts to cope with these differences.

Some kids avoid overwhelming input; others seek it out intensely through movement, pressure, or repetition.

A child hiding under a table and a child who can’t stop crashing into things may both be trying to get their nervous system to a tolerable place. Behaviors like chewing, rhythmic rocking, or hitting their own legs often provide strong proprioceptive input that helps a child feel grounded.

This is different from intentional self harm. That said, if a behavior is leaving marks, escalating, or paired with emotional distress, get support. An occupational therapist can help identify what your child needs and safer ways to meet that need.

Pushing through sensory distress takes enormous energy, if it’s even possible. 

That energy then isn’t available for learning, emotional regulation, or social interaction. Ignoring sensory needs also means kids never learn to recognize what they’re feeling or how to advocate for themselves.

Sensory struggles across 5 senses…

How kids might experience them, and what to look for.

Visual

Lights that feel painfully bright, flickering or buzzing fluorescent lights, visual clutter. Kids might squint constantly, avoid looking at screens or books, complain about headaches, or prefer dimly lit spaces. On the flip side, some kids crave high contrast, movement, or bright colors; they might stare at spinning objects or lights.

Sound

Everyday noises that hurt, feel startling, or flood the system. Your child might cover their ears, complain that places are "too loud" when they seem fine to you, or have meltdowns in busy restaurants or assemblies. They might hear the buzz of fluorescent lights that you can't hear, or startle at sounds other people don't notice (our oven fan is awful!). Some kids seek out loud noises, humming, or music constantly for that strong auditory input.

Taste

“Pickiness,” strong preferences for crunchy or predictable foods, avoidance of slimy textures. Kids may be diagnosed with Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder (ARFID). Your child might gag at the sight or smell of certain foods, refuse anything "mixed together," or eat the same five foods on repeat. They might prefer very hot or very cold foods for strong temperature input, or crave intense flavors while finding bland foods unbearable. This is not defiance or faking. Their sensory system is genuinely responding to textures and tastes differently than yours.

Smell

Perfume, smoke, cleaning products, or food smells that feel nauseating or overwhelming. Your child might refuse to go into certain stores, gag at food smells, or complain about smells nobody else notices. They might get headaches, avoid hugging people who wear perfume, or have seemingly random meltdowns that turn out to be smell-triggered. Alternatively, some kids seek out strong, "stinky" smells: sniffing markers, their own socks, or getting close to smell things intensely.

Touch

The classic war with underwear. Tags, seams, tight waists, or clothes that are too loose and unpredictable. “My socks are yelling at me.” Kids might refuse to change clothes (or wear them), hate certain fabrics, or have ongoing battles about haircuts and hair washing. Or they might crave deep pressure: squeezing, hugging hard, hitting, biting, not to hurt, but for that strong input.

…And three more senses many of us never learned about

Proprioception

The sense of where your body is in space. It supports balance, coordinated movement, force control, and personal space. Kids who need more proprioceptive input might crash into people, hug too hard, stomp when they walk, or constantly seek "heavy work" like pushing, pulling, climbing. They might love weighted blankets, tight bear hugs, or resistance activities. Others might seem clumsy, have difficulty with personal space, or struggle to judge how much force to use.

Interoception

The sense of what's happening inside your body: Hunger, thirst, fullness, needing to use the bathroom, temperature, feeling sick, emotional cues, and early signs of sleepiness. Kids with interoceptive differences might not realize they're hungry until they melt down, have frequent accidents because they don't notice the signal until it's urgent, or say "I'm fine" when they're actually exhausted or in pain. They might struggle with potty training long past when you'd expect, forget to eat or drink, or have difficulty recognizing when they're getting sick.

So much of our self-regulation curriculum asks “what’s happening in your body?” For kids with interoceptive differences, the answer may genuinely be divergent or “I don’t know,” making these approaches confusing or ineffective without sensory support.

Pain perception (nociception)

Some kids notice pain late, struggle to locate it, or react very strongly once they do notice it. Your child might not cry when genuinely hurt, fail to notice injuries until later, or have an extremely high pain threshold that worries you. Or the opposite: they might react intensely to minor bumps, have very low pain tolerance, or struggle to distinguish between "this actually hurts" and "this feels uncomfortable." Nociceptive differences are often connected to chronic pain, migraines, and confusing injury patterns.

If any of this feels familiar, or explains things that haven’t made sense before, don’t panic. The good news is sensory strategies can be super helpful, and one tool often supports many challenges. 

Read more in Real life sensory strategies, or go to the Sensory Quick Guide.

Find another article.

Understanding Communication

[For real life strategies, see Communication: Real life strategies for your real life child]

[Want to talk about it? Join our Communication Challenges webinar.]

Communication is astonishingly complicated. There are many steps, and things can get gummed up anywhere along the way. When kids can’t communicate, they find other ways to express themselves, not always calmly; when adults focus on that “behaviour,” we miss our chance to figure out what’s really going on and actually help.

The process: What has to happen for communication to work

[Want to skip the detailed breakdown and go straight to what this looks like in real life? Jump to “What to look for” below.]

Picture this: You're at an ice cream shop. The person behind the counter asks your child, "What flavor would you like?"

Here's everything that has to happen (note there are many ways to split this up, so your Speech Language Pathologist might do it differently):

Step 1: GET the information (Input, Receptive language)

First, your child has to take in the question.

Hear the actual sounds. Hear those specific sounds well enough that they can piece together what the words are and distinguish them from one other. Hearing issues can hamper this, obviously, and a hearing check is a great place to start tackling communication problem-solving. Mention that you’re interested in testing acuity and processing.

Filter out everything else and direct their attention. Music plays, a TV flashes headlines, lights buzz. You're reminding them they don’t like coconut, their brother is poking them. Your child's brain has to filter out what's irrelevant and focus on what matters.

Sensory processing issues make everything louder, brighter, and harder to filter out. Attentional focus is challenged by ADHD, anxiety, and stress. Some kids’ systems might be so flooded they can’t take in any new information.

And they haven't even started figuring out what the words mean yet.

Step 2: UNDERSTAND It (Comprehension, receptive)

Now your child has to make sense of what they heard:

Know what each word means and what they mean when put together in that order. Grammar and syntax matter. "What ice cream would you like?" is different from "What? Would you like ice cream?" 

Understand the context. The ice cream worker means “what flavor do you choose from amongst the flavors we actually have here right now?”  They aren’t asking for your child’s favorite flavor, even if that’s what your child would really like. 

Read (and filter) the subtext. The ice cream worker is smiling at them with a question face so they know it's their turn. Your “Remember you don't like coconut” is actually a warning: pick it and hate it like last time, you're not getting a different cone. Tones, facial expressions, and unspoken rules happen alongside the actual words.

