Understanding the Child Behind the Behaviour
There are some children who walk into a classroom carrying nothing but a backpack. And then there are children who walk in carrying an entire suitcase. The trouble is, we can’t always see it. We see the child who refuses to sit down. The child who interrupts. The child who pushes. The child who cries over something that, to us, seems completely insignificant. The child who needs our attention every thirty seconds. The child who says no to absolutely everything. And because we can see the behaviour, we often assume we understand the child.
Difficult. Defiant. Attention-seeking. Lazy. Immature. Disruptive. Anxious. And, my personal favourite: “Probably ADHD.” Or “There is clearly no discipline at home.”
We are very good at creating stories about children. Sometimes we create them so quickly that we forget to ask whether the story is actually true. Because behaviour is visible. The suitcase isn’t.
Imagine walking into a classroom and seeing a child lying underneath a table. Your first thought might be: Oh, for goodness’ sake. Your second might be: Get out from under there. Your third might be: Why does this child always do this? And before you know it, you’ve attached a meaning to the behaviour. They’re being difficult. They’re testing boundaries. They’re looking for attention. They’re refusing to participate. But what if we paused? What if, instead of immediately asking: “How do I stop this?” we asked: “What is this telling me?” Because the behaviour might not be the whole story. It might be the only part of the story the child currently knows how to show us.
Behaviour isn’t a biography This is something I keep coming back to: Behaviour isn’t a biography. It is communication. A child who refuses to participate isn’t necessarily a refusing child. A child who cannot sit still isn’t necessarily disruptive. A child who constantly seeks attention isn’t necessarily attention-seeking. Perhaps they are seeking connection. Perhaps they are overwhelmed. Perhaps something about the environment is too much. Perhaps their body is communicating something their words cannot yet express. Perhaps “I won’t” actually means: “I can’t yet.” And that little word, yet can completely change the way we respond.
Every child arrives carrying something Now, before anyone panics, let me say this very clearly: Understanding behaviour does not mean excusing behaviour. Children still need boundaries. They need expectations. They need consistency. They need to learn that their actions affect other people. A child who hits another child still needs to be stopped. A child who disrupts a lesson still needs boundaries. A child who hurts someone cannot simply be told, “It’s okay because you were overwhelmed.” It isn’t about removing boundaries. It is about holding the boundary while holding onto curiosity. There is a difference. We can say: “I won’t let you hit your friend.” while also wondering: “What has happened here?” We can say: “You still need to join the group.” while asking ourselves: “What is making joining the group difficult today?” We can hold the boundary without making the child the problem. And perhaps that is where things get interesting. Because sometimes we become so focused on changing the behaviour that we forget to understand the child producing it.
I think about children carrying suitcases all the time. Some luggage is obvious. A child might tell us: “My parents are getting divorced.” “My granny died.” “We moved house.” “I’m scared.” But some luggage is much harder to spot. A child might be carrying sensory overwhelm. Fear. Frustration. A developmental difficulty. A communication barrier. A need for connection. A difficult transition. A body that struggles to regulate. A world that simply feels too big. And sometimes, we don’t know what is inside the suitcase. We may never know the whole story. But we can choose not to assume there is no story simply because we cannot see it.
As teachers, we hear won’t quite often. “He won’t listen.” “She won’t sit.” “He won’t participate.” “She won’t share.” “He won’t stop.” “She won’t follow instructions.” And sometimes, yes. A child is simply making a choice. Children are human beings. They have opinions. Strong ones. Sometimes impressively strong ones. I have met three-year-olds who negotiate with the confidence of senior corporate executives. But sometimes won’t is something else. Sometimes a child genuinely cannot yet do what we are asking of them. That doesn’t mean we lower every expectation. It means we become curious about the gap between the expectation and the child’s ability to meet it. What support is missing? What does the child need? What is happening in their body? What happened immediately before the behaviour? What happens afterwards? And perhaps most importantly: What are we seeing when we look beyond the behaviour?
