Have you heard of the Tendril Theory?  It has helped to cultivate an understanding of monotropism, but I wanted to share with you how first learning about the tendril theory helped me to understand and advocate for my neurodivergent children.   

Tendril Theory was created by Erin from eisforerin.com to explain how executive functioning can be affected by interest in an activity or subject. Check out her post and awesome graphic here. 

The graphic shows spiraled tendrils growing from a character that connects to the activity they are doing. As the snake-like tendrils multiply, the connection becomes stronger. Erin’s depiction gives off some major Medusa vibes.  

Before the character can disengage from the activity, each of those tendrils has to be disconnected and returned to their head.  This takes time.  

The strict schedules in the school setting do not work well for children like mine, who are able to become super-connected to tasks that they care about.  When they are experiencing a flow state and are into what they are doing, my sons cannot just stop because it’s time for art.  In order to get their brains ready for the next task or transition, it’s as if all of those tendrils have to be disconnected and returned to their brains.  And for their neurotypes, not completing an activity makes disconnecting even more difficult.  If forced to transition sooner, some of those tendrils are still connected to the last activity, like a tab still open in a web browser, and they are not able to fully engage in the next activity. 

I am sharing my oversimplification of the Tendril Theory to show how my son’s first-grade teacher supported him in a neuro-affirming, kind, and loving way one day. 

My son loves math.  He’s always been a numbers guy.  His teachers have recognized this strength and supported him with fun math challenges that helped him build academic confidence when he has struggled in other areas.

I think his love of math explains why he was so engrossed in a workbook page one particular day.

School days are segmented into learning times.  For example, writing is from 9-10, math is from 10-11, and specials like art are from 11-11:40.  Some things have more flexibility than others, but as a special area teacher myself, I understand that those times are not.  As a music teacher, I see my classes for forty minutes once a week, with two to five minutes between classes.  I value those forty minutes and have the minutes mapped out for optimal music-making and fun.  The class’ specials time is also the classroom teacher’s sacred prep time.  It is the only time built into the day for the teacher to make copies, check emails, communicate with parents, and grade assignments.  It is a lot for us both to do in very little time.

It is with all of this in mind that I am still amazed at how my son’s first-grade teacher supported him.

He was still working on his math page when the students were asked to close their workbooks and line up for art.  If given the choice between math and art, my son would pick math any day, but he usually lined up with everyone else when it was time to go.  His teacher noticed that something was different that day.

The other students were closing their workbooks, pushing in their chairs, and lining up.  My son was frozen at his desk.  He had closed his workbook but was clearly not happy about it.  

The teacher had a choice at that moment.  What would you do?  

It’s important to note that this was an inclusion class, meaning there was a regular education teacher and a special education teacher.  Also, to take into account, the art room was a couple of doors down the hall.  I mention these because part of a teacher’s consideration at this moment is the stress of needing to get the rest of the class to art on time and also the giant to-do list they have planned to accomplish during their prep. 

His teachers this year had an amazing relationship with my son.  He wasn’t always thrilled to go into the building in the mornings, but he skipped out every afternoon, chatting excitedly about the day.

These teachers had an innate ability to read when they could encourage him forward and when he needed space and time. 

As the class lined up, one of the teachers brought the students to art.  The other teacher stayed behind and waited for the quiet to talk to my son.

She observed aloud that he did not go to art in a non-judgemental tone.  She told him that he could stay if he wanted to and that she would be at the reading table doing some work if he wanted to talk to her about what he needed.

She was using declarative language, which works well with his nervous system.  Direct questions can feel like a demand and can create too much pressure for him to respond. Demanding he had lined up when he was feeling stuck could have escalated.

He eventually walked over to her and plopped down dejectedly in a chair.  She greeted him with a smile and waited.  He said, “I didn’t finish my Math.”

Lightbulb moment!  She simply smiled and said, “Ok. Do you want to finish it now?”

He lit up and said, “Yes!” eagerly returning back to his desk where he opened his workbook and finished the page.  

He then closed his book and said, “Can I go to art?”  

Again, she said, “Ok!” and walked him down the hall, where he excitedly entered, ready for art.

When his teacher shared this moment, my heart was so full of gratitude for how she supported him in this moment.

He had not always been in an environment where this would have happened.

In a previous setting, not lining up when asked to do so would have been met with a label of “non-compliance” instead of supporting his brain and disability.  Reactions from adults in similar situations in the past escalated him into meltdowns, leading to being restrained and sent home, all because his brain wasn’t ready to transition.  Or even because his brain needed more time to process the directions given.

Next, a behavior plan would have been created to “extinguish the behavior” of non-compliance.  Data would have been collected. Goals would have been created to require him to transition from one activity to another with x number of prompts.

All of it was from the misinformed belief that not getting up and going to art was a choice.  This is how our kids are pathologized. 

The goals focus on changing the child rather than making accommodations in the environment and schedule to support the way their brains and nervous systems work. 

I am forever grateful for his teachers who have supported him and made accommodations for him without trying to fit my beautifully square peg into the proverbial round hole.  

Please share the Tendril Theory so we can better support all brains.