Getting school ready to go back to your child

We hear a lot about how to get your child ready for Back to School.

But all the prep in the world won’t help a child if school overwhelms them or doesn’t meet their needs. So, really, it’s time to get the school ready to go back to your child. How?

Re-frame your own thinking 

If you do just one thing, remember this: “behaviour” challenges are simply the language of unmet needs. 

Children who can’t express their distress in other ways show it through their behaviour. That means there’s no reason to be embarrassed, to worry whether the school likes you, to think your child doesn’t deserve help, or to worry it’s all your fault. I know that’s hard too.

Talk to school *before* things crumble

If you do just one thing, frame the conversation so they see your child as struggling, not “bad.”

Set up a meeting: “I’d like to talk so we can start the school year with a solid plan for supporting my child.” You’ll discuss situations where your child has struggled and work to proactively address them.

From there, shape the discussion in three big ways:

1. Remind them it’s not about the behaviour. Your child is overwhelmed or overtaxed by the environment or expectations. She’s not “bad.”

• If you hear “stubborn," "violent," ”attention-seeking,” or other awful things, interrupt to re-frame: she is a child who is having a hard time, not an enemy.

• Equip teachers with empathy in advance. “Sometimes, when she’s anxious, she might sound disrespectful. She doesn’t mean to be. I’m so glad she has a teacher who will understand that.”

1. ”Focus on what he *needs*, not what he did when he didn’t get it. Not “Last year he hit kids in line,” but “Last year he needed more support when waiting in line. What can we do this year to help him?”

• Don’t re-litigate the past. Reminding them “the other child yelled at her first” and rehashing the school’s missteps don’t build empathy. What creates empathy is explaining: yelling is her way of saying “please help me.”

• Don’t let school drag you into a litany of past incidents: you are not the therapist responsible for helping them get over the stress of caring for your kid. Refocus: “I’m so glad you are taking this seriously. What is the plan moving forward to help, so she isn’t in this overwhelming situation again?”

3. Make sure the plan isn’t just “try harder.” If she is missing regulation skills, two things must happen: lower the expectations and help her learn the skills. A sticker chart does neither. Ask: How can we adapt her environment to make it easier? And how will the school teach her those skills, the same way would if she struggled with math?

Don’t rely on the school’s internal communication

The one thing: Assume nobody else is sharing your child’s story for you.

You can’t count on last year’s teacher sitting down with this year’s teacher. The new teacher may have gotten an IEP or 504, but also got 17 others that sound almost the same.

What I like to use is a Student Snapshot. This is a one-page overview for anyone who interacts with your child: gym teacher, lunchroom attendant, recess monitor. Use it to make sure they don’t have a great day but then get set off by the substitute bus driver.

It says: 

• Here’s what this child struggles with

• Here’s what you might see

• Here’s what that indicates

• Here’s how to help in the moment.

You can download a fillable PDF here and make as many copies as you need. 

 Stick with anything that worked

The one thing: carry over what worked last year. This is not the time to test “does she still need that accommodation?” 

If it was working last year, keep it this year. If things go swimmingly, then you can challenge your child, but not in September.

You might not know what worked; it might not be in a formal plan. Teachers often have “little things” they do that never get written down: making eye contact before giving directions, watching for a leg jiggle as an early sign of escalation.

If you had a great teacher last year, ask them. If the camp went well or your kid thrives in art class, ask there. Borrow those ideas and bring them to school this year.

If your child is moving into a “ramp up” year like kindergarten, grade 1, or middle school, it’s even more important to make sure they have supports you know work.

You don’t have to figure this out on your own.

That’s what we do at The Huddle for Families: We help families problem-solve what might be making things hard, what might help, and how to make sure support happens.

How we can help:

Read more: Figuring Out What’s Making It Hard

Talk: We offer free, online 1:1 coaching. We work with families to problem-solve, create plans, and advocate to make sure they happen.

Join: Our Back-to-School workshop series. All our events are free, online, and have limited spaces

Stay connected: Get more advice and practical strategies in our monthly newsletter. No spam, no fluff, no selling your info.

Have a good beginning of the year: we’re thinking of you.

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Summer Survival Kit, Part 3: Your Game Plan for Outings

[Read: Summer Survival, Part 1: It might be sensory] 

[Read: Summer Survival, Part 2: Defying the Rules of Summer Parenting]

Ah, summer family outings. Matching beach outfits at golden hour, cousins giggling over friendship bracelets at the reunion, everyone smiling at the zoo in shorts that still fit.

And then reality. Your four-year-old is screaming on the floor of the Reptile Room. The teenager is feral. You just spent $100 on amusement park tickets and left 20 minutes in because it "smelled weird."

No more. 2025 is the summer of realistic adventures for our real kids, planned around their actual needs, not someone else’s idea of what it should look like.

We are not going on family bonding hikes. It’s a million degrees and my kid only wears plastic knock-off Birkenstocks. We are not planning stock photo beach days or picturing all of us screaming in joy on the rollercoaster. We are piling into the car with Pop-Tarts as soon as they wake up, before the sun is strong enough to need sunscreen, jumping in the lake for 20 minutes, and coming home while it’s still fun.

We are redefining success. Not as perfection or other people’s Instagram feeds. Just fun, safety, and connection. Small wins, realistic expectations, and memories that don’t require emotional triage afterward.

Here are some ideas for making that happen:

Anticipate the Sticky Bits

What’s likely to be hard for your child? Think the outing through from their point of view. What will they see, hear, feel, be expected to do, or tolerate? At a baseball game: they have to walk in a crowd, stay near you, sit very close to lots of strangers, endure stadium noise and heat, and handle disappointment over not getting ALL the treats and not being allowed to ride the merry-go-round so many times the ice cream makes a re-appearance. They might not catch a ball, but their brother might, and he doesn’t have to give it to them.

What will help? If they fall apart when hungry, don’t just bring snacks, bring redundant snacks. If noise is the enemy, pack headphones, find a quiet space, plan breaks. If they hate crowds, get creative: headphones, piggyback rides, umbrellas-as-barriers, turning the crowd into a video game where you're dodging NPCs. If you know they’ll get bored, bring 4 fun toys (preferably ones they don’t see every day) and dole one out every 30 minutes. Bring an audiobook, a hand-held fan, whatever it takes.

Know the landmines, and design the detours.

If the odds of success are low, can you leave early? Recruit an older cousin to take them somewhere better? Create their own side adventure? Build a wedding tablecloth fort under the table with Legos and snacks?

You’re not jinxing the day by preparing for what might go wrong. You’re giving your kids (and yourself) a better chance to enjoy it.

Prepare your child 

“We’re going to a baseball game!” doesn’t help them know what to expect.

Paint them a picture. Tell them:

• Where they’ll sit

• What they’ll eat (and not eat)

• How long it’ll last

• What they’ll be expected to do or tolerate

• What the limits are

Use visuals: Street View. Camp websites. Photos. Being able to visualize the outing can help with anxiety.
Use play to practice: Pretend outings with stuffed animals. Social stories describing the steps of the adventure and what the child will do on each. Hold the Waiting in Line Olympics at home. You have time for maybe one of these, I know, so do what you can.

Let them make choices: What to wear, what to pack, which snack goes in first. Feeling a little in control goes a long way

Help them have a plan for if things get hard. 

• Who can they talk to? 

• What will they say?

• Where can they go for a break?

• What “secret word” can they use to signal they’re starting to unravel?

"Aunt Jessie’s house might be loud and crowded. If you need a break, just say 'beanbag' and we’ll head to her office with the comfy chair."

If you can get them to help make the plan, all the better.

Equip the grownups

Camp counselors, babysitters, and theme park employees might never have met your kid. Some of them were born in 2010.

You can’t assume they’ll know what your child needs. But they can still help, if you equip them:

• Describe your child’s need with empathy: "Sarah has sensory issues. Heat can feel like actual pain."

• Tell them what to look for: "She might seem cranky or defiant when really she’s overheating."

• Tell what what to do about it: "She has a cooling towel and ice pack in her bag, and an invitation to the AC in the art room when she needs it."

• Tell them what to say: “Tell her, ‘Looks like you’re feeling overwhelmed. Want to take a break in the art room?’”

Don’t expect 17-year-olds to wing it. Give them a one-page cheat sheet. Let them read off a handwritten card.

Ask for accommodations, without apology 

Asking for help can stir up feelings. Maybe you’re embarrassed about standing out. Maybe you wonder if your child “deserves” accommodations or if they’re “disabled enough” to qualify. Maybe you worry they are.

But it shouldn’t be more embarrassing to ask for accommodations than it is to design a space that leaves out half the kids who might show up.

Accommodations aren’t special favors or charity. They’re re-shaping flawed spaces, so children feel included, comfortable, and successful.

You shouldn’t need a diagnosis or to reveal any personal or medical or mental health info to ask. You just need to need something. 

You’re not trying to raise a kid who can handle fireworks and rollercoaster lines without help. You’re trying to raise a kid who knows what they need, that their needs matter, and that no matter those needs, they belong.

What to look for:

• Skip-the-line passes or early entry at amusement parks, sports venues, and museums 

• Quiet rooms or sensory-friendly zones in big venues (theaters, sports arenas, some malls).

• Special showings like sensory-friendly movies or neurodivergence-friendly events.

• Quiet tables or early food service at restaurants to avoid hangry meltdowns.

• Air-conditioned “cool down” spots at fairs or festivals.

Call or check the website before you go. Ask a staff member. If something isn’t working in the moment, speak up:

• “We need to move to a quieter table.”

• “Where can my child take a break?”

• “We’d like to enter early to avoid the crowd.”

• “What are options for your disabled clients?” 

If the first person doesn’t know, you are not being That Mom™ if you gently escalate until you reach someone with decision-making authority. That person should have made sure their staff were set up for this already.

The 75% Rule

This comes from a very wise Huddle volunteer: If 75% of it works, it’s a raging success. Focus on the great things, and don’t let the negatives take over the memory.

Plan for 75% of what you think your child can handle. Plan short visits. Bring more support than you need. Leave while you’re still winning. Build in a celebratory exit.

"We came, we saw the monkeys and the tigers, we got ice cream" beats "We experienced the monkeys, the tigers, every other animal, the floor of the reptile house, and an epic meltdown over dippin’ dots."

On the way home, name what went right:

• “You asked for a break when it got loud.” Use this to reinforce how great it is to ask for help in appropriate ways before they fall apart.

• “You handled the line like a champ.” Because sometimes it’s hard AND they can get through it, which is also good to remember.

• “What were the good parts/most fun parts?” So they aren’t focused on not getting those dippin’ dots.

They’ll remember what you highlight.

Re-envision the summer adventure

Some trips will be gorgeous. Some will be weird. Some will be 23 minutes long and end in a meltdown at the splash pad. And some will end with your child sprinting gleefully away from the family photo towards the street, chased by your Aunt Linda (thank you, Aunt Linda).

That doesn’t mean you did it wrong.

Success is showing up with a plan that fits your kid, creating space where they can be fully themselves, and finding the fun, safety, and connection inside the chaos.

Real summer isn’t a highlight reel. It’s sticky, funny, loud, and beautiful. Just like our kids.

Want more like this? Join our newsletter. No spam, no sales, no fluff. Just real talk, ideas, and advice, delivered monthly.