For kids with receptive language disorders, the words themselves might not make sense, or they might take extra time to process. For kids learning English as a second language, they're translating while also processing. For kids with cognitive challenges, holding all this information and making sense of it is harder. 

Processing challenges mean this takes time. But there's a line waiting impatiently, a brother poking and saying 'COME ON!' Then you're prompting, “Honey, strawberry? You like strawberry,” which is kind but also more language to process while holding onto the original question.

And they still have to answer that question.

Step 3: FORMULATE a Response (Expressive language)

Now your child has to figure out how to respond.

Make a decision. They have to scan all the flavors, hold the possibilities in their head, and pick one. Their trusted favorite isn't there, but they have to let that go, even if certain textures make them gag and that's the only flavor they know won't trigger it. For kids with ADHD or executive function challenges, decisions are genuinely hard. Chocolate or vanilla? Strawberry looks good. Wait, mint chip? Now they've forgotten what they were deciding. How can they trust themselves? They've been yelled at for “bad choices.” Last time they hated the coconut. Anxiety makes this feel like life or death.

Find the right words. Once they know they want strawberry, they have to retrieve that word. For some kids, word retrieval is genuinely hard. They know what they mean and can picture it, but the word is stuck just out of reach. It exists in their brain but won't come.

Compose the sentence. Is this a time to say: "I would like strawberry, please," or is "That one" okay? They have to decide how to communicate in a way that's socially appropriate for this context. And remember "please" and "thank you." Unless they’re at recess and it’s “weird” to be too polite. Again, for kids with autism or for whom social context is murky, or for kids who have gotten it wrong repeatedly, figuring out what to say might be as hard as choosing a flavor.

Step 4: EXECUTE It (Output, expressive)

Finally, it’s time to do the thing. Kids have to:

Make their mouth make the sounds. Coordinate their tongue, lips, breath, and vocal cords to produce "Strawberry, please" clearly enough to be understood. 

This isn't automatic for everyone. Kids with apraxia know what to say but can't coordinate the movements. Other kids struggle with articulation. Kids who stutter face neurological challenges compounded by anxiety. None of this relates to intelligence, but people often assume cognitive impairment or defiance when the struggle is physical.

Getting the volume and tone right. Loud enough to be heard over the music but not so loud they're yelling. In a friendly tone, not a demanding one. Autistic kids in particular can struggle with tone and volume; shy kids may be afraid to speak up.

Making their body participate. Putting on the right face. Pointing accurately. Taking a napkin, grabbing the cone with the right tension, holding it steady while licking. Coordinating movements without knocking anything over or moving in ways that look “weird.” Gross and fine motor weakness, motor planning challenges, or spasticity can make following directions so hard. 

That's just one interaction! Now imagine doing this all day long—in conversations, at lunch, during recess, while also trying to learn math and manage their body and emotions. It's exhausting.

And, struggling to communicate creates anxiety about communicating, and anxiety makes everything harder next time. It’s a vicious cycle. 

How communication struggles might show up in your child

When a child stutters or has a speech delay, it’s easier to recognize that some of the sneakier ways communications challenges can show up.

You do not need to read ALL of these! Skim for ones that sound like your child.

A note: Some of this we need to “fix” or teach better ways of doing. Some of it is simply neurodiversity. Not being able to retrieve the words you want is a disability, but preferring to hang out with other people who are happy to play quietly without small talk until one of them gives you the gift of info-dumping about something they love is a difference.

The kid who's articulate until they're not. They can chat about their favorite topics, recite entire movies, use vocabulary that impresses adults. Then something goes wrong. They get frustrated, overwhelmed, or anxious. and suddenly careful words are just gone. They might resort to yelling, insults, repeated phrases, or they might lash out physically or freak out entirely. Or not speak at all. It's not that they're choosing aggression or deciding to “go mute.” The words literally aren't available anymore. But people miss that they have communication struggles because they talk so well sometimes.

The kid who only talks in certain contexts. At home they're chatty, but at school they're silent. Or they talk to some people but freeze with others. This isn't shyness or defiance; their ability to speak literally shuts down. They want to talk. They can't. This is often anxiety-based (called selective mutism), but people treat it as a talking or behavioural problem.

The kid who talks a ton but can't communicate. They know thousands of words and can tell you detailed dinosaur facts or video game rules. But open-ended questions, organizing their thoughts, explaining their reasoning, social back-and-forth, large groups: all really hard 

The kid who repeats. Phrases from shows, from you, from other kids. Ready-made words are easier than creating their own. Sometimes these mean something real (they borrow a teacher’s “You're okay!” to say “I'm upset”), but it doesn't always land right.

The kid who's "fine" at school but falls apart at home. Teachers report no problems. Then kids get home and fall apart over tiny things. This isn't about feeling “safe enough to be awful with you.” Communicating at school all day takes enormous effort, and by the time they're home, they’re depleted.

The kid who’s "not listening." You give a direction; they don't follow it. They're standing right there, they clearly heard you, and yet nothing. But hearing isn't the same as processing, and what looks like ignoring might be their brain still working on step one while you're frustrated they haven't done step four. OR, they’re exhausted and you’re asking them to do something they can’t handle right now. Or they rarely actually understand, but they mask it with affection and politeness, and they can’t in this instance.

The kid who seems like “a jerk.” They interrupt constantly, talk at you instead of with you, skip all the small talk pleasantries, say blunt things that sound rude. Their tone comes across as aggressive even when they're just excited. They might sound like a “little professor” or “brag” about their skills. Some of this is just neurodivergent communication patterns misunderstood. Some of it is protective: when you've spent years getting social interactions wrong and being punished for it, sometimes it feels safer to just be the blunt, “tell it like it is” kid than to keep trying and failing at invisible rules.

Most important things to know:

1. Difference doesn’t always mean deficit. Not all communication differences need "fixing." Part of helping your child is figuring out what needs support and what just needs acceptance and people who get them.

2. This is not about intelligence or defiance or bad parenting. Many bright kids struggle with communication. The gap between what they understand and what they can express is deeply frustrating. Your child isn't choosing to shut down. You didn't cause this. Communication challenges are real, hard, and not anyone's fault.

3. “Behavior” is often communication attempts. The hitting, the yelling, the shutting down: your child is trying to be heard when words fail. When we punish the behavior without addressing the communication breakdown underneath, we're punishing them for struggling with something genuinely difficult.

4. There are many ways to help. Now that you know what's happening, you can start to help. Not by forcing communication or demanding they "use their words," but by supporting the steps that are hard and giving them other ways to be heard.

That's what we'll talk about next: Communication strategies for your real life child.

Want help figuring it out? We offer free, online, one-on-one support.

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Understanding your child’s ADHD

[🔗 TL;DR? Read our ADHD Quick Guide: 5 things to know, look for, and try.]

