Some of you may already know my story. I was the lead instructor for my district’s off-site intensive behavior program. I worked relentlessly to prove that all students could be safely supported without resorting to restraint or seclusion. However, my goal to eliminate these practices was met with significant resistance. The belief that restraint and seclusion are necessary “for everyone’s safety” is deeply ingrained, echoed by special education teachers and even some advocates and specialists. What should be rare and reserved for only the most extreme emergencies has instead become a routine response when disabled children are dysregulated or aggressive, even when no one is in imminent danger. It is implemented when people don’t know how to get a behavior to stop, and by an adult who is also most likely dysregulated.
After months of pushback, I was given an ultimatum: sign a letter of directive stating I would stop advocating for safer practices, or face nonrenewal of my contract. It was a devastating choice—abandon my students, or sign something that would perpetuate a system that harms them. I couldn’t sign it. I will also never be sure if that was the right decision.
I’m writing this follow-up not just to share my story, but because Oregon, despite some progress in reducing seclusion, now stands at a crossroads. House Bill 3835 threatens to undo the hard-won steps we’ve taken toward safer, more humane supports for our most vulnerable students.
I recently received an urgent alert from Disability Rights Oregon about House Bill 3835, which is currently under consideration by the legislature. At first glance, the bill doesn’t appear extreme, but its core intent is concerning: it seeks to redefine what constitutes “wrongful” restraint and seclusion, effectively narrowing the scope of actions that can be investigated as abuse. Under this bill, practices that are currently deemed abusive—such as prolonged seclusion or certain physical restraints—would only be classified as “wrongful” if they are used for discipline, punishment, retaliation, or convenience, or if they result in serious physical harm. This shift places emphasis on the intent behind the action rather than its impact, potentially allowing harmful practices to go unchecked if they are claimed to be well-intentioned.
Professionals in high-intensity fields—educators, mental health providers, law enforcement, and medical staff—often experience secondary trauma. Supporting individuals in crisis can take a significant toll, and without adequate support, even well-meaning individuals may act from a place of trauma and stress. When combined with unexamined implicit biases, this can lead to a culture where those meant to help inadvertently cause harm. This bill’s emphasis on intent over impact removes critical accountability measures, allowing individuals to justify harmful actions by citing good intentions, even when those actions result in trauma or injury.
We now know so much more about the brain and what happens during dysregulation. When the amygdala perceives a threat—whether physical or emotional—it activates the body’s stress response system, often referred to as “fight, flight, freeze, or fawn.” This response is governed by the autonomic nervous system, particularly the sympathetic nervous system (which mobilizes the body to respond to danger), and is later balanced by the parasympathetic nervous system (which calms the body down). In dysregulated states, the prefrontal cortex—the part of the brain responsible for reasoning, reflection, and self-control—becomes less active, making it harder for both children and adults to think clearly or act intentionally.
We’ve made progress in applying this understanding to children. Teaching them what’s happening in their brains, giving them language for their emotions, and helping them learn how to regulate is invaluable. But this same insight hasn’t been widely extended to adults. Many adults are uncomfortable acknowledging their own dysregulation. And when a situation escalates, it’s almost always the child who is blamed.
Few adults have the training, support, or self-awareness to pause and ask, “Was I reacting, or was I responding?”
If we—collectively—haven’t built the skill to recognize our own dysregulation, to consider how our tone, posture, or words may have been the trigger, and to be vulnerable enough to own our part in a rupture, then how can we so readily believe that everyone “has the best of intentions”? And even if they did have good intentions, if those actions still caused harm, shouldn’t we be willing to hold ourselves accountable?
Instead of continuing to invest in mental health supports in schools, training underprepared teams, and adequately staffing classrooms and student support roles, Oregon is considering a bill that feels like a reactive response to “disruption in schools.” Rather than building capacity through evidence-based, proactive interventions, the school system continues to operate reactively—addressing crises after harm is done instead of preventing them.
Even when initiatives that show promise are introduced, they’re often rolled out poorly, without proper training, support, or follow-through. As a result, many educators who could be strong advocates lose faith in the process, while those resistant to change face no real incentive to evolve. The system allows problematic practices to persist unchecked, and meaningful reform becomes even harder to achieve.
As someone with a master’s degree in trauma-informed education and a deep understanding of how trauma affects brain development and behavior, it is incredibly frustrating to hear the same recycled arguments being used again in the name of “safety.”
Restraint and seclusion do not make schools safer. They cause trauma.
And trauma, quite literally, alters the developing brain. It increases a child’s likelihood of exhibiting behaviors of concern, which then makes them more vulnerable to further restraint and seclusion. And so the cycle continues—more trauma, more behavior, more justification for harmful practices.
I submitted my written testimony