Want to talk through how to set your child up for success on vacation or at camp? Sign up for a 1:1 call, problem solve with me, and leave with a plan. It’s free and confidential.

[Read: Summer Survival, Part 1: It might be sensory] 

[Read: Summer Survival, Part 2: Defying the Rules of Summer Parenting]

Anxiety, part 3: How to help your child during a panic attack

[Part 1: Understanding your child’s anxiety so you don’t make it worse]

[Part 2: How to help your real life anxious child]

First, you need to know: When a child is panicking, it doesn’t always look like tears and fast breathing. It can look like defiance, rudeness, aggression, or ignoring you. They might scream, hit, shake, run away, or yell orders. Panic is scary, especially for the child experiencing it, but it doesn’t always look like panic. It looks like a child doing whatever they can to get help or get out of a situation, because they truly believe they are in danger. They are trying to survive.

So when it’s happening, your job is not to stop the behavior. It’s to recognize the panic underneath it, and help your child feel safe again.

You’re going to try to move through the same steps we talked about in our post about anxiety, but they need to look a little different.

1. Respond to the panic, not what it makes them do. They think the house is on fire. They're trying to get you out; they're not worried about being polite. You're going to ignore any disrespect, yelling, or bossiness for now. Not because it doesn’t matter, but what needs a response is the panic behind it. You can talk about behaviour later, when they’re calm. Right now, your job is to help them feel safe.

2. Stay calm yourself. This is hard, but it’s crucial. If your child’s panic pulls you into your own state of panic (or embarrassment or helplessness or anger), it’s going to be a lot harder to help either of you. You can’t co-regulate someone if you’re a wreck. You also can’t think clearly about what is possible or helpful if you’re, say, stressed about what all the people around you think of your parenting. And your child will sense your dysregulation and take it as a sign the situation is as scary as they think it is.

Drop your shoulders and your other plans for the next few minutes. Keep your tone of voice steady and calm. Imagine creating a bubble around the two of you, as much as possible. Just you and your child. That’s your whole focus right now.

Let your tone and physicality say: You are not alone. You are not in trouble. I’ve got you.

3, Try to get them to talk about it. 

If your child can talk, ask them to tell you what’s going on. “You seem really upset? What’s happening?” or “What’s going through your head?” The goal is to get them talking. Sometimes even labelling a fear can wind back the panic.

If they can answer, you’re going to use reflective listening: repeat what they’ve said back to them in a warm, calm tone. Not to validate the fear itself, but to validate that you hear them. "You're worried that something on the playground is bad, that something bad is going to happen," or “You feel like you can’t breathe and all your muscles hurt.”

You're not trying to reassure them. You're not contradicting them. You're just repeating what they said, trying to keep them talking. Ask, "Is that right?" For some kids, just hearing it in a nice, calm, grown up voice helps them start to come down. You can add, “That sounds really hard,” even if you know what is worrying them is ludicrous.

If they can’t talk yet, try thumbs up/down questions. “Are you worried something bad is going to happen?” “Would you like to move away from the dogs?” 

If they can’t even give a thumbs-up, validate the panic. “I can see you are really, really scared.” Say, “I want to know what’s going on. Can you try to point to the problem?” Ask if it’s something inside them or in the room, if they want to move away, if they can lead you to the problem. If they really can’t communicate, try something from the tools for calming and sensory reset section below. 

What about reassuring them their worries aren’t true?

The trick is this: your child really thinks there is danger. If they sense that you are skipping to “calm down” before you address their concerns, you’re only going to make them feel more alone and frustrated. Reassure them if it’s something easy and obvious, like, “We left my stuffedy in the diner!” and you can say, “Remember we gave Pokey to dad to take home?” But know that it might not work, and don’t try to convince them now. You’ll get a chance to address the fear itself when their system is calmer.

4. Make sure they know they are not alone.

Panic feels like danger, and it feels like nobody gets it. Show them you’re there (“I’ve got you”). Create that bubble for just the two of you. Use “we” as in “We can handle this” or “We’ll figure this out together.” 

Stay physically close. If they need space, say, “I’ll be right here,” and stay visible. Even if you need to move away for safety, make sure they know where you are, that you are still with them emotionally.

5. Give them a sense of control 

Panic makes kids feel like they have no control, over what’s happening, over their own body, over what might come next. You can offer a little of that back. Ask them: "What would help?" or “What do you need?”

They might yell, “I want to go home!” Instead of arguing, reflect, "You really want to get off the playground." Then, if it's something you can do reasonably, maybe just do it. "We'll go home. Let’s go collect your brother and your sister." Sometimes just hearing they can leave helps kids calm down.

They might say, “I have to get off this plane, right now!” when you are 30,000 feet in the air (not a hypothetical example).

Even if you absolutely cannot do what they want, still reflect, "I understand that you want to get off the plane." Don’t say, “ We can’t do that.” Try “Let me think about some options” or try to keep them talking. Then you work as hard as you can to help them calm without seeming like you’re invalidating the worry.

Tools for calming, sensory reset, and refocusing

Basically, you’re trying to:

• Interrupt the panic loop

• Calm their nervous system

• Pull them back into their “thinking brain

Give them a task "Can you collect everybody’s boots and line them up?” or “Can you count the backpacks and make sure we have 5?” Make the task doable and low-stakes. The goal is to redirect their focus away from the panic.

Take a pause. Often when my kid is in a panic attack, I say, "Okay, let me think." Then I take a deep breath, sloooowly, and I pull off my glasses and very carefully use my T-shirt to wipe down every inch of my glasses while breathing very deeply. And then I put my glasses back on. I exhale. Then I start talking again. 

Just that little pause sometimes disrupts the panic cycle. Offer them a snack and wipe down the tray table in nice, calming circles. Offer to sit next to them, and take a moment to clear the spot.

Or, be explicit. Say, “Oh, that is a hard one. I need thirty seconds,” and then take a deep breath. All that deep breathing calms you for sure, but it can also help co-regulate them.

Try sensory calming or physical touch. Offer to massage their hands, gently scratch their scalp, give them a deep hug. Move to a dark, quiet space, play a favorite song, use a scarf to create that bubble. You can do these things while reflecting their feelings. Always ask first before touching or moving them.

“Trick” them into regulating. Singing is great for this: you cannot sing without regulating your breathing. Some kids tune into a string of endless calm adult chatter, which replaces the chatter in their brain. Or, give them some grounding sensory input. Ask them to lift the heavy bags or squeeze the coats very tightly or stomp their boots on.

Get them thinking logically. Try counting, reading, planning, or building. “Is your heart racing? Let’s see how many times it beats this minute.” “How many kids are on the playground?” “Let’s name all the streets on our way home.” 

Get them into what’s really happening in the present moment. Ask them to name:

• 5 things you can see

• 4 things you can feel

• 3 things you can hear

• 2 things you can smell

• 1 thing you can taste

Ask them to name five parts of their body they can move, to say what parts of them are touching the ground/the chair/the air. These work best if you’ve practiced it when they’re calm.

Get them moving. Running, jumping, dancing, holding something heavy. “Let’s wave our arms and get your brother’s attention.” Get their bodies moving, which gets them breathing and (hopefully) flushes out the stress.

Remind them they’ve survived panic before. Even for kids who know they are having a panic attack, it can feel like they can’t breathe or are in danger just from the attack itself. For kids who don’t know, it’s even scarier. Remind them: "This is a panic attack. It's happened before, and you got through it. You'll get through it today too." 

Tell yourself that too.

When they are calm

After the storm (hours later, even), loop back with some quiet reflection. 

Label it gently. “You had a scary thought, and your brain thought it was real. It got your body super freaked out, and then your thinking brain got overwhelmed. That’s something called a panic attack. It feels awful, but it’s something we can get through.”

The goal is to validate the experience, and help them recognize it next time.

Point out that they got through it. “It was hard, but you did it! You got your brain back online and calmed yourself down.” Again, the goal is to help them remember that next time.

Make a plan. Next time you’re going to be in that situation, or if you think the panic will recur, make a plan. You might know a trigger now, so how can you help in advance? Ask your child what was helpful, what they’d like to try. Give them some ideas and some agency in advance, so maybe they won’t spiral.

Help other adults help your child

Prepare other adults to be most helpful to your child.

• Tell them what happens in an empathetic way: “Poor kid sometimes has panic attacks and gets so worked up she forgets all the rules.”

• Tell them what they might see: “When she’s really scared, she sometimes gets really bossy and yells. She’s not being defiant, she’s trying to communicate her panic.” If they can “catch” the panic early, they might be able to stop the spiral.

• Tell them what to do: “Bring her to a quiet space and talk in a calm voice. Don’t try to reassure her, just listen. Offer to rub her hands or gently guide her into a song.”

One last thing

You’re not going to handle this perfectly. You’re going to say the wrong thing, try the wrong thing. You’ll end up dragging them off the playground, leaving one shoe and six shocked strangers in your wake. You’re going to resort to hissing, “Stop. Screaming. Or I am hucking the iPad. I am not going to be the airplane woman on YouTube today.” (Ahem, also non-hypothetical).

You’re going to be there, though, in it with them, as best as you can. You’re going to make that bubble for them and for yourself and try to stay calm and remember some of these steps.

You’re going to help them learn that even in panic, someone will stay with them, that even in chaos, they can make their way back to calm, and you can get through this together.

You got this.

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Summer Survival # 2: Defying the rules

Summer is, we are told, the perfect opportunity to “work on” all the things we don’t have time for during the school year. We should:

• Keep up the academic momentum.

• Reinforce social skills.

• Do all that therapy you couldn’t squeeze in.

• Encourage independence, build executive functioning, and improve self-regulation.

• Skip camp and spend your whole day optimizing their growth, instead of or in addition to working your actual job.

• Do it all while making magical family memories, limiting screen time, keeping a consistent schedule, and going outside every day.

If you don’t? 

Well, obviously your kid will regress, forget how to do math, lose all their friends, and end up living out whatever your worst late-night fears for their future are.

Except. After all these years of parenting and helping other people do it, I know exactly one thing that is true for every family:

You are the expert on your kid. You get to make the rules.

This summer, we’re skipping the shoulds, and defying any experts, who’ve clearly never parented our kids. Here’s how.

1. Stop trying to fix your kid.

Put down the social skills workbook. Cancel tutoring. Skip the chess camp you secretly hope will teach them to lose without punching people.

Your kid doesn’t need to emerge from summer transformed. 

They need a break from being constantly worked on.

If they want to line up rocks for an hour, let them line up rocks. If they want to watch the same Phineas & Ferb episode seventeen times, fine. They’ve been masking and coping all school year. Let them just chill. Let them be weird in the fountain at the park. Give them a chance to be less burnt out when school starts.

Give yourself a break from being their teacher, OT, behavioural therapist, and social skills coach. This summer, you get to just be their parent. 

If your kid has to go to camp because you have to work? You’re still giving them what they need: a safe place to land, some rhythm to their day, and your love when they come home. 

You are not failing them by not “working on” them constantly. You are loving them exactly as they are, which is a lot more important than chess.

2. Structure doesn’t require schedules

Yes, children need structure. But this summer, try a looser routine without time markers, if you can work it. Morning stuff, then activity, then clean off and food, then something quiet, etc. If “activity” is three hours digging for bugs, that’s still structure. It’s knowing what to expect that’s helpful, not being there right at noon.