“Such a busy child,” said my kid’s teacher on the first day of school. “Nobody else ever figured out they could climb that to reach the music player!”

That’s kids with ADHD, in a nutshell. They’re bright, curious. Able to solve things no one else can. Then comes the rest: “won't listen,” can't stay focused, doesn't follow through, interrupts class.

They sit down to do five-minute math homework, but 30 minutes later, they're in tears, you're in tears, and the worksheet is still blank. Or has a hole ripped through it. Or got eaten (sigh).

Everything feels chaotic. You don’t have time to think before you respond. Send them to brush their teeth; find them ten minutes later dismantling the can opener. Getting ready for bed takes two hours, seventeen reminders, and at least one meltdown. And yet, they are the sweetest kid who can spend three hours building an incredibly intricate Lego, so focused they forget to pee.

“If only they’d try harder,” adults lament. 

They ARE trying. It’s not motivation, laziness, or bad parenting, I promise. Here’s what to understand.

ADHD is about executive function

Despite the name, ADHD isn’t all about attention or hyperactivity. It’s about executive function: how the brain manages, organizes, and executes tasks and projects. It’s planning, processing, focusing, remembering, managing time, and more.

Brains of people with ADHD do all those things differently. The executive function parts of the brain develop more slowly, and the brain's chemical messaging system (particularly dopamine and norepinephrine) works differently. It can feel confusing, like, why can my kid focus for 3 hours on an anthill but not 10 minutes on math?!  More on this below.

The “disorder” piece is important and imperfect

Lots of kids experience attention deficit and hyperactivity, but for some kids, it’s a disorder: real neurological differences significantly affecting their life in multiple contexts, requiring real support (see also OCD, ASD, generalized anxiety disorder…).

“Disorder” isn’t my favorite word, though. ADHD isn’t all bad news. It’s about DIFFERENCES, not DEFICITS.

The same traits that make everyday life harder can help ADHD brains do extraordinary things when they’re supported.

The hyperfocus it’s hard to come out of lets them dive deep into passion projects and do extraordinary work. The nonlinear thinking that surprises teachers is creative problem-solving, shortcuts, and solutions no one else saw. The intense emotions and sensitivity that cause meltdowns also bring deep empathy, noticing when someone's upset before anyone else does. 

I’m not pretending ADHD doesn't make things hard. It absolutely does, and we can help you figure out how to address those challenges. But please also remember the goal isn't to "fix" your child or make them act "normal." ADHD is part of them, for worse AND for better. So the answer’s about figuring out what’s going on, appreciating their amazing differences, and helping make their way of thinking work for them.

It’s often not just ADHD. 

Most kids with ADHD (60-80%) have something else going on too: anxiety, learning differences, sleep problems, sensory challenges, and more. The tricky part is these things are all interwoven. Bad sleep is both a symptom of ADHD and makes ADHD harder. Sensory overload can look/feel like ADHD, but ADHD makes it harder to filter sensory input. This is why figuring out what's going on often feels like untangling a massive knot. 

You have to do something. 

If I could go back and change one thing about when my kids were little, it would be to figure out the ADHD piece earlier and better. 

I'm not a doctor. I'm not here to suggest specific treatments or medications. But I will be uncharacteristically pushy: you have to do something. 

Unsupported ADHD increases the risk of depression, anxiety, and substance abuse. It leads to relationship and social challenges that compound over time. It creates educational struggles that didn't need to happen.

More heartbreakingly, it builds a history of failure, shame, and being in trouble for things they can't help. They're trying so hard, but everyone (including them) thinks they're “bad” or “dumb” or “lazy.” This creates lifelong self-esteem and social consequences.

Don’t let this panic you! Thousands of families figure this out. You will too. Your kid will be okay. They have an awesome parent who knows they are already trying and is on their side.

The first thing to do (as always)  is understand what’s making it hard for your specific child. ADHD manifests differently for each person, and we need to tailor support to each child’s specific needs. Then we’ll talk about real life strategies for your real life child with ADHD.

[We know this is a lot. Take a breath!]

How ADHD might show up in your child

ADHD has different presentations: some kids are primarily inattentive, some are hyperactive and impulsive, and many have a combination of both (called "Combined Type").

The official types are honestly less important to me than figuring out what pieces a given child struggles with.

Here’s a partial list of what those might be. It might seem overwhelming. Scan and dive into only the ones that resonate about your child!

“She’s so spacy” / “He can’t pay attention”

Attention Regulation

Your child seems to not hear you when you call their name. They walk right past the thing they need without seeing it. They can spend four hours on a Minecraft build, but can’t make themselves finish ten minutes of homework.

This is the attention regulation or attentional focus problem. 

Kids with ADHD can focus intensely, joyously, super-productively, sometimes for hours. It’s that they can’t always control where that focus goes or direct it where we (or they) want it to go.

For many kids (and adults), that control happens only under specific conditions: novelty, competition, urgency/deadline, or passion. Without those activators, the brain struggles to engage.

But when hyperfocus works, they can do incredible, creative, prolific things.

“They won’t sit still”

Hyperactivity (the "H" in ADHD - when kids have this plus impulsivity without the attention issues, it's called "Hyperactive-Impulsive Type")

Your child is always moving: tapping, bouncing, fidgeting, making noises. They won’t stay in their seat (or, they’re technically in their seat, but upside down).  

Staying still feels itchy or buzzy inside. Their body is driven by an internal engine they can’t turn off; it’s uncomfortable enough to take all their energy. The movement might be unconscious (the leg jiggle, pencil tapping, rocking). Sometimes that movement actually helps them focus. When we force stillness, we take away the thing that was helping.

A “plus” of hyperactivity is that kids who have it tend to get noticed. The kids with Inattentive-type ADD (no H) are far more likely to slip under the radar. Girls especially are significantly underdiagnosed because they're more likely to have inattentive presentation. They have all the challenges without the disruptiveness that gets attention. They’re often better at masking. It doesn’t mean they aren’t struggling.

“He never stops to think”

Impulse Control

Your child’s hand shoots out before they’ve decided to hit, they grab the toy, they eat the thing. Crass jokes come out of their mouth before they can stop them. They spend all their money on the shiny thing they see today, and then are heart-broken when they remember they were saving for something cooler.

It’s not “making bad choices.” It’s no gap between impulse and action. 

A therapist once told my kid to practice “stop and think” before doing things that got them in trouble. My kid stared at her like she was speaking gibberish. “I have ideas ALL THE TIME. How am I supposed to know which ones are bad before I already did them?” 

“She can’t get started”

Task Initiation and Planning

They know what to do. They’re cognitively capable. But they sit there, staring at the blank page, and nothing happens. Or they do everything else in the world first. You use all your force of will to pin them to the homework chair and still have to say, “Time to start” 100 times. It’s not procrastination or defiance. It’s a neurological block that keeps the brain from “starting the engine,” especially when the task feels big, vague, or boring.