One of the reasons I am so drawn to Bernard Aucouturier’s Psychomotor Practice is that it challenges us to think about children as whole beings. Children don’t communicate only through words. They communicate through movement. Through play. Through their bodies. Through how they enter a space. How they move through it. How they interact with objects. How they interact with us. Aucouturier reminds us that: “Psychomotricity is an invitation to understand that the child expresses his inner world by way of motor skills.” And I think that gives us a very different lens.
Instead of simply seeing a child moving too much, perhaps we become curious about what their movement is communicating. Instead of seeing a child who cannot settle, perhaps we wonder what their body is trying to manage. Instead of immediately asking: “How do I get this child to stop?” we might sometimes ask: “What is this child’s body telling me?” That question doesn’t magically solve everything. Wouldn’t that be nice?
Imagine if every challenging behaviour came with a little instruction manual.
Dear Teacher,
Today I am overwhelmed. Please provide movement, connection and approximately one biscuit.
Kind regards,
The Child.
Sadly, children don’t come with instruction manuals. So, we have to become observers. We have to become curious. The labels we give children can become the stories they live inside. This is where I think we need to be particularly careful. Because there is a difference between describing behaviour and defining a child by it.
“He hit another child today.” is a description. “He’s aggressive.” is a label. “She struggled to participate in today’s activity.” is a description. “She’s lazy.” is a label. “He repeatedly called out during the lesson.” is a description. “He’s disruptive.” is a label. The first tells us what happened. The second starts telling us who we think the child is. And once we’ve decided who we think a child is, we can start interpreting everything they do through that lens. The child who is labelled naughty becomes the child we expect to be naughty. The child who is labelled attention-seeking becomes the child we stop listening to. The child who is labelled lazy becomes the child whose struggle we stop investigating. And suddenly, we aren’t responding to the child anymore. We’re responding to the story we’ve created about them. That is a dangerous place for educators to find themselves.
So, what do we do? We pause. Not forever. Not while the rest of the class descends into complete chaos. Teachers do, after all, have approximately 26 other things happening at the same time.
But we pause long enough to become curious. Instead of: “Why are you doing this?” perhaps: “What happened?” Instead of: “Why won’t you listen?” perhaps: “What is making listening difficult right now?” Instead of: “Why are you looking for attention?” perhaps: “What kind of connection might you be looking for?” Instead of: “How do I stop this behaviour?” perhaps: “What is this behaviour trying to tell me?”
That doesn’t mean we will always get the answer. Sometimes we won’t. Sometimes we will guess incorrectly. Sometimes the child won’t know either. And that’s okay. Curiosity doesn’t require us to have all the answers. It simply requires us to be willing to look again. maybe the child isn’t giving us a hard time, maybe they are having a hard time.
I know. It’s a sentence we’ve heard before. But I think there is something worth sitting with here. Because when we shift our thinking from: “This child is giving me a hard time.” to: “This child might be having a hard time.” we don’t suddenly remove responsibility. We simply create room for understanding. And understanding can change our response. It can change our tone. Our expectations. Our language. Our intervention. Our relationship with the child.
Sometimes, the most challenging behaviour in our classroom is the behaviour that asks us to look closer. Not softer. Not less firmly. Closer.
What’s in their suitcase? Maybe we will never know everything a child is carrying. Maybe we aren’t meant to. Our job isn’t to unpack every suitcase they bring through the classroom door. Our job is to notice that they are carrying one. To remember that the behaviour we can see is only one small part of their story. To hold boundaries without losing curiosity. To respond to the child without losing sight of the behaviour. To ask better questions. And to remember that behind every behaviour is a child. Not a label. Not a diagnosis we have invented in our heads. Not a story we’ve decided must be true. A child. A little human being still learning how to understand their own body, emotions, relationships and world. And perhaps the next time a child does something that makes us think, “Oh, here we go again…” we could pause. Take a breath. And ask ourselves: What is in their suitcase? Because behaviour is only the part of the story we can see. We must become curious about the rest.
Thank you for reading.
Monochrome Moments
Xoxo