The goal is predictability, not precision. You’re not trying to have your kid experience their summer days as “productive.” What they need most is the space to slow down, feel safe, and have enough of a pattern to rebuild the internal rhythm that helps with real self-regulation.

3. Screen time is not the enemy

Not all screen time is the same.

Watching a favorite show while snuggled = connection. 

Building in a game for 45 minutes = maybe regulation, maybe escape (sometimes screen time isn’t entertainment, it’s a lifeline).

Yes, limit screen time. Yes, someday they should learn to connect and regulate in other ways. No, you’re not failing if your kids watch a movie every single afternoon, or build the whole movie in Minecraft afterward.

Ideas for making it work: 

• Be deliberate about when it’s screen time and put the devices far away when it’s not (no “dropping in” to the iPad every time there’s a down moment)

• One screen at a time (no game playing during the movie)

• Have a plan for transitions out (it’s so hard to put screens down, especially if they’re offering something you have a hard time getting elsewhere)

Pay attention to how the screen time affects your child. That’s a better metric than total hours. And if it really feels like your kid is “addicted” to the screen, ask yourself, what might be behind this behaviour? My guess is it’s that piece about something they can’t get elsewhere…

4. Give up on making them touch grass

Yes, nature is good for kids and a miracle drug for ADHD. Yes, movement is great for regulation. But if it’s unearthly hot and your kid says the sweat on their shirt feels like “spiky slime”? It’s not a moral failure to listen.

For sensory-sensitive kids, summer air, sticky sunscreen, buzzing bugs, and bright light can be legitimately intolerable. Pushing through it doesn’t teach resilience. It teaches them that their experiences of the world are irrelevant to our expectations.

🔗 Read: It might be sensory: strategies for tackling sensory challenges in summer.

You can invite. You can plan super fun activities. You can offer to tell fabulous stories and carry a stuffed friend on every walk. You can try early in the AM or after dark, if they’re up. But if going outside becomes a daily argument, it might be time to let it go for a bit. 

There are other ways to regulate. There are other ways to connect. There is time.

5. Re-envision outings and adventures.

Forget the highlight reel. Here’s how we’re doing outings this year:

We are not going on family bonding hikes this summer. It is a million degrees and this kid only wears plastic knock-off Birkenstocks.

We are not planning stock photo beach days or picturing all of us screaming in joy on the rollercoaster. Pile into the car with some Pop Tarts as soon as they wake up, before the sun is strong enough to burn, jump in the lake for 20 minutes, and come home while it’s still fun.

We are not pretending to be like most families. Ask for the accommodations. Explain their difficulties, and model effectively advocating for their needs. Let them be weird in the fountain.

(Get strategies for outings and adventures, including summer camp, in Part 3 - coming soon!)

6. Make your own rules.

Ignore anyone who judges you for deciding what’s best for your kid and getting it for them. 

You got this from me, so you can tell busybodies, “Actually, our parent coach said it’s fine.” Or just hand them a popsicle.

One more thing: What can *you* let go of this summer?

Your kid doesn’t need fixing, and you don’t need to win summer.

You don’t need to optimize everything. You don’t need to turn everything into a learning opportunity. You don’t need to have the Most Magical Summer Ever.

You don’t need to be constantly working on yourself as a parent. You don’t need to be a different person to help them. Just being here loving your imperfect and wonderful kids is enough.

This is the summer to help them feel safe. Seen. Unpressured. Let them be weird. Let them do less. Let them rest.

Let yourself rest too.

[Read Summer Survival #1: It might be sensory]

[Read Summer Survival #3: Your game plan for outings]

Want more support this summer?

Join a Huddle with other parents. Talk to me 1:1. Or ask your anonymous parenting question here. Nothing is off-limits, and nothing you say could shock us. Even if it goes against all the rules.

Summer Survival #1: It might be sensory

Summer is a sensory nightmare.

My youngest experiences heat as “needles in my skin.” Frozen treats melt down to your elbows. Things buzz near your face. Sunscreen. Fireworks. Chlorine. Sand.

Kids with hypersensitivity might experience these things as actual pain, or as something they truly can’t ignore. OR, they might not even realize they’re uncomfortable. They might just feel agitated or exhausted or convinced everyone at camp hates them (that was us).

If your child is struggling this summer, try investigating their sensory experience, even if they aren’t complaining about being hot or itchy. Then try some of these strategies.

What to Pack

Keeping cool: Reusable ice packs for the camp backpack, a small battery-powered fan, frozen water bottles that double as cold packs before they melt, wet bandanas for necks and wrists. A spray bottle filled with cool water can be a lifesaver. 

Sun protection without squirming: Solid sunscreen sticks that aren’t gooey, spray sunscreen nobody has to rub in, long-sleeved rash guards, wide-brimmed hats with chin straps. Try turning application into a "massage" with firm pressure instead of light rubbing. If they can tolerate it, have them count to ten-Mississippi, smear on what you can, and be done. Or abandon hope and bring an umbrella.

Sound management: Noise-canceling headphones and audiobooks for bedtime, earplugs for fireworks or on a motorboat. Some kids do better with earbuds that let in some sound but take the edge off. Some kids do really well with white noise machines, but white noise specifically makes my kid and I itch, so test and see what works (I like “brown noise,” which is just a different combination of sounds).

Texture solutions: Water shoes for kids who can't stand mushy sand or seaweed  or rough pool decks, Velcro so there aren’t pressure points on the sneaker laces, long loose pants and long sleeves to keep wind from tickling skin or rain from pricking it. Always have a dry change of clothes for after swimming, and check the inside seams in the bathing trunks. Bring a blanket they can sit on if grass feels awful. Serve the popsicle with a bowl to catch the drips before they’re stickified. Tie the hair back so those little pieces don’t do that thing with the sweat on your forehead.

Emergency regulation kit: Whatever helps your child reset when they're overwhelmed: a toy, a favorite snack, a comfort item, a soft cotton robe to change into, those headphones, dark sunglasses, a thin scarf to hide under, or something to focus on instead of how much it itches. 

What to Try

Build in breaks before they fall apart. If your child goes to camp, ask them to give your kid a daily "job" in the air-conditioned art room every afternoon. Plan a dip in a fountain or a run through sprinklers between camp and dinner. Retreat to the car and crank the AC in the middle of a beach day. Do this proactively, before they’re dysregulated, to ward off meltdowns.

Water resets everything. A swim or fountain dip provides a whole-body sensory reset. Run a lukewarm bath when you get home. Put them in charge of watering flowers and let them "accidentally" spray themselves. This is why our parents had those little plastic pools.

Also: make sure they drink it (not the pool water, though). They might not realize they’re thirsty, or, like my kid, they might think “water is boring.” Float some strawberries in it, or let them have the juice.

Give them some control. Let them put on their own sunscreen, if they want. Let them decide on outings, activities, what to wear, where to sit. Pay attention to what they choose: it might hold clues to what they’re trying to avoid. Let them decide how long to stay: promise them in advance you can leave when they ask to, then stick to it. Sometimes, feeling in control and not trapped makes tolerating the sensory experiences much easier.

What to Say

Label sensory experiences so they can learn to. Say what you're noticing out loud. Name the stimulus, your response, and a solution: "Wow, I'm so hot, I feel like I’m melting (or I'm getting cranky). Are you melting too? Let’s take a break inside." or "This noise is really getting on my nerves (or making me annoyed). Want to move somewhere quieter?" 

Label it for them when they’re agitated. “You are super jumpy! Is it the gritty feeling of the sand on your legs? Let’s sit on a towel.” Kids who can name what's bothering them and have solutions for it can ask for help before ending up in the camp office.

Use this structure to explain to camp counselors, babysitters, and family members. 

1. Describe the problem in an empathy-provoking way. 

“Sarah has some sensory issues that mean heat can feel like actual pain for her.”

2. Tell them what to look for. 

“She doesn’t always realize she’s overheated, so she might not say anything. Instead, you’ll notice she seems cranky (or resistant to directions or agitated, whatever is true for your child).”

3. Tell them what to do about it. 

“To ward this off, the camp director has said it’s okay for her to take a break in the office every day before lunch” or “If she gets dysregulated, it’s helpful for her to have a cooling break right away (or drink some cold water or use the ice pack in her bag).”

Keep It Short, Plan Your Exit

Whatever you're doing, plan for it to be shorter than you think will work. If you think your child can handle an hour at the pool, plan for thirty minutes. If you're hoping for a whole day at the amusement park, maybe start with a half-day.

You're not raising a child who can't handle things. You're teaching them to notice what their body needs and advocate for it. You're showing them that when they communicate their limits, you listen.

Have an exit strategy that doesn't make anyone feel like they failed. "We came, we saw the sea lions, we got ice cream on the way home" is a lot better than "we came, we saw sea lions, monkeys, and the super stinky reptile house, then we saw the floor of the women’s washroom and the horrified faces of zoo staff as I dragged my shrieking kid out the gates."

Remember: You're not trying to fix your child. You're helping them navigate a world that isn’t designed for their nervous system. Sometimes that means creative solutions. Sometimes it means leaving early. Sometimes it means staying home. 

That’s not failure or giving in. It’s raising a kid who knows their feelings matter, and knows what to do about them. Which is the whole point.

[Read Summer Survival #2: Defying the rules]

[Read Summer Survival #3: Your game plan for outings]

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Want to talk about it, get ideas, or vent with other parents who get it?

Join a Huddle. Or chat with me 1:1. It’s confidential, no cost, no judgment. 

Or, ask a question anonymously. Because sometimes it feels like too much to share. Use this confidential form, and get answers from me.

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Parenting is not a marathon

I've been training for a sprint distance triathlon with my sister—my first one. For those who don't know, a triathlon involves swimming, then biking, then running, with quick transitions between each stage where you frantically change gear and mindset before diving into something completely different.

People say parenting is a marathon, but I'm realizing it's more of a triathlon, if that triathlon had 12 stages, they didn't tell you which one was coming next, and it went on for the rest of your life.

In a marathon, you hit your running pace, your groove, and the challenge is to maintain it. It's hard, but it's all the same. It's endurance. This is not like parenting.

Kids change. Needs change. Nobody tells you what's coming next. The parenting books can hint at it, but they can't tell you how your specific, wonderful, unpredictable child will embody the particular challenges of that stage, or what they will need.

It's not a challenge of finding your groove and sticking with it.

It's more like you finally hit your swimming groove, and it's hard, but you got it now, and you're moving along. And then your kid is like, "Okay, now bike!"

But you're still in your wetsuit and you don't know where your bike is. Maybe you planned ahead and set up a transition area, but your specific child turns out to need a different kind of pedals. You have to pivot, and meanwhile time is passing, and your child needs you biking, but you're all wet and you're wearing a swim cap instead of a helmet.

But you do it. You get it together and you get on the bike, and you ride, and you hit your groove.

And then your kid says, "Okay, now run."

And you have to pivot again, because the bike and helmet are now the wrong tools, and time is still passing.

And honestly, it's just a short run. Anyone looking at it, any parenting or running expert, would say, "Oh, you've run this distance many times, you know what to do."

But you don't, because your legs are used to cycling and you're sopping wet and exhausted. So now you're also mad at yourself for not being able to run as fast or as well as they say you need to. And time is passing, and the old lady in the grocery store is saying things like, "Just treasure every moment," and the coaches are reminding you to stay hydrated for self care and live in the moment, but all you can think is "I AM TRYING!" and "What next?!"