Kids with ADHD often see the end goal but not the path. They can’t break it into steps, so the whole thing feels like a giant, overwhelming blob. What if I told you, “Build a washing machine from scratch with no directions or internet?” You can picture the washing machine, but not the builder’s manual. So these kids abandon even projects about which they were super excited, and end up with a history of letting themselves and others down.

And also: this piece can make folks with ADHD super enthusiastic “yes” people who can help the rest of us not be boring. When *I* hear about a possible adventure, I picture the process: the hours of work it’s going to take to get there, the cost, the to-do list items, the massive weight of it all. My partner only sees the amazing endpoint, says, “Cool!” and signs us up.

“She forgets everything”

Working Memory

The permission slip is signed. It’s in the bag. You remind them twice. Nope. That slip lives in the bag now. You’ll find it months later, after fielding frantic phone calls from the office the day of the trip. Given a task with three directions, one is never done. This is working memory. The information goes in, but the brain doesn’t hold it up at the forefront where it’s useful.

Working memory struggles don’t just affect details and tasks. They make it hard to focus on important pieces of social interactions, comprehend what you read, remember what the question was by the time it’s your turn to answer, and solve multi-step math problems. Working memory is what’s supposed to help kids remember how their behaviour system works or that it exists. It’s a lot.

“He has no sense of time”

Time Blindness

Your child has no idea how long things take. “Five minutes” is meaningless. Planning for the future is futile. There’s only now and not now. Things are either happening right this second (urgent!) or they don’t exist yet. That’s why projects get ignored until the night before, why it’s so hard to transition, why it’s hard to change behaviour to earn a reward that won’t come for three weeks.

However, as a Huddle friend pointed out: “When I am with you, I am 100% with you. No part of my brain is remembering I have to take trash out or leave by 1pm. I’m late all the time, but I’m fully with you. You’re partially distracted by everything you’re remembering.”

“They just go 0-60”

Emotional Regulation

Your child explodes over tiny things. Criticism feels catastrophic. Rejection (real or imagined) feels unbearable. Emotions hit faster and harder, and impulse control turns feelings into actions instantly.

Kids with ADHD experience emotional time differently. Urgent things take over completely; future ones barely feel real. Small frustrations explode into huge reactions, because they feel permanent. There’s no mental fast-forward to remember that it will pass.

ADHD can also include extreme rejection sensitivity. Some kids experience rejection – real or perceived – with what might feel like an outsized reaction. Their brain is wired to notice and react to social threats more intensely than other people's brains, so mild criticism feels catastrophic and even imagined rejection triggers real emotional pain.

These feelings are real, even when we don’t understand where they come from. All of this emotional intensity, though, can also mean big empathy, big love, big excitement when their friends succeed. Kids with ADHD often feel others’ emotions deeply, which can become a huge strength and mean they’re great friends, once they learn to manage it.

So, What Do I Do About It?

First, breathe. This can be exhausting and overwhelming, but again, you’ve got this.

Now. Let’s figure out some ways to help.

Head over to Part 2: ADHD: Real life strategies for your real life child.

Or, find a time to talk with me 1:1 and figure it out.

Figuring out what’s hard: 9 factors to consider first

You know children’s behaviour communicates a struggle or unmet need (and your child's behaviour is literally screaming it). You’ve tried talking to your child about it collaboratively, but you just get "I don't know!" The teacher keeps handing you sticker charts. Your neighbour thinks it’s a vitamin deficiency, the school blames your parenting, and you're at a loss. You're not a special educator, therapist, or diagnostician: how are you supposed to figure out what might be going on?

Here's our list of 9 things to consider first when you're trying to figure it out. We created this alongside teachers, doctors, and other parents who've been exactly where you are. Start here before assuming it's a discipline issue or looking at other things. Remember: You’re not trying to diagnose your child; you’re just gathering clues for what to explore next

1. Medical factors

Illness, pain, or discomfort can make everything harder. Chronic headaches, stomachaches, any physical discomfort (even mild, ongoing pain) affect a child's ability to focus, regulate, and cope. Seizure activity can impact behavior and attention. Low muscle tone can make it hard to sit up, hold a pencil, or be careful with others’ bodies. If your child seems to struggle more at certain times of day or has physical complaints alongside behavioural challenges, talk to your doctor.

2. Hearing or vision challenges

Kids can have trouble with actually hearing or seeing things (the physical intake), or with processing that information once it comes in. Even when hearing and vision tests come back "fine," some kids strain so hard to see or hear that it causes tension headaches or exhaustion by the end of the day. If your child seems to work really hard to follow along, gets frustrated easily with reading or listening tasks, or complains about headaches, get their hearing and vision checked. Mention that you're wondering about processing, not just acuity.

3. Sleep

If they're not sleeping, everything is harder. It takes energy to be at school, to listen and process directions, to play and be patient with others. No sleep, no energy for those things. The links between ADHD symptoms and disrupted sleep are significant. Even if they seem to be sleeping, are they sleeping soundly? Can you hear them snoring or gasping down the hall? That might mean they're not getting quality sleep even though they're in bed for enough hours. Talk to a doctor about sleep quality, not just quantity.

4. Cognitive or learning challenges

If your child seems to have the capacity to do the work but isn't, make sure they don't have a learning disability or processing challenge making it hard. Dyslexia is the most well-known example, but there are others: dyscalculia (math), dysgraphia (writing), auditory processing disorder, and more. Sometimes what looks like ADHD or behaviour issues is actually a child struggling to keep up with work they can't access. If your child seems to have the capacity but schoolwork is consistently hard in specific ways, ask for detailed psychoeducational testing.

5. Communication struggles

Communication requires a lot of steps: taking in information, processing what it means, deciding how to respond, formulating an answer, and making your mouth say it. If any of these steps are hard — whether because of a second language, autism, processing delays, or speech motor planning issues — communication breaks down. So much "behaviour" comes from kids who can't understand or communicate in typical ways. They're frustrated, they don’t get your directions, they can't ask for help, they can't explain what's wrong, so they show you the only way they can. 

6. Sensory struggles

Some kids process sensory input differently. They might be oversensitive (sounds hurt, light touch feels like a slap, heat is unbearable) or undersensitive (they seek crashing, noise, deep pressure to feel regulated). Kids often don't know they're experiencing things differently than everyone else, or they can't explain what's bothering them. It’s like being hangry without realizing you're hungry. Sensory struggles can make everyday environments genuinely overwhelming or leave kids constantly seeking more input to feel okay. This is something to talk to an OT about.

7. Anxiety, OCD, or panic

Anxiety doesn't always look like fear or worry. Sometimes it looks like anger, controlling behavior, perfectionism, or avoidance. Kids might be anxious about something that's actually terrible (being bullied) or something unlikely (convinced the building will explode). Either way, the fear feels real to them. OCD can make kids feel like they have to do certain things to keep everyone safe, and they might not be able to explain why. Panic can come out of nowhere and make kids desperate to escape. When anxiety is driving behavior, typical calming strategies often backfire—they can make kids feel unheard or more panicked. Learn more in our Anxiety series.

8. ADHD and executive function struggles

ADHD isn't just hyperactivity (though that's hard enough). It also shows up as difficulty with working memory, planning and executing tasks, impulse control, and directing attention deliberately. Some kids can't focus. Others hyperfocus and can't shift attention away. The physical hyperactivity isn't just "wanting to move;” for many people it's experienced as agitation, a body that NEEDS to move and sends that message constantly. Kids with ADHD might also move without even knowing it (leg jiggling, fidgeting). Executive function challenges affect a child's ability to start tasks, remember multi-step directions, organize their materials or thoughts, and manage their time. Impulse control issues can mean kids DO the thing before they even realize they should probably decide if it's a good idea, so all the retroactive punishment in the world won't help. Controlling or accommodating for ADHD symptoms is a game changer for lots of kids.

9. History of trauma or chronic failure

Trauma (whether it's a single event or chronic stress) actually changes how the brain and body work, making it harder to learn, regulate emotions, and feel safe. Being shamed, excluded, or restrained daily is traumatic, and it affects how kids approach new situations. Even if they seem happy-go-lucky on the surface, past experiences shape their expectations and responses. Chronic failure teaches kids that they can't do things, which affects their ability to try. If your child has been in trouble every day since preschool, they might be starting every day with a lower chance of success.

What's NOT on this list

• Parental failure

• Growing up in an "alternative" family structure

• Being "spoiled" or "oppositional" or "difficult"

• The teacher being mean

• Not enough essential oils

Look, I'm not saying these things don't matter or that stress doesn't affect kids. Of course divorce is hard. Of course being yelled at is real. But here's the thing: all over the world, kids are dealing with stressed parents, divorced families, new schools, and microplastics without falling apart every day at lunch.

Start with these medical, developmental, and neurological possibilities first. Once you have ruled out or addressed hearing loss, anxiety, ADHD, whatever it is, then you can work on other stressors if needed. But blaming yourself, your child, or your family situation first just delays getting your kid actual help.

Still trying to piece it together? Let's talk. Schedule a 1:1 conversation with me to walk through what you're seeing and get clarity on what might actually be going on. 

Understanding anxiety (so you don’t make it worse)

Anxiety. Everybody's talking about it. We hear "top tips" for dealing with it. We try to help kids regulate. We get them to take a deep breath. We reassure them there's no such thing as the monsters they think are under the bed. We teach them when they're giving a school presentation to look at the audience and envision everyone in their underwear. Like everything else, we have all these strategies and "best practice," but are they actually helpful? Not always. I want to give you some new ways to think about anxiety, some behaviours that can secretly be expressing anxiety, and some reasons all the “top tips” could actually make things worse for some kids. Then in my next post, we'll talk about some strategies that might better fit what's happening for your child.

When anxiety wears a mask

Here is the first important thing to know: anxiety doesn't always look like a worried face and nervous fidgeting. It shows up in all kinds of surprising and frustrating ways:

Anger That sudden rage explosion when you ask your child to put on their shoes? Could be anxiety in disguise. Some kids are primed to go straight to their "fight" reflex when they feel threatened. See also: rudeness, aggression, and mean words.

Controlling behavior When your child is inflexible, insists on having things just so, needs to know exactly what's happening next, or melts down when plans change—that intense need for control is often anxiety, trying to find some foothold in an uncertain world. See also: bossiness, "he just wants his own way," and the need to wear the same outfit or have everyone in the same seats every day.

Perfectionism Sometimes anxiety wears a mask of perfect behavior. The reasoning: "If I'm perfect, nobody can be mad at me" or "If I do everything exactly right, nothing bad can happen." It's a way of dealing with social anxiety or making a bargain with fate. Sometimes, this turns into an inability to get started for fear of failure or what seems like over-reactive frustration when they make mistakes. Sometimes it means constantly being the best behaved, and being utterly unable to fess up when they aren't.

Paralysis Some anxious kids just shut down; they go straight to their "freeze" response. They might get quiet or become incapable of focusing. Sometimes they can't move, can't speak, can't fight back. This could range from inability to start work to failure to react typically in social contexts to situational mutism. They certainly can't talk about it in the moment, so when adults demand words or apologies, kids might seem obstinate or be incapable of explaining themselves.

Regression When your seven-year-old suddenly starts talking like a toddler or needs to be carried everywhere? That might be anxiety saying, "I need more support right now."

Physical ailments Stomachaches, headaches, mysterious pains—these can be genuine physical experiences of anxiety, not "just in their head." It's important to remember that sometimes kids are not "faking it" even though their discomfort has psychosomatic origins.

Repetitive behaviors Tapping, rocking, humming, counting, checking things repeatedly—these might be ways your child is trying to soothe their anxiety or calm their system.

Trying to tamp down or override big feelings Screaming, big movements like running or jumping, self-harm, demanding excessive screen time, even creating drama—these might be attempts to either dull the anxiety or create bigger sensations that drown it out.

Sleep disruptions Both trouble falling asleep and trouble staying asleep—anxiety loves the quiet dark when there's nothing else to distract from worries. And consistently high levels of stress can cause early wakening; kids with high cortisol levels might wake up early and jump out of bed, their bodies already telling them to go, go, go.

The sad thing about many of these expressions of anxiety is that they are counterproductive to kids getting the support they need. A child whose perfectionism means they are terrified of disrupting class may slip under the radar, while a child who goes straight to "fight" when anxious gets yelled at instead of understood.

What kind of anxiety is it?

The important question is: What kind of anxiety is your child experiencing?

When anxiety is definitely the problem, and the child knows it. Sometimes, anxiety is definitely the problem, and we all know it. I give presentations for schools and other organizations. Sometimes, these are big crowds or, gulp, big crowds of teenage camp counselors. It's nerve-wracking. I get anxious. But in this situation, my anxiety is the problem. There's no actual danger. I've given these talks many times and I'm unlikely to get a bad response. The problem is that I'm nervous.

In those situations, all the "best practices" can work well. I take some deep breaths. I ask myself, what's the worst thing that can happen here? I reassure myself I've done this a ton. I calm down, I give my talk, all good.

Maybe your child is headed to a new camp tomorrow, or in five minutes, and they're nervous. That is a great context for those typical strategies for anxiety: breathing, calming activities, reassurance, putting things in perspective.

When anxiety is NOT the main problem. Now, say I was going to give my presentation in a tank of hungry sharks. My anxiety is warranted in this situation; it's protective. The problem is that I am going into this terrifying situation, not that I am worried about it.