Sometimes they don't even tell you what stage is next, so you're just trying different things and hoping to find your groove. Sometimes, the experts are telling you it's time to bike, but your kid is standing there holding a towel and floaties, and you don't know if you can trust your gut and dive back in.

Maybe you thought you'd mastered the bedtime routine (your swimming stroke is strong!). Then your child starts running out of their room at midnight or decides they hate their pajamas with every fiber of their being. Suddenly you're fumbling around in transition, trying to figure out what tools you need now.

Or maybe you finally figured out how to support your child through their anxiety at school (you're cruising on the bike!), and then their teacher changes, or they starting shrieking in music. Time to throw on your running shoes and figure out something completely new.

And if your child has a disability or behaviour challenges? Sometimes you're all geared up and ready to run, but your kid needs you to roller skate. Or cartwheel. The “experts” are still shouting instructions for the standard triathlon, but your child is asking for something that's not even in the rulebook, and you have to figure out how to support them in a sport nobody prepared you for. 

Here's the thing: transitions in a real triathlon are timed, but nobody expects you to be as fast in transition as you are in the race itself. You're supposed to feel awkward and a little panicked for a minute. The goal isn't to be perfect—it's to get yourself set up for the next stage as best you can.

Parenting transitions deserve the same grace. When your toddler suddenly becomes a preschooler with Big Feelings, when your needy child becomes a distant teenager grunting “I know, Mom!”—those transitions are supposed to feel clunky. You're not supposed to know exactly what you're doing right away.

The pivots ARE the parenting. It's not about setting up a system that works for every kid, every phase, all life long. It's about getting comfortable with the fact that you'll be learning new skills and adapting to new challenges for as long as you're a parent.

This is why looking at what's hard for your specific child right now, and figuring out ways to support them that fit works better than following someone else's system. What helps now might not help in six months, not because it failed—it’s just the next transition. The good news is each time, you'll know a little more about what works for you and your child. Each transition will feel a little less foreign.

Most of all, please remember: you're not supposed to be good at every stage immediately. You're not supposed to maintain the same pace through every phase. The fact that you're willing to keep learning, keep adapting, keep showing up for your child even when you're sopping wet and wearing the wrong shoes? That's not failing. That's good parenting. 

The goal isn't to never feel awkward in transition. The goal is to trust that you'll figure out what comes next, one stage at a time.

Want to do this parenting triathlon with a team? Come to a Huddle. Or grab a 1:1 session, and get your personalized coach.

How to help your real life anxious child in the real life moment (Anxiety, part 2)

[This is part 2 of a series on anxiety. Start with Part 1, Understanding your child’s anxiety, so you don’t make it worse. Or not – we know your time is limited.

[Read: Part 3: How to help during a panic attack]

Last post, I talked about understanding anxiety in our kids—how it's not always just stomachaches and tears, how sometimes anxiety isn't the real problem, and why the usual strategies can backfire spectacularly.

Now, let’s get into the real question: what actually helps? Because when your child is melting down about getting on the school bus or convinced something terrible is about to happen, you need strategies that work. Not next week, not after six months of therapy—but right now, in your living room, with your real-life anxious kid.

Classic responses to kids’ anxiety

You probably know many of these approaches. They generally assume anxiety is the problem (and they can work well if the child truly believes that it is—and sometimes even if not, especially when paired with other strategies). They’re aimed at calming the child, bringing them back into their thinking brain, and helping their system reset.

• Soothing. Tell them, “I’m here.” Say, "It's okay” or “There’s nothing to worry about.” Try singing, rocking, patting their back, hugs, deep pressure.

• Deep breathing. Try “balloon breaths” where they take a big inhale and then exhale big like they’re blowing up a balloon. Draw a square and let them trace it with a finger while they “box” breathe (4-second breath in/up, 4-second hold/across, 4-second breath out/down, 4-second hold/across).

• Engaging their logical brain. Ask “What’s most likely to really happen?” Reassure them with logic or science. Help them find perspective (“What’s the worst that could happen?”) or remind them they’ve done and survived this before.

• Co-regulation. Say "I'm here” and “You don’t have to do this alone." Take deep breaths yourself to help calm the situation. Use your own words to label what they’re feeling—just saying “You feel really anxious” has been shown to ease emotional regulation and help kids learn language to express themselves next time.

• Distraction. Break the cycle of fixating or ruminating with a favorite activity, or grab their attention in the moment with something they like.

• Punishment. Sadly, this is also a “classic” response to how kids express anxiety. We forget it’s not about the behaviour. We react to the yelling instead of the struggle underneath. We tell them to sit still, speak up, stop being bossy. We say, “I’ll talk to you when you’re calm” or send them to time-out. None of which helps them feel less anxious; it only forces them to escalate to be heard.

Again, many of these are reasonable and effective strategies. But sometimes kids need something different.

When a child is anticipating an actually terrible situation

In some ways, this is the hardest one — we can’t protect our kids from every awful experience. But we can help them face things with less anxiety and better chances of success.

Say your child is miserable every day on the school bus. It’s loud and smelly, the driver yells, the other kids tease them. It’s actually awful. So they worry about it every night. But the bus is the real problem—not their anxiety about it. Reassurance and suggesting they take deep breaths are not addressing the real problem and are not going to make it easier at bedtime when she dreads the next morning or when he’s sitting on the bus miserable and ready to explode. They just make us seem like we aren’t listening or we don’t care.

[more on this in Part 1: Understanding anxiety]

When a child is anxious about something imaginary or unlikely

The fear still feels real. The monsters are scary even if you know in the daytime they’re fake. A friend of The Huddle for Families who has OCD once explained it as the difference between being nervous to give a speech vs. genuinely believing the room you’re in is about to explode. When a child is truly convinced that something bad is going to happen, they’re not acting or thinking logically. They don’t WANT to calm down; they want to get out. They might even feel like their anxiety is keeping everyone safe.

In situations like this, the classic responses can actually escalate things, because they imply the fear — which the child really believes is real — is irrational or dismissible, which (as we explored in Part 1) can make the child feel unheard or even more panicked.

So, what to do instead?

1. Respond to the anxiety, not the manifestation of it

You can talk later about "behavior." Right now, don’t get triggered by any bossiness or disrespectfulness. Focus on the scared child underneath.

2. Stay genuinely calm yourself

A parent staying calm isn’t the magic fix-all some people preach it is, but kids do feed off our mood. It helps if you can remain genuinely calm—not pretending, not stuffing it down until you explode later. Model the self-regulation strategies you wish they were using. Stay in your own thinking, logical brain, so you can respond in ways that really help.

3. Figure out where the anxiety is centered. What kind is it?

Ask them:

• What's going on?

• What's got you worried?

• What's happening in your head right now?

• (when they're calm) Seems like every day you're worried about the bus. Can we talk about it?

• What are you picturing?

4. Show them they aren’t alone

Sometimes the most powerful thing is simply saying: “You don’t have to do this all by yourself” or “I’m here.”

Show them you’ve heard them. Before problem-solving or pointing out their own mistakes or faulty thinking, start with, “Let me be sure I understand. The bus is loud and smelly and you hate it. You get sick to your stomach, the other kids tease you, and the bus driver yells. That sounds awful. I understand why you hate that.” You’re not confirming their worries are accurate—you’re confirming how hard the experience is.

Try: “Oh, I can tell you’re really scared,” or “That’s hard!”

Labeling feelings helps regulate them. It gives the brain language, which supports emotional control. The more we do this, the more kids learn how to do it for themselves.

For some kids, it helps to respectfully mirror their big feelings, then guide them toward regulation. Try starting with big tone and facial expressions and gradually reining them in, like:
“THAT STINKS! That’s SO HARD! No WONDER your stomach hurts and you feel all jumpy. Whew. Okay. We’re gonna tackle this together. We’re gonna figure it all out.”

5. Give them a sense of control

Anxiety grows when we feel helpless. If we jump straight into fixing things or reassuring kids, we skip the chance for kids to feel capable—and may leave them feeling powerless.

Ask:

• “What would you like to do?”

• “What do you think would help?”

You might be surprised by their ideas. Even if they’re not workable, they help shift the brain from panic to problem-solving.

They might say, “You drive me to school every day?” Get all the ideas out first—don’t dismiss anything immediately. If they’re stuck, offer gentle options: “Some kids find it helpful if XYZ. Would you want to try that?”

If their idea is unreasonable (“NEVER GETTING ON THE BUS AGAIN!”), that’s not defiance—it’s dysregulation. They’re still worked up and trying to take control. Focus on the feeling: “You’re really worried about this!” and make sure they’ve let it out and know you heard them before you try to plan.

6. Make a plan

The plan doesn’t have to be perfect or logical to adult brains. Just making a plan does some important things:

• It gets us into our thinking brain. It helps bring kids away from the panic into problem solving. 

• It turns actually bad things into “expected things.” When we have a plan, things that happen or that other people do fall into the category of “I expected this, and I know what to do about it,” which makes us far less likely to react with rage or frustration.

• It makes us feel more confident. That confidence and reduced anxiety can sometimes translate to better coping skills. We’re not as stressed out or ramped up, so we have better access to good decision making. 

After the empathy, ask, “What do you want to do?” If they have a workable idea, great—start planning. If not, you can say, “Oh buddy, I wish I could, but I have to be at work at 9. Let’s think of some ways to make the bus better. What if…”

Can’t think of ideas? Try, “What would the bus be like if it were already so much better?” “What’s the biggest thing we can try to fix first?” “Who could we ask? What do you think they would say?”

[You can also chat with me about it — more info here]

Then make a plan. Maybe they wear noise-canceling headphones. Maybe they sit near the front and bring mint candy. Maybe they practice telling themselves, “She’s not yelling at me,” when the driver gets loud. Maybe you write a short, confident response for when other kids tease them—something that might defuse the aggression or help them feel more prepared.

You can even practice the plan. Use stuffed animals. Make it silly, make it light—anything that gives them more control in the moment.

Your plan can’t be utterly unrealistic (“I will ask everyone nicely to not yell or tease me” is not going to work, sadly). But it doesn’t have to be flawless. It just has to feel realistic enough to your child and reasonable enough to you. That combination can dial the anxiety way down—and help keep them in their thinking brain when it matters.

7. Warn the right people about the plan

Set your child up for success. If the plan is to ask to sit near the front, make sure the driver knows to say yes. If the plan involves asking other kids to play at recess, can you prep those kids through another parent or teacher?

When Nothing Seems to Work

What if you’ve tried everything, and your child is still struggling?

1. They may not be able to talk about it yet. Some kids can’t name what’s going on—or don’t even recognize that it’s anxiety. Think about how we sometimes get mad at our partner for being late, but the real feeling is worry. You may need to play detective to figure it out.
   

2. Their body may need a release. Anxiety lives in the body, often even after the initial trigger is gone. Try movement, stretching, deep hugs with deep breaths together, outdoor play, or a warm bath to reset the nervous system. Let them scream if they need to. Join in if you do – you probably need the release too, we know.
   

3. Panic attacks need slightly different support.

   [Read Part 3: How to help during a panic attack]

4. Remember: Their behaviour makes sense. Behind your child’s anxiety is a real need. When we start there—with empathy and some problem-solving—we can help them find their way back to calm. 