If your child gets bullied at school or yelled at by teachers, if the school bus is a sensory nightmare, if every day ends in a meltdown and seclusion or shaming, and they have anxiety about going to school, the anxiety is NOT the main problem. The main problem is that school is legitimately terrible or at least hard for them. I would be anxious to step onto a playground where I knew other kids were going to laugh at me every single day.

Sometimes, the context seems fine to adults, but is legitimately awful for kids. For example, some kids hate the subway. Why? It's just a subway, we say. But, I would be anxious to ride the subway if the noise hurt my ears, the heat felt like needles, and the crowd felt like it would crush me every time. Anxiety can be not the problem even if we adults can't empathize with what is.

When anxiety is the problem, but the child doesn't know it. Sometimes we adults know that a child's anxiety is overblown or unwarranted. Sometimes, they are super worked up about something super unlikely or not even logical. This can be panic or monsters, anything where a child is convinced something awful is going to happen, and it feels utterly real to them, but we adults know it’s not real or can’t see it.

As one friend of The Huddle for Families with OCD described it, it's the difference between being nervous about flying, and believing, truly and often for no reason, that the plane is about to explode. If I really believed that, I'd panic. I'd get really bossy or start screaming, "Everybody get out!" Kids might even know the plane is unlikely to blow up, but every ounce of their being promises it is, their body is flooded with "get moving!" hormones, and they feel like they have to respond accordingly to stay alive.

[Read more about how to handle a panic attack on a plane in part 3 of this series, coming soon.]

In these situations where anxiety truly isn't or doesn't seem to the child to be the main problem, "best practice for anxiety" is potentially useless and can make things so much worse. If I were headed into the shark tank, and you suggested I take some deep breaths and picture the sharks in their underwear, I would think you'd lost your mind. This mismatch makes kids feel like we don't understand what's going on, like we are trying to deny their reality. It’s frustrating, not helpful, and it can make kids feel even more awful or force them to escalate.

General or undirected anxiety Sometimes a child has the physical sensations of anxiety (racing heart, upset stomach) or cognitive ones (racing brain) or emotional ones (we feel anxious), but these things are general, not being caused by a specific context or person. They usually won't stay general, though—our brains love to make connections, so if we are feeling anxious-like feelings, our anxiety will often find a place to "land."

This happens when we are “hangry.” Our bodies, sensing hunger, flood with “get up and hunt something” energy, but we often interpret it as anger or anxiety. Then it sort of floats around until it finds something to blame. This makes it hard to figure out what the anxiety is really about: kids might give an answer to "what are you worried about?" but that specific thing might not really be the problem, even if they think it is. We end up addressing the specifics, but to no avail, because we’re going to be hangry until we eat.

So, what do I do about it?

Given all these different kinds of anxiety—and why the usual approaches sometimes fail spectacularly—we need to talk about what might actually work. In Part 2, I share practical strategies that can make a difference for your anxious child.

But here's the truth at the heart of it: figuring out what your child is experiencing is half the battle. Their behaviour makes sense. There's a reason for it, even if that reason is hidden or seems illogical. And when we start from that place — "Your feelings make sense, and I want to understand" — everything gets a little easier.

Continue to Part 2: How to help your real life anxious child in the real life moment

Or, skip to Part 3: How to help during a panic attack

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Why are transitions so darn hard?

My kids love the beach, but once had full-on screaming fits about going. I followed all the expert advice: five-minute warnings, reminders they could come back to what they were doing later, even promising ice cream. Still, they were adamant: “We hate the ocean, and we don’t like ice cream!” Twenty minutes later, they were happily building sandcastles, but by then, I was ready to be buried in sand.

Transitions (shifting between activities) are tough for kids. We've all been there: late for something, chasing them with their shoes, desperately trying to get them to cooperate so we can get to the thing. Why are transitions so darn hard?

Let’s look at what they require kids (and us!) to do:

Let go of something. Every transition is a loss: put down the game, stop the project, say goodbye to the friend. Letting go is tough, especially if kids are hyper-focused, deeply invested, or can’t imagine getting it back soon. It requires flexibility, which is hard for many of our kids.

Change attentional focus. We’re saying, “Stop paying attention to that, and pay attention to what I want you to.” Focus switching can be really hard for kids, especially if there’s that hyperfocus or deep interest. It’s not that they are refusing to focus on the transition; it’s that they can’t make themselves do it, or it requires a lot of energy or specific input.

Meet demands. Most transitions are full of expectations. Clean up toys, get on your sneakers, find your homework. Put on pants. Each individual expectation might be hard for kids to do (or to do independently or when their mind is elsewhere or in the time frame given to them). Some kids might have a hard time with demands in general. Transitions are rarely kid-motivated, and they rarely offer a reward. Often, the next activity is full of more demands. It’s no wonder inertia takes over.

See the future. Even if the next thing is ice cream, kids have to picture it. They have to conjure up that image (hard for a lot of kids), hold that image (stay focused!), and let that image guide them as they get ready (you can’t wear your snow boots to dance class). For kids with things like working memory challenges, this is a LOT to hold in one head. Even when kids are able to picture the thing, it’s sometimes a memory of really having blown it the last time they were there, which adds to the stress and the inertia.

Do it NOW. Transitions are often rushed. We’re late getting ourselves ready, so we’re late getting the kids ready, and the dog is sick, and the sink suddenly leaks, so we’re not only saying, “Do all these things,” but also, “Do them NOW.” Some kids need time: time to move their focus, to process the directions, to overcome the inertia, and to do the thing. Rushing weakens focus and executive function, making it harder for kids to process and act, and it keeps us from communicating and managing the transition carefully.

Find some energy. Most transitions are not to ice cream and the beach. They’re to school, to tutoring, to the dinner table. They’re taking kids who are already exhausted and asking them to gear up for another challenge. It’s, “Welcome to the car after a long day of school; we’re meeting your math tutor in 7 minutes. Here’s a granola bar; where’s your homework?”

Recover from surprise. Even regular transitions seem to come as a surprise. Kids do that thing where they sputter, “What?!” like you haven’t been to the tutor every Wednesday all year. Maybe they truly don’t have the routine in their head. Maybe their memory can’t hold on to that kind of schedule detail. Maybe they weren’t paying attention the first 10 times you mentioned it. Maybe they’re just indignant because the prospect of all the energy it’s going to take to do the tutoring is so daunting (we’ve all been there).

Forget that fighting worked last time. Sometimes kids are convinced if they make the transition hard enough, they won’t have to do it (my husband truly believed if he hid well enough on Sunday mornings, his parents would give up and go to church without him). The hard part: they’re not always wrong. Sometimes transitions go poorly, and adults bail on the plan. Other times, it’s easier to do the work of transitioning for them: we squeeze them into coats and shoes while they’re still clutching the game, or postpone facing the battle, rewarding them with more time. If avoiding transition worked last time, why wouldn’t a child try it again?