5. Remind both of you: you are going to get through it. You have done hard things before, and you will again. You got this.

Want help figuring it out?

That’s what we do.

• Book a free 1:1 chat. Ask questions, get support, and let’s figure it out together. Sign up here.

• Read Part 1 on understanding anxiety.

• Read Part 3: How to help during a panic attack

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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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Surviving and thriving at the doctor’s

Confession: this is a “do as I say, not as I did” post. I was not always a great advocate for my kids at the doctor’s office (see also: dentist, PT, therapist, ER…). I spent energy worrying about the provider liking us, thinking I was a good mom, and not judging my kid. I trusted too much – not that the professionals knew what they were doing (I think most of them do – this is not a rant against doctors, most of whom are amazing, overworked, and trying their hardest to help kids and families), but that they knew what they were doing for MY specific children. When I disagreed, I did it shyly; when I advocated, I asked vaguely ("It's a little loud in here?") instead of directly stating our needs ("Please turn down the TV before my kid and I both lose our minds."). I didn’t always stand strong when the front desk said no.

I know better and do better now. After all, almost everyone one a health care professional sees has some kind of disability or struggle, at least on that day, or they wouldn’t be there. That makes it the perfect place to model effective self-advocacy for your child. Which means it’s okay to ask for clarifications, accommodations, and different ideas. 

It’s okay to make sure you understand. It’s okay to ask the doctor to slow down. It’s okay to ask them to say the whole thing over again. It is okay to ask for a extra time so you can: 

• Take notes

• Ask one more question

• Bring a support person or interpreter

• Give your child (or yourself) processing time

• Help your child regulate before continuing so you can focus on the discussion and not on whatever your child is doing under that chair

Any good doctor *wants* you to understand the plan and feel confident. When the doctor ends the appointment, it’s okay to say,, “Let me make sure I understand.” Then summarize in your own words.

It’s okay to ask:

• How long until this helps? What's next if it doesn't?

• What warning signs should I watch for?

• Who do I contact with questions?

• Would you recommend this same approach if my child [didn’t have Down syndrome/autism/developmental delays, wasn’t overweight, used spoken language…]?

It’s okay to ask for accommodations. It’s okay to bring your child’s noise cancelling headphones and not make them greet anyone.  It’s okay to tell the trainee that your “history” contains sensitive, possibly embarrassing information, so you’d like to tell it once, to the doctor, and not repeatedly as a training exercise. Or that you’d like time alone to tell it. It’s okay to ask in advance what will happen at the appointment, so you can properly prepare a child who hates surprises. It’s okay to refuse to have your child weighed, if they’re sensitive about it. It’s also okay to ask to break long appointments up. The dentist can do half the teeth this week, and half next week. 

It’s okay to manage your wait time. It’s okay to ask how late the doctor is running and to say you’re going for a walk in the meantime. It’s okay to ask if there is a quieter, less crowded place to wait. It’s definitely okay to tell your child that the rules around screen time do not apply at the doctor’s office waiting room.

It’s okay to disagree. We can respect experts while saying, "That doesn't sound right" or "That suggestion won't work for our family; what else can we try?"  It’s okay to correct a doctor’s misunderstandings or incorrect assumptions. It’s okay to tell them something is a mismatch with your family values. It’s definitely okay to disagree if the provider doesn’t understand that you and your child are already doing the best you can or that your child’s struggles do not represent moral failings or lack of effort on their part or yours.

Of course, I know you are respectful. I know you don’t treat health care providers like servants or believe they invented science and medicine as a way to make kids sicker and get rich quick. You can be respectful and still model for your child that sometimes you have to disagree or ask twice for what you need.

The important thing is to remember what’s important. Getting your child proper healthcare, understanding the plan so you can execute it effectively, and modeling great self-advocacy for well-deserved accommodations are all important. Everyone loving you is not important. Don’t waste energy trying to change a judgmental nurse’s mind about your kid’s behaviour. And definitely don’t use it up testing your own ability to remain calm with Cocomelon blaring at full volume in an empty waiting room.

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You are not alone

Dear friends whose children express frustration, overwhelm, and need for help by being destructive, violent, offensive, or mortifying:

It’s easy to feel like you are the only parent in the world whose child has these struggles. Every other family seems to glide through the world without so many stumbling blocks and sticking points, without so much yelling. It’s easy to feel nobody understands. Sometimes, this is because literally nobody else you know understands. Sometimes it’s because you’re so mortified about things your child does when they are overwhelmed that it feels like you can’t possibly talk to anyone about it. Sometimes you talk to someone, and they try to relate, but the thing their kid did that they think is so awful is basically a dinner table tradition in your house. Or they give advice that is so simplistic or condescending that you want to scream. Or they never are able to understand, and the friendship fades or implodes.

It’s isolating and lonely. And also, I have to tell you: You are not alone.

Your child is not the only one ever to do the things your child is doing or having the struggles your child is having. They are not the “worst” or “most difficult” child in the whole school, city, or world. They are not the only child to break things or bite people or shout utterly awful things, or the only child to run away, or whatever other frustrating, violent, bizarre, or shameful things they are doing to beg for help.

Their needs are not extreme or unfathomable. They are not trying to be unfair to the other children and their needs are not unreasonable to ask school to support. Their needs are probably not even “special” – we all need to feel safe, connected, competent, and self-directed, and we all need “extra” assistance in our own ways.

Sometimes, adults seem to try to convince parents of the direness of the situation by acting as though a child is uniquely horrible or outrageous (“I’ve never had a student act this way!”). They want parents to “take this seriously,” as though parents don’t take it seriously when their child is flailing and in misery. Sometimes, people who think of themselves as experienced teachers or schools with a “really great program” seem to need to act like a child they don’t understand or can’t help is the problem (“Everyone else does really well here”). Sometimes they even seem resentful of a child for disrupting their “great” program or making them feel not in control. Sometimes other parents need to blame you or talk as though your child is a complete outlier, because it makes them feel less worried about things their own child does (“At least she isn’t like THAT”).

All of it can leave you feeling like you’re all alone. Your child is the only one. I worked in schools for 30+ years before starting The Huddle for Families. I promise: your child is not the only one. Nothing your child has done, said, thrown, yelled, or destroyed would cause me to be shocked or to judge them or you. All over the world, children are struggling and doing whatever they can to get adults to understand they need help. What I do find shocking are the terrible words, labels, and condemnation the world hurls at children who are, at the heart of it, trying their hardest, failing, being failed, and suffering miserably for it.

The truth is you don’t know who else is struggling. That child sitting in class quietly getting all the praise? They might be struggling, but for whatever reason, they express it by shutting down, masking, or being perfect instead of hurling water bottles. That super polite child of your friend’s who always remembers please and thank you and makes you wonder where you went wrong? They might go home and shriek at their brother. Everyone has a hard time in some way: some of us just are extra – or extra loud – about it.

You are not even the only parents at your school getting these calls and having these meetings. I promise those other parents exist. Find them. They are probably aching for someone who isn’t judging them or their child to reach out. Those are your new people.

[Story: A friend of The Huddle for Families told me this week that they’d attended a large gathering where everyone else was talking about how great their kids were doing, happy families played together, children smiled in stock photo kinds of moments. Not their kid, of course, because she is really struggling right now. This parent spent the whole event feeling alone, like everybody else there was part of a club they could never join. And then: a few days after they got home, they heard about someone else who’d been there. THAT person had spent the whole time feeling exactly the same way, like she was the only one whose kid wasn’t thriving. And they’d missed one another entirely. You are not the only one, even when you are sure you’re the only one.]

Find your people. Or come to a Huddle or talk it out 1:1. That’s a big part of why we started The Huddle for Families: so parents and caregivers can find one another, get some ideas, and feel a little less so desperately, depressingly alone. 

You are not alone, I promise. And your child needs you, because as alone and ashamed and helpless as you are feeling, they probably feel the same way. Luckily, they have you to tell them, “I got you,” and “We can work on this together,” and, maybe most importantly, “You are not alone.”

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Placement for Kindergarten (or any step, really)

“What class is right for my child??”

Sometimes it feels like I re-visited this every year for my kids’ entire childhood. And my own mother once told me her first response when I got into university was, “Oh thank goodness, I never have to worry about Jacqui’s school again.”

Honestly, there’s no “right” answer. 

There’s only the answer that works for your child and your family, for now. Nowhere is perfect: it’s a matter of prioritizing and deprioritizing. First, some real talk about what your options might be.*

Realistically, most school districts only have a few “levels” of support

Regular classroom. In Toronto, this usually means 29 kids, a teacher, and an Early Childhood Educator (ECE). Sometimes there’s also a Special Needs Assistant (SNA) who’s shared amongst all the kids who need help. 

Regular classes can include integrated extra support (this is written into a child’s Individual Education Plan, which might be called an IEP, IPP, 504, or something else). It is very rare to get individualized 1:1 support for your child in these classes. Sometimes regular classroom placement includes “pull out” special education, where your child leaves his peers and has time with a special educator or “resource specialist,” either for a specific subject or for part of the day. Pull out can also include Occupational Therapy, Speech Language Pathology, and more. At the heart, these are all add-ons to a regular placement, and what’s available will depend on your school, your district, and your child. These supports can sometimes take a while to set up, so they might not be in place right away when your child starts.

Alternative/charter/private/smaller classes. Many school districts have options for smaller classrooms or classrooms that focus, for example, on social-behavioural learning. These are sometimes structured to provide more support within the regular workings of the classroom (meaning the teacher is thinking in advance about what kids might need and builds it into the program before anyone starts to struggle). Some alternative/charter/private schools also offer educational support through pull-out programs or have SNAs in the classroom. Others might be too small to have the resources to provide “extras.”

Special education class in a regular school. This is a self-contained special education classroom that is “housed” in a regular school. In Toronto, these kindergartens are called “Diagnostic Kindergartens” or DK; other places have “transitional kindergarten” or “special day classes.” These are usually smaller (8-10 kids with two educators), and are supposed to be designed to help kids develop the skills they need to eventually enter the regular education stream. Many of them have opportunities to integrate with the rest of the school for certain periods. Sometimes these are separated by diagnosis or need; other times (Toronto), each class can have a full range of kids’ needs, so the “vibe” of the classroom can vary widely. Also varying is the level of academic achievement/expectation; in Toronto, DKs follow the regular Ontario curriculum, which means if your child is capable of that, they should be able to get it, but if they are not, they should receive extra support. In many places, special day classes’ level of academic expectation is set by the teacher, depending on the class. 

Special education school. These are schools entirely for children with disabilities. They’re called “congregated” settings or “intensive support programs.” These are usually for children who require full-day, very intensive support, often due to severe disability. In some places, these have classrooms for children with specific diagnoses, such as autistic kids with high support and safety needs. There are also some schools (often private) serving specific groups of kids, such as kids with learning disabilities or autism. Those programs vary widely in their capacity to help/handle children with behavioural challenges.

In truth, there’s a wide range of options, even within each of these levels. My last “regular” kindergarten class was 14 students with two teachers. 8 kids had Individual Plans for various reasons, but they also had me as a teacher, so the whole classroom was designed with built-in supports and accommodations. It’s possible (but hard) to find something close to what your child needs.