So, what to do about it?

Before the transition time

Set and share the schedule. Make sure they know what’s next. Transitions are a lot easier when they’re part of a routine. The more you can follow a routine, the easier most things will be. If the next activity is tough, focus on what comes after: “First tutoring, then dinner at Olive Garden.”

Warnings. Give a series of “X minute warnings,” so kids aren’t surprised by the transition. That’s helpful for many kids. My kids disagreed: they said warnings stressed them out, so by the actual transition time, they were already annoyed at my pestering and braced for disagreement. If you use warnings, ensure they’re heard: get on children’s level, disrupt gently, and confirm understanding. Stick to real-time limits: no “5 minutes” over and over that last 20 minutes. Otherwise, you’re just making noise.

Build in a break. Give them a rest between activities. Bring a calming, fun activity to pick-up, and take ten minutes to sit there quietly and decompress with a snack before tutoring. Even if it makes you late, it’s better to be late and ready than to show up red-faced and frustrated and still late. 

Allow extra time. Plan more transition time than you think you’ll need. Rushing never works. Do I remember this every time? Of course not (sigh). But it’s true.

During the transition

Visual reminders. Use visual timers, photos of the scheduled activity, or objects that remind kids what’s next. Show them the visual when it’s time to transition, and make sure they look at it (you can do this without words). Plus, you can make the visual reminder be the “bad guy” – you can’t argue with the car clock saying it’s time to go. 

Sing or play a song for the transition. Preschools do this all the time (The Clean-Up Song!), but you can let older kids choose a tune too. The hope is that kids get used to being ready by a familiar point in the song. It’s fun, nonverbal, and lightens the mood.

Stagger the transition. “If you get your coat on, you can have 5 more minutes,” then, “If you get your boots on, you can have 2 more minutes.” You’re staggering the transition, you’re gradually pulling focus to the new activity, and you’re separating the demands into more manageable chunks.

Don’t release them back into the wild. Move your kids’ toothbrush, socks, bookbag storage, all of it to near the front door, so once you get them away from breakfast you don’t have to send them back into their room to see 25 things they need to mess with before they leave.

Make it a game. “If we get in the car before the car clock says 11am, we have time to …” “If we get this all cleaned up fast, we’ll have time for a game in the car.” “Think you can get more toys into the bin than me?” These aren’t bribes; they’re you working together for a common fun goal. Competition often helps overcome inertia, especially for kids with trouble shifting their focus.

If the same transitions are always hard

Ask for input: Talk to kids when it’s calm. Ask, “Hey, it seems like it’s been hard to get ready for tutoring. What’s up?” (Ross Greene has good ideas for doing this).  Listen to their ideas—they might surprise you.

Lower the bar. Offer help with things that seem to be sticking points. More tips on lowering the bar are here.

Skip the transition. Maybe it’s less about the transition than the next activity being awful. Can you find ways to avoid that activity or make it less dreadful?

Whenever I think about transitions, I’m reminded of the 100 things I suddenly “need” to do before going for a run. I love running and know I’ll feel better within minutes, but it’s still a shift, a change of focus, and an energy demand. Will these ideas make transitions effortless? No. They’re not easy for most kids - or adults - and our kids face extra challenges. But sometimes just knowing something is meant to be hard can make it less stressful. Hopefully, these tips can help too. If not, let’s chat one-one-one about your child and family, (sign up here).

Above all, I want to acknowledge that these suggestions take energy that’s often in short supply. I know it doesn’t help to acknowledge you are pouring energy in anyway when transitions result in screaming. I know you are tired. Take what works for you here and leave the rest: we do what we can. And you got this.

Back to Table of Contents

“She just wants attention”

People say things like:

• “He’s the class clown.”

• “She’s disruptive” or “She monopolizes class time.”

• “It’s attention-seeking behaviour.”

But, given that we know no child is trying to be disruptive or frustrating, what might really be going on? Some ideas:

Connection

Sometimes a child needs connection or a moment of recognition from a teacher, and “acting out” is the most reliable option. Sometimes they’re hoping to connect with peers by making them laugh. They don’t realize the teacher’s attention is anger, or that the laughing class is wary of the naughtiness or unpredictability. They’re just looking for social interaction, and they can’t always use more effective, sympathetic ways to get it. They call out answers or monologue when it’s their turn, and they interrupt or make inappropriate jokes. When you can’t get connection other ways, even scolding or scowling might seem like a good thing.

Escape

Maybe the work is boring, since they’ve already mastered the concept. Maybe it’s frustratingly difficult, and they’re mortified because they “should” be able to do it. Maybe there are too many steps, or they aren’t sure of the directions at all. Maybe they’re riddled with anxiety. Maybe they simply cannot sit still in this uncomfortable, straight chair another second.

It might not even be conscious, but disrupting the lesson, distracting the teacher, and getting sent away are super effective means to escape when you can’t ask for help in better ways.

Discomfort

Maybe they are physically super uncomfortable for some reason and truly can’t stay still and quiet.

Or, maybe this topic has them super uncomfortable or scared. As kids get older, they vary in their ability to handle increasingly mature subject matter. More serious topics, more deeply emotional conversations (even when they’re about other people), more frightening stories from real life -- all these can make kids (and grown ups!) itchy with discomfort, unable to regulate, and ready to disrupt.

Desire to share information

Some kids (and adults) want to share things they know as a way of making friends or creating a connection in a conversation. It might seem to teachers or peers like the child is “monopolizing the conversation,” but maybe the child is offering their knowledge like a gift. Maybe they don’t mean to be selfish or to “hog” the spotlight, but instead are engaging in their own, divergent communicative patterns. Maybe they need to speak aloud to process their thoughts and learning about something they find super interesting and hope others will too. Maybe what feels like one-sided conversation to some people is actually an attempt at the opposite.

Social anxiety

Maybe a child knows they struggle to interact socially with peers. Maybe they’ve missed cues or conversational transitions enough to be constantly anxious that they’re about to be “in trouble” or laughed at for something they didn’t even realize was different or wrong.

Maybe, given all that, it’s easier to intentionally flout social rules, make inappropriate jokes, or monologue without letting others speak, because at least it offers some control over the situation and some predictability to others’ reactions.

It’s not “attention” kids are seeking. It’s connection or help. Or, it’s simply a different way of trying to create social interaction.

Either way, as with other “behaviour,” attention-seeking reveals unmet needs that, for whatever reason, kids can’t express in more sympathetic or effective ways.

Want help figuring out why a child might seem to be seeking attention, and how to help? That’s what we do.