Except: you don’t always know what your child needs, and it doesn’t always exist where you can access it. We try to get close enough. The way I describe it is this: there is a classroom that offers too much support and a classroom that offers not nearly enough. Your child’s classroom is somewhere in the middle, and you might have to try some things out to narrow it down. It’s like finding the right dress for an event: you can have the best image in the world in your head, but at some point, you have to choose from amongst what is actually at the store.

Additionally, your choices will be driven by your own family’s needs: your other children, your values and priorities, your finances, time, and other resources, and everything else you are juggling in addition to this one four year-old. Please remember that is both allowed and encouraged: we all have to decide what we can sacrifice for one child and when we need to figure out another way.

Who decides?

I’m talking here as if parents announce to the school district, “I want that class,” and it happens easily. Not really. In many districts, the process for special education placement is arduous and restrictive, the goal being to integrate as many children as possible, whether or not typical classrooms are able to accommodate them. In Toronto, for example, there are layers of meetings and assessments before you even can get a Special Education Placement Recommendation Committee meeting, even for some kids who clearly will flame out in a typical classroom. Some districts have no (or super limited) special education at all for kindergarten; they just figure they’ll see who fails and work it out for grade 1. In most districts in Canada and the US, though, parents are supposed to be invited to participate in the process and have approval/rejection rights over any placement. Does this always happen? Hmph.

[interruption: I love attending placement meetings. This is a service The Huddle for Families offers, so if you want professional-seeming back-up at your placement meeting from someone who can throw around education terms and isn’t afraid to speak up, or if you want help making a plan in advance, let’s talk.]

So, how do I decide?

That is the real question, I know. Read on for advice and ideas on how to choose a school.

Or, sign up to Zoom 1:1 with me and talk it out.

* reality may vary depending on your district, of course

Help! My child is going to be 18, but they’re not ready to be independent.

What do I need to know?

1. This is hard. Charting a non-traditional path to adulthood has so much about it that’s hard: navigating systems, parenting teens and young adults, regret about past mistakes, judgment from family and community, the battle between our needs and our children’s needs and our other children’s needs, waitlists, marital disagreement, having to make long term decisions without being able to predict the future, career sacrifices, financial concerns, the feeling that everyone else’s kids are sailing along the traditional path and you’re all alone in this, anxiety about mortality, cultural mismatches, gender biases, fear your child will be taken advantage of – all of this comes into play, and oh my goodness, it’s hard. It’s doable and there are ways of making it easier, but if you are dreading it or in it and hating it or if you’re putting it off because you are simply not ready to deal, all of that is valid. And none of it is your fault.

2. You can’t do this alone. We don’t just mean you need personal support and all the members of your family who make decisions about your child need to be involved, although all of that is true. We mean: you need a team. You need professionals who know how to navigate the systems near you. You need programs and structures that work for your child. You need other people who can support your child when you aren’t there, because you will sometimes need to not be there. Therefore you can’t do it alone. You need the people or programs who understand and can care for your child and whom your child trusts, and you need to stop being afraid of asking for help. 

People to talk to for sure:

• Your child, if that’s possible. What are they thinking/wanting? What scares them about becoming an adult? What help do they know they need?

• Your partner/family/anyone who helps make decisions about your child. This is both so you’re on the same page and so you can get a sense of who’s “in” for the long haul.

• The professional who will be your referral to the new system (developmental pediatrician, occupational therapist, family doctor, social worker, guidance counselor, special educators…). This person should be familiar with services in your region and able to give some advice about navigating transition planning.

• Whatever office/program/provider is the “front door” to services for adults in your region. This may be called something like Developmental Services, Transition Planning, Adult Community Services, or something totally different that signifies it’s the place to start (in NY, it’s “The Front Door”).

• A financial advisor who can help you figure out your budget and needs and help navigate any funding applications.

• The physician or office that has all your child’s health records

• Your own support system. Again, please don’t be afraid to ask for help. These are the people most likely to know and adore you and your child. 

• Need to talk it out with other parents? We have a special Huddle on all of this on Monday, March 3. RSVP to hear more and have a chance to ask questions and problem solve for your own family.

3. Make a plan (for the short and long term). Even if your child is going to live with you, you need a contingency plan. You need a contingency plan for the short term, partly because you deserve a break, and also, if you develop sudden appendicitis, you need to have something in place so you aren’t trying to build support from scratch in the moment of crisis. You also need a longer-term plan, because while you are definitely a superhero, you are not going to live forever, and there needs to be a plan for that too (even though we all hate thinking about it). 

4. There is no right answer. What is “best” varies widely depending on your family, your values, your geography, your career, your finances, and most importantly, your child’s skills, needs, and experiences. Ponder:

• What daily living/independent skills does your child have already? What do they need to learn? What will they probably not be able to learn or handle any time soon?

• What kind of daily load can your child handle? Maybe they can do all of the skills for independent living one at a time, but can they handle them all at once, every day, all the time?

• What does your child need on their hardest days? It’s common to plan for the best days. What has to be in place to support them when things get really hard? What kinds of things might they do when they are overwhelmed or under-supported?

• What does your child need to feel safe?

• What kind of “growing up” is your child craving? What kind can they handle? There is a difference between independence (doing things yourself), autonomy (deciding what those things are and how to do them, making your own decisions, and charting your own path), and separation (moving away from parents and home). Not every child can handle all three, and it’s important to think about which of these is most important for your child.

• What does your child need to thrive (not just cope)?

Your answer will vary depending on:

• Your financial capacity and eligibility for help

• What kinds of support are available in your geographic region?

• Your family/community environment, and how big your team can be.

• Your value system and what’s most important to you to put in place for your child

• Your child’s siblings and other family members, their needs, and how helpful/willing they are likely to be in the future

• Your own energy, capacity, and needs. Please don’t ignore these when making a plan!

5. Don’t panic. This is a lot. But this doesn’t have to be finished today or next week or by the time they’re 18. It’s a process, not a one-and-done decision, and what’s working for you now may change. You don’t have to predict the future; you just have to have a plan. Also: there is help. We are happy to talk about it and offer advice. 

Want more help and advice?

Join our Transition to Adulthood Huddle, March 3. You can participate or just listen for advice. All you have to do is RSVP.

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“Aren’t they a little old for that lovey?”

Oh, the lovey. It might be a fabulously soft bunny blanket or a stuffed bear, dad’s old shirt or that one blue truck. It’s gotta come everywhere, it’s not allowed to be washed, and it’s irreplaceable (they’ll know if you’ve ordered a duplicate!). As kids get older, so do loveys. At some point, people start commenting, “Aren’t they a little old to still have that thing?” Grandma has opinions. And parents start stressing: Will my child never be independent? Will she get married with her bouquet in one hand and a thirty year old blankie in the other?? What can I do???

Here is the thing: We all have loveys – things that we use to feel safer and more confident.. Some of us have actual loveys, blankies, stuffed friends. Some of us have lucky jerseys, favorite undies, or a necklace that reminds us of our grandma. We have strict adherence to a diet or a vigorous workout schedule or a moral code. Some have fiction, some have prayer, and some of us have a three-tiered system of to-do list organizational software that makes us feel like we have control over the chaos (it’s me). Many of us use our cell phones as security blankets. Some people wear the same shirt every day or want the same seat. And some kids (and grown ups) feel a lot safer with a lovey, a blankie, or a stuffed friend.

The world throws all kinds of anxiety at us every day, and we do what we can to not be overwhelmed. Given the vast range of unhealthy things humans use to deal with stress and anxiety, an adorable stuffed bear who acts as a sensory comfort and a stand-in for a parent seems harmless to me. If a lovey or the same shirt every day or a having a favorite toy hidden in the backpack can diffuse even a little of that anxiety, if it can make it easier to sleep or get back to sleep in the dark, to self-regulate, to feel a little less alone at school, why wouldn’t I want my child to have that?

When we tell children “you’re too old for that,” we are saying, “something’s wrong with you because normal 8 year-old kids don’t need that.” We are saying being “normal” is more important than feeling safe. We are saying we don’t understand or accept who they actually are and what they actually need. Because they *do* need it, or something like it. Otherwise they wouldn’t be clinging to it. 

This is an important point, not just about loveys. Us *wanting* our kids not to need something doesn’t change the fact that they do. Taking support away because we think the child “shouldn’t” need it or we hate that they need it doesn’t take away the fact that they need it. And removing a child’s source of self-regulation and safety does not magically make them more confident or skilled at self-regulation.. 

So, be honest with yourself (I know, I hate it too). Ask why you care so much. Is it public opinion, as in you are worried about people judging your child and you? Are you embarrassed to have a child who still carries a stuffed bear? Is it that you’ve bundled a whole bunch of anxieties about your child into this concrete representation of everything “wrong” with them? Maybe seeing the lovey makes *you* anxious. Maybe it makes you feel like a bad parent because you think they “shouldn’t” need it. If this is about you more than your child (and trust me, that’s familiar), you gotta work that out in your own way. Our kids have enough people telling them they aren’t meeting invisible milestones and benchmarks for “normal” without us adding to it.

Now, let’s look at some possible ideas to help your child when they leave the house, or if the lovey is really getting in the way of their learning or play:

Substitute loveys. Can they carry one corner of the blankie in their pocket? Would a laminated photo of Teddy work? Can you find a mini-version of the lovey to hang from a necklace or a keychain on their backpack? Is there something else they could wear daily that might offer the same support? This is something you’ll figure out with your child. You might need to try a few things, to see what works. Or, can you turn the need for this one toy into the need for one of several toys? Maybe it’s the red truck’s turn to go to school. Starting to vary the actual objects might be the first step to being able to use different tools for self-comfort.

Sensory substitutes. If lovey is offering sensory input, is there another way to get it that might be more socially acceptable or subtle? For example, if the most important part of the lovey is the tag, can the child wear a string bracelet with a tag sewn on? If they like to hug Teddy, is there another way to get that squeezing sensation, like a hug vest or a big pillow to squeeze? Again, gather info and experiment.

Hidden loveys. Can Teddy live in the backpack at school and get quick visits? I have written the freedom to do this into individual education or safety plans (ours was something so much weirder than a teddy bear, but it still worked, so ask the school!). Or, can the lovey be incorporated into a scarf or another accessory or even stuffed into a soft bag on a keychain and worn around? 

Leaving the lovey somewhere safe. Can the lovey rest in a special bowl or case while the child works and plays? This can help kids who need a lovey near them, but also need their hands free. It might also help kids wary of leaving a stuffed friend at home because they worry about it. Maybe Teddy can live in the window, looking out for when the child comes home. Maybe while the child is at school, Teddy has to go to stuffed friend school, where he has all sorts of adventures that become that night’s bedtime stories (this last idea takes a lot of energy and creativity, I know. But if it works, you might find it easier to address other school struggles your child is having by pretending Teddy is having them too).

If other children tease (or you’re worried they will). That is unkindness, and it should be dealt with accordingly. If you preemptively say your child can’t bring the lovey because you are worried about other children being unkind, you may be sending the message that your child *deserves* to be teased. You’ll definitely be sending the message that masking or acting in ways specifically to avoid being teased is more important than feeling safe and getting what they need.

You could say, “There are some people who don’t understand the world who will make fun of someone because they have a lovey. This is unkind and also ridiculous, but in case it happens, let’s think about what you’ll say back” (this may avoid them ending up in the principal’s office with my awesome kid who once retorted, basically, “Yeah, well, I could leave this at home, but you’ll always be stuck with that face”).

The most important thing to remember. Some of the most confident, ambitious, extroverted people I know still have a favorite stuffed animal in the back of their closet, even as adults, and I don’t think those things are unrelated. Because we all – especially these days – could use a little safety. Like so many things about parenting, the hardest part is to trust that growth will happen. Someday, they won’t need that lovey so much. That day will come a lot faster if they’ve been allowed to feel safe, to let go of the support they need on their own terms and timeline, and to know that their most trusted grown-ups understand them and have their back.

You got this.

Want help figuring out other ways to help your child with anxiety or confidence? We are here to talk.

Talk to Jacqui 1:1. It’s free and confidential.

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Join a Huddle and chat about it with other parents working through similar things.

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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

Lower the Bar

You figured it out! You were a relentless detective, and you’ve got a strong idea of what’s making things hard for your child. Hurrah!  Now what?!

Picture this: you’re playing a game with your child. The goal is to literally jump over a broomstick or bar. They can’t do it. The bar is too high.

This is where you and your child are right now. We know they are already trying as HARD as they can. If they’re not jumping over that bar, it’s too high. There’s an easy solution: lower the bar.

This is a no-brainer in the metaphor. You hold the bar a little lower, to a place where you know they can do it, and let them practice there for a while before trying a slightly higher level. You would never leave the bar too high, encouraging them cheerfully, offering them rewards to motivate them to jump something they simply can’t. You lower the bar. You trust that they’ll practice at the lower level and build the muscles they need to jump higher.

In real life, this means temporarily lowering our expectations, maybe even eliminating them all together. It means allowing your child to work at a level you know they can achieve, trusting they will get stronger and gradually raising the bar as they do. It means dropping ideas of what children “should” be able to do and being realistic about what your specific and amazing child CAN do.

How do I lower the bar?? Here are some ideas:

Start where they are. Reduce the task to a level you know they can achieve. Make it easy while they gain confidence and maybe reduce the anxiety they have built around this thing we’ve been asking them to do every day even though they can’t do it. This has the added benefit of letting you raise the bar slowly, in specific ways that allow you to test to see where things fall apart, so you can better help fix the problem. If they consistently fall apart ¾ through the math work, let them only do ½ of it and build from there. If they can get dressed entirely but melt down over zippers, start the zipper for them, and let them finish the job. You don’t run a marathon without spending many weeks running not nearly that far.

Separate the expectations. Tackle one challenge at a time. If a task has many expectations, can you separate them so your child only has to work on a few at once? If they can’t sit still for 15 minutes for silent reading, can they practice reading aloud while dancing around the living room, and then practice the sitting still and silent part another way? Can you practice reading comprehension and discussion on books you read aloud to them, so you’re separating the need to decode from the need to understand? If your teenager can’t write the essay, can they TELL you the thesis and what supports it, and you record it for them, so they can feel like they’ve started a first draft?

Offer selective help. You’re not doing it for them; you’re offering assistance as needed. You start the zipper, and let them pull it up. They start tying their shoes, and you double-knot them. For regular tasks that spark regular meltdowns, you can say, “Do you want to try it yourself or would you like me to help?” You can start with the first steps of the task, if that’s what they need. Some kids like this because it helps them get going. Or, you step in to help them finish the last steps. Other kids like this because the task is already less overwhelming when it’s their turn. Either way, gradually turn steps over to them until they can do it themselves. Give them a ride into the washroom and put the toothpaste on the brush for them, but let them do the brushing. Send them to do the easy math problems, then step in to help with the rest.

Drop the expectation entirely (for now). If it’s truly too hard, as evidenced by the fact that it’s not working, drop it for now. If they can’t swim, get them out of the deep end. Do this PROACTIVELY and for real. This means everyone involved agrees this thing is not an expectation for now. It doesn’t mean trying to get the kid to do the thing every day and then giving in when they can’t, or looking longingly at the thing and clearing your throat and hoping. This only perpetuates anxiety and, honestly, reinforces the escapist benefits of however they are protesting or showing they are overtasked. Instead, you’re going to agree that, for now, the lunch room is not a thing your child is going to be asked to do. You’re going to tell your child this with no disappointment or frustration. There is simply a point past which you cannot lower the bar except to say, “This is too hard, let’s jump together with no bar or go play lego.”

But doesn’t this mean I’m “giving in”? Lowering the bar is NOT a sign of weakness. Quite the opposite: it is a sign that you understand your child and believe in their potential to grow and learn. It’s a sign you are strong enough to stand up to a world that places so many “standardized measures” and “milestones” on real children who grow and learn in varied and disparate and asynchronous ways. You are showing your child all of this, and also showing them that you have their back and think they are fundamentally capable, and that you know they are trying as hard as they can.

But doesn’t this mean they’ll “never learn”? First of all, if they are failing to the point of frustration or overwhelm every time they try, they’re not learning now. Or, rather, they are learning that they stink at this and maybe it’s not for them. Second of all, this is actually how humans learn best, by starting with something just on the other side of easily achievable and practicing, gradually making things harder as we get better. You’re going to celebrate the heck out of every win, even if they are far below what kids that age are “supposed” to be able to do. You’re releasing your child from the stress and anxiety surrounding the task so they can focus on learning it, which is the ONLY way they’re going to have the perseverance they need to figure it out.

The elephant in the room: Maybe they are never going to be able to do this. Maybe being in a music class with 29 other 8 year-olds playing recorder poorly is ALWAYS going to be too much for them (it is for me). Lowering the bar or dropping the expectation is STILL the best thing to do: you are helping them understand themselves and what they need. You are showing them they deserve support and understanding from others. And, you are giving them a vocabulary for asking for it. These are the pillars of self-advocacy in any situation, for any child. And they are far more important to learn than the recorder.

Want ideas for lowering the bar or help figuring out why it’s so hard in the first place? That’s what we do. Talk it out with me 1:1 (office hours are free for now).

Want to meet some other nonjudgmental, ready-to-help parents whose kids are having trouble metaphorically jumping? Find your Huddle.

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

Library

Everything that’s here, so you can find articles and answers fast.

Latest: My child doesn’t listen

Start Here

“Is this all my fault?”

When a child can’t swim, we don’t punish them for struggling

It’s not about the behaviour

9 Things to Consider First (Quick Start to figuring out what’s making it hard)

Quick Guides

9 Things to Consider First (Quick Start to figuring out what’s making it hard)

When it’s already hard: Triage for school struggles

ADHD Quick Guide: 5 things to know, look for, and try

Communication Quick Guide: 5 things to know, look for, and try

Sensory Quick Guide: 5 things to know, look for, and try

What might be behind the behaviour?

It’s not about the behaviour

Figuring out what’s making it hard: Where to start

9 Things to Consider First (Quick Start to figuring out what’s making it hard)

“He just wants his own way.”

“Why can’t they just sit still?” (family dinner edition)

“She just goes zero to sixty!”

“She just wants attention."

Summer Survival #1: It might be sensory

Anxiety #1: Understanding anxiety (so you don’t make it worse)

ADHD #1: Understanding ADHD

Communication #1: Understanding Communication

Understanding Sensory Challenges

Why are transitions so darn hard?

My child doesn’t listen

So, what to do about it?

Lower the bar

Aren’t they a little old for that lovey?

How to help your real life anxious child in the real life moment?

Summer Survival: It might be sensory

Summer Survival, part 2: Defying the Rules

Summer Survival, part 3: Your game plan for outings

Anxiety #2: How to help your real life anxious child in the moment

Anxiety #3: How to help during a panic attack

ADHD #2: Real Life Strategies for Your Real Life Child

Summer Survival #2: Defying the parenting rules

Summer Survival #3: Your game plan for outings

Communication #2: Real life strategies for your real life child

Real Life Sensory Strategies

Education & advocacy

Getting your school ready to go back to your child

How to choose a school

School plans that actually help: Safety Plans, IEPs, 504s, and SSPs explained

How to project manage your school meeting

How to create a safety plan that actually keeps anyone safe

When it’s already hard: Triage for the first month of school

Transition to Kindergarten (or any step, really): Placement & Options

When a child can’t swim, we don’t punish them for struggling

Surviving and thriving at the doctor’s office

Real life, real talk, realistic advice

Handling holiday chaos and criticism

“Those kids with behaviours, it’s really the parents, right?”

Aren’t they a little old for that lovey?

Help! My child is going to be 18, but they’re not ready to be independent

Please remember (things to remind yourself when you are really in it)

This is not your fault.

You are not alone.

How to be strong

Parenting is not a marathon

Happy new year & what to look forward to in 2025

In the darkness of last January, we had the spark of an idea: create what we wished we’d had when our kids (or we) were overwhelmed and under-supported, school was awful, and the meltdowns were many. Offer parents and teachers empathetic and practical support centered in lived experience and developmental expertise, and build an inclusive, non-judgmental community with whom to laugh, problem solve, and feel a little less alone.

It’s hard to believe it’s been just a year.

What we’ve done

Lots of Huddles!  We’ve gathered online to learn, share, and problem-solve together. We’ve started building our community, and we’ve left each Huddle with a plan.

1:1 Coaching. We’ve offered empathy, education, and practical strategies in private coaching sessions. “Office Hours” every Wednesday afternoon are free of charge and open to anyone who wants to talk something out.

Lots of writing. Our website is full of learning, sharing, advice, and humor for people who want to stay anonymous while they learn or connect. No paywall, no judgment, no registration.

Partnerships. We’ve worked with parent groups, day camps, and other nonprofit organizations to help them create inclusive, effective spaces for all children, especially those who struggle.

Organizational foundations. We are officially incorporated as a nonprofit in Canada (hurrah!). We have sound financial and strategic infrastructure and governance and an amazing Board and Advisory Team leading our way.

What’s up next

More programs! We have so much we’re excited to do. In the first months of 2025, we’re talking transitions – Transition to Kindergarten, Transition to Adulthood, and why transitions are so darn hard. We’ll keep adding Huddles based on what folks need. We’re also extending free Office Hours into 2025, so sign up, and let’s chat. Or refer a family, client, or friend.

More partnerships. We’re talking with nonprofits, schools, and hospitals about how The Huddle for Families can serve their clients and help make their own spaces as inclusive as possible.

Charitable status. We have applied for official Canadian charitable status, and hope to also earn US 501(c)3 status. This will make donations tax deductible and open doors to more partnerships and grants.

What you can do

Spread the word! Refer friends and family who might benefit from programs. Share the link to your favorite blog article (here’s mine). Show our website to your developmental pediatrician and OT. Introduce us to someone in your parent association. Like and share what we post on Instagram, Facebook, and LinkedIn. Do what I do and talk about The Huddle for Families endlessly in social situations and Ubers. Our community grows best through personal connections, so you’re the key to reaching more families.

Help us grow. Have ideas or expertise to offer? We’d love to hear it. Have questions? We love requests for Huddle and article topics! Know an expert on US charitable status for Canadian nonprofits? Please! If you haven’t been to a Huddle yet, come on in! We love when people share their own experiences to help others feel less alone. Lastly, this is not a fundraising email, but we adore surprise donations when we aren’t even asking (and we can always use them!).