Come to a Huddle, and join other parents with similar questions. We’ll share, problem-solve, get advice, and laugh a little to make it all less stressful.

Talk 1:1 to someone with experience as both a teacher and a parent, and get individualized advice for you and your child.

Want to read more or find a specific article? Start here.

Figuring out what’s making it hard

“Okay, I know this is not my fault, and my child’s behaviour is just their way of communicating that they need something. But how do I figure out what that is??”

Start with two questions:

1. What is your child supposed to be doing that they can’t do?

2. What might be making it hard?

To answer these, you become a detective, investigating characters, setting, and clues.

Start with your child. Ross Greene has fantastic resources for doing this, so I’ll be brief (do go check him out). Make sure you approach with no judgment, no punishment, no disappointment. Wait until they’ve recovered from the school day, then say something like, “Hey buddy, it seems like it’s been really hard in math class this week. What’s up?”* Then you listen, ask questions, and take seriously whatever they say, even if it seems unlikely.

What if they say, “I don’t know?” We don’t always know what’s bothering us. They may not have the self-awareness to know. I liken it to being hangry: I hate everyone and everything, but I don’t always realize it’s because I’m hungry until I eat and feel better. Oops.

They may not have the right words, especially if it’s something the neurotypical people who created language don’t experience. They may not be able to say, “I felt out of whack because we did music before math and the order of the day was all wrong.” Or they may worry that if they tell you, the magic they believe keeps them safe will break; they can’t say, “I couldn’t take the other staircase because every day I touch the bannister on our staircase, and that’s what keeps me safe at school.”

How to help, then? Try some guesses. “Hmm, so for some kids, math is hard because there are a lot of directions and they can’t keep them straight, or for some kids, sitting still for all of math is way too hard for their bodies, and for some kids, it’s super hard to work at a table with other kids making noise.” (Can’t think of guesses? We can brainstorm together.)

Take their ideas seriously, even if they are clearly not the problem (someday I’ll tell you about my kindergartner’s trip to the principal for failure to follow directions because “my hair was in my ear, so I couldn’t hear anything”). Most importantly, you’re going to reassure them that they’re not in trouble, you know they are trying, and they are not alone: you are going to figure this out together.

If your child really can’t say, or won’t engage in the conversation (do we adults like to engage in conversations about mistakes we’ve made?) you need to interview more characters. Start with the teacher (or with yourself, if it’s happening at home):

• Where/when are problems happening?

• What are the patterns?

Your teacher might say there are no patterns, no warning signs, it’s “0-60” or “all day long.” This is highly unlikely. Your child is not walking into the school building screaming, smacking people for 8 straight hours while still screaming, and going home.

Pick a specific instance or repeated issue, and get a picture of the scene before the incidents:

• What is the setting? What time of day?

• Who is there? How many people? How loud is it?

• Is something different from the routine?

• What is your child supposed to do, specifically, that they aren’t doing?

• What warning signs or first attempts to ask for help are there? What seems to calm them down?

You are looking to put yourself in your child’s shoes fully, so you can see where the sticking points might be.

Once you have a picture of the scene, it may be obvious what’s hard (it’s always in French, it’s super hot in the French room, and your kid has sensory issues around heat). Or, you may need further detective work. This is where a diagnosis can be helpful, if your child has one: diagnoses aren’t exact descriptions of any one person, but they offer a place to start.

What things are typically difficult or different for people with this diagnosis? The best place to find out is from people with that diagnosis. Find people on social media who are #actuallyautistic or have ADHD or OCD or sensory processing issues or anything else, and read what they have to say about their experiences. You might get great ideas about what will help. You will certainly have a better understanding of aspects of your child’s experience.

Once you have some solid ideas, it’s time to start trying things out (start by Lowering the Bar).

Most of all, please remember your child is trying as hard as they can, and so are you. And neither of you is in this alone.

* This is not a perfect Ross Greene question, I know, but sometimes we don’t know what’s going on enough to be more specific.

It’s not about the behaviour

It’s October, so for many kids and classrooms, the honeymoon is over. Anyone who spends most of their school day trying to hold it together just can’t any more. Or they can, but then they come home and fall apart. Children may have been struggling all along, or maybe teachers are getting serious and unwittingly ending supports kids were counting on. Either way, it’s harder now, and kids are letting us know. 

How? Some kids cry or whine, some get stomachaches or mystery ailments, some take it out on other kids with mean words or bullying. Some become perfectionists, easily frustrated, or paralyzed by even the smallest changes. Some become the “class clown” or interrupt learning. And some kids scream, hit, run, or do other dangerous things.

It’s all the same. Everything I just described is communication. It’s all signs that a child is overwhelmed by the environment, overtaxed by the expectations, or under-supported and needs help. Some kids are able to express this in ways that are articulate (“I need help!”) or at least sympathetic (tears that melt adult hearts and make us say “Oh, honey, let me help you.”). Other kids are not. Those kids do things that get them scolded, sent to the office, or pointed at by peers. It’s all communicating a need for help, but some kids get it, and others get left out or labeled troublemakers.

How do we know this is true? Because we know this: children want to be “good” and successful and cherished. They are already trying as hard as they can to make adults happy. There is not a single child in the world who wakes up and says, “Today, I’m gonna ruin math class, be stared at in horror by my classmates, disappoint my teacher, and spend recess on the bench. I can’t wait!” They are trying. They are trying their hardest and failing, disappointing adults they love and ending up on the bench anyway, and they feel awful about it. Often they don’t even know what they did that made everyone so mad, because they were just trying to do what we want or to tell us they can’t. We know this because we were those kids, and because we have seen what happens when they get the support they need: they thrive.

The important thing is this: we must focus on that need, on what the behaviour can tell us, not on the behaviour itself. If we are only working to teach kids to control their behaviour (“stop interrupting!), or if we are trying to incentivize them to do what we want (“you’ll earn a sticker!”), we’re not addressing the actual problem, and we will always fail. As my own sassy-but-perceptive child once told a behaviour therapist, “You don’t care how I feel. You only care that I act good.”

All this month, The Huddle for Families is focusing on what might be behind the behaviour, so that kids can do more than act good. We’re working to help teachers and families figure out what children might need, because that is the absolute best way to make classrooms, households, and communities more inclusive, safer places for everyone, so everyone’s children can thrive.

Where to start?

• Read this blog and subscribe to our newsletter.

• Follow us on Facebook and Instagram. 

• Join us for a Huddle

• Sign up for Office Hours with me and talk 1:1 about whatever you want. 

• Contact us about professional development for your school or organization.

As usual, everything we do prioritizes lived experience, developmental and classroom expertise, and a safe, nonjudgmental community. Come together with other folks with similar questions, so we can laugh and figure it out together, to try to make it all a little easier, and so everyone can feel a little less alone.

Want to read more or find a specific article? Start here.