You have already done so much

You’ve donated to test the website and surprised us over Thanksgiving with big donations. You’ve taken care of the detail work and helped me process out loud over coffee, zoom, or phone. You gave time, funding, and encouragement before you even knew what or who we were. And you’ve shared your stories, your worries, and your fierce, protective love for your amazing children. You’ve taken what you’ve learned at Huddles and been a voice for inclusion and understanding at your schools, camps, and parent groups. You’ve done so much to support families and children and The Huddle for Families, and we couldn’t be more grateful. Thank you.

I hope your new year is peaceful.

I hope your snow days are fluffy, and your mittens always have a pair. Most of all, I hope you can remember that from here on out, there will be more and more light, and less and less darkness.

Warmest regards,

Jacqui

Handling holiday chaos & criticism

Ah, the holidays. Families gather, lights and candles twinkle, music plays, delicious food cooks. Adults sip warm drinks in the kitchen, the cousins play downstairs, and Grandma’s golden retriever snores by the fire.

Except...

For some kids (and parents), those lights are flashy or uneven on the tree, the bells pierce sensitive ears, and dog is terrifying. Open flames? Either irresistibly tempting or panic-inducing. Meanwhile, this crowd of barely familiar cousins plays made up games with mysterious, ever-changing rules, the grown-ups demand hugs and eye contact, and the questions are relentless and hard to answer: How’s school? (I hate it). What’s your favorite subject? (19th century military strategy, but I got warned in the VERY long car ride not to “bore everyone silly” with it). 

Routine? Gone. Escape routes? Nonexistent.

And that’s just the kids. Parents field loaded questions too: How’s Carla? (I’ll cry if I talk about it). Meanwhile, your mom is pushing “firmer limits,” Aunt Judith declares there wasn’t “all this autism” in the ’80s, and your child’s safe foods are nowhere to be found. By dinner, you and your child are done—meltdowns, exhaustion, or both imminent.

What’s a parent to do?? Some ideas:

Prepare in advance.

Prepare your child. Practice getting and giving gifts and greetings. Explain exactly what they’ll need to do during services. Show them family photos, so folks are familiar. Most importantly, work out in advance what they’ll do if they’re struggling. How can they signal they need a break and how they will take it (“If it gets too much, you can make the ‘break time’ sign, and go listen to audiobooks in our room for ten minutes”)?

Prepare your family. Build empathy and understanding. Share that this child they love has been struggling and feels worried or overwhelmed. Warn them that sometimes that worry or overwhelm comes out in ways that others misinterpret as misbehaviour or rudeness. Recruit your “people who get it” team. Tell them how to help (“When Carla gets anxious, she sometimes uses a harsh tone, which adults who aren’t as understanding as you misinterpret — poor kid gets in trouble all the time. If she seems anxious while we’re here, here are some ways to help.”). Recruit an older cousin to play separately with your child or to help them navigate the group. Recruit your teenage nieces to take your child outside and run off the squirmies. Recruit your sister-in-law to stand up for your family’s routines.

Set your boundaries. The best boundaries are things *you* control (you can’t make Aunt Judith serve dinner earlier than 9pm, but you can say you’ll attend for hors d’oeuvres then duck out at 8pm for bedtime). What other things do you need to avoid or add in to give your child the best chance of success? I promise the holidays will still happen if you don’t do everything.

Prepare your space. We are not “throw all the kids in the basement with some sleeping bags” people. Put your child to bed somewhere they have a chance of sleeping well enough not to be wrecked by the second day. Bring your tools (headphones, sensory support, stuffed friends, games). Create a safe space for an escape when the crowd is too much. Set up a corner, hang a sheet, throw some pillows in the bathtub and let them close the curtain. Ask Grandma to turn the music down and put the dog away. Show your child their space as soon as you arrive, and tell them any rules for using it. Knowing there’s a safe place to reset can make all the difference for both of you.

Once you’re in it

Routine. Routine. Rest. Repeat. Maintain your routine as much as possible, or make a new one. Sticking to an order of events helps kids predict what’s coming and feel less anxiety. Schedule in quiet time, even if you have to miss afternoon activities, especially if your child never gives themself a break willingly. Make your child’s bedtime inviolable. This does not make you “a stickler,” and it doesn’t mean you’re “letting your child run your life” (pipe down, Aunt Judith). It means you are an awesome parent who is giving your child the rest and predictability they need to be part of a family event that will now be more fun and enjoyable for everyone.

Respond to criticism with education, not embarrassment. People might criticize you or your child, outright or passive aggressively. They might even say things you yourself worry about in the dark. Remember: people are not saying those things because they are true; they are saying them because they don’t know any better. Take a deep breath, pretend to be fine, and educate them: “Actually, for many children with OCD, unfamiliar foods can cause nausea and panic. Carla’s sticking to her safe foods so she can enjoy dinner with people she loves.” Done. Don’t argue. Just give Carla her plain noodles and a hug. In educating your family, you help Carla identify and label her own needs to self-advocate. Worst case scenario: distract them (“Oh, Aunt Judith, you’re so sweet to be worried. How’s your arthritis?”)

When people are unkind to or in front of your child. Sometimes kids ask why family members seems to judge them or act in hurtful ways. Sometimes family is outright unkind. My instinct used to be to sort of gaslight my kids: “Oh no, Aunt Judith loves you very much, she’s just not good at showing it.” I think I was wrong. Hurt feelings need to be validated, kids can tell when we are lying, and the priority is your child and her understanding of herself and her relationships. I wish I had been honest and validating, making sure my kids knew they weren’t to blame (“That hurt your feelings. I’m sorry Aunt Judith doesn’t understand. That’s her mistake, not yours.”). Our children deserve to feel like people who love them will work to better understand and support them, and they deserve for us to recognize when they’ve correctly interpreted a situation, even if it’s uncomfortable.

The main point: The priority is your child, her trust in you as a fierce warrior who gets her, and her understanding that she is not wrong or bad for needing different things than her cousins. So be her protector and her advocate, even when it’s hard, even if Aunt Judith* sniffs. And then everyone take a little break in the bathtub.

You got this.

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

* For the record, I do not have an Aunt Judith! I have lovely aunts and aunt-in-laws, at least one of whom reads this blog and totally gets it.

How to create a Safety Plan that actually keeps anyone safe.

This month, many parents got that letter from the school. Maybe it makes it sound like your child is a hardened violent criminal. Maybe it has terrifying phrases like “presents danger to self and others", “call 911,” and “physical restraint.” It’s scary and mortifying. Teachers get these plans, generic, full of “strategies” that aren’t helpful in the moment of crisis, and containing little that seems like it will keep anyone safe.

It doesn’t have to be that way. A solid Safety Plan is actually a super useful tool. It’s simply a set of instructions and interventions for adults to use when a child becomes overwhelmed or distressed. It’s supposed to follow a child around the school, so that every adult — every lunchroom attendant, every temporary teacher, every after school helper — know what signs indicate that child is becoming distressed, and what to do to keep them from escalating or to de-escalate if it’s too late.

Unfortunately, too often, these plans are not helpful. Here’s how to fix that.

If all this seems like too much (or you don’t have time to read because who does?), let’s figure it out together.

Start BEFORE things escalate.

Most plans begin after a child has begun shrieking or throwing things. This is too late. You need a plan that starts when it’s still possible to ward off the crisis.

Check out our Downloadables page for a template you can use.

The first thing in the plan should be a list of the kinds of situations that are hard for the child (e.g., assemblies in the gym). Some plans call these “triggers.” I prefer “stressors.” Alongside, you’ll have a list of ways to make those situations easier (“Mari may choose to sit on a chair at the side of the gym, rather than on the floor with her classmates”).

Then, instead of only addressing crises, you create the plan in stages:

• Stage one: anxiety or discomfort (this is where something has triggered the child, and they are starting to have feelings about it)

• Stage two: frustration or defensiveness (things are starting to heat up, but a crisis is still preventable)

• Stage three: crisis or loss of control (this is where people need to switch into de-escalating)

For each of these stages, you’ll list:

• What to look for and listen for (what are the clues this child is anxious or uncomfortable?)

• What to do about it (what to say and how to help your child feel safe, understood, and able to stay regulated)

Individualize the plan to your child.

Again, these plans are often generic. Some of the clues are things a lot of kids do. But each child has indicators specific to them, so make sure the plan includes those, and be as specific as possible (“difficulty finishing sentences or repeats questions over and over” or “takes deep inhales and huffs exhales”). The hope is that the adult in a child’s life sees these clues and thinks, “ Aha! I know what’s happening here. He’s distressed. Let me use the language/strategies in his plan.”

Similarly, the strategies and interventions you offer need to be individualized. What actually helps this child when they’re upset? If possible, ask the child. (If you want help thinking of ideas, we can help)

Make the strategies actionable and specific.

“Make child feel safe” and “use gentle words” are not specific strategies. We’re looking more for “Allow child to access their safe space/headphones/special toy” (and be specific about what/where those are) and “Using a calm tone of voice, tell Mari she is not in trouble, and ask what she needs.” I am a huge fan of direct quotes. They take the guesswork out for teachers and other adults and comfort children because they’re familiar (“Say, ‘Mari, I notice you’re wringing your hands. How can I help?”). I am also a fan of pre-set spaces, objects, and assistive communication tools (“Ask if Mari would like to use her flashcards to choose a ‘calm down’ activity. These are located in the fanny pack Mari wears each day.”).

Look, children don’t think straight when they are distressed, and adults don’t think straight when they’re stressed a child is headed to crisis. A good plan provides adults with specific language and strategies, so they don’t have to invent them on the spot, and so they can remain calm because they know what to do if things ramp up.

List the safe helpers

We all work better with some people than others. A child may have their distress magnified or mitigated depending on who comes to help. Good Safety Plans list 3-4 “safe helpers” that any adult can call to assist the child. Here is a tip: if the people on a child’s list are the same people who come when that child gets in big trouble, their appearance is unlikely to de-escalate anything. Find some “neutral” teachers or support staff whose “Hey buddy, you okay?” has a chance of helping.

Don’t forget repair and re-entry.

Your plan should include Stage Four: recovery, re-entry, repair, or restore. This is an essential part of helping the child learn, helping other children feel safe, and making sure the child feels welcomed back to the community. This is not punishment. It is making sure a child is okay after what was, trust me, a super difficult time for them. It is conversation and question-asking, and giving everyone involved space to express feelings and make amends. Classroom restorative practice programs can really help. The important things are that there is a plan for re-entry that focuses on support and learning, not “consequences” and forced apologies.

Don’t go overboard.

The meat of this needs to fit on one piece of paper, or it will simply be too much to expect new/temporary adults to access. Focus on strategies for prevention and hit the most important ones.

Children should not be physically restrained.

They should not be wrestled to the ground, locked into rooms, receive corporal punishment, or be screamed at. If a child’s plan doesn’t state this outright, add it in. These things cause trauma that lasts well after the crisis ends. Plus, they don’t work to de-escalate anything. Would “safe restraint” techniques work to de-escalate you?

Have the meeting

Most of the time, these letters come with an offer to meet to discuss the plan. Have that meeting. Ask that as many people involved with your child as possible are there. Come in with draft plan ideas and be ready to project manage the meeting. Ask, “What’s the school’s process for making sure everyone working with my child understands this plan?” Teachers, make sure parents feel the plan is appropriate. If they want you to engage in strategies you feel won’t work or are inappropriate, you’ll need to explain.

Get help.

Come to a Huddle.

Talk to us 1:1.

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

“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.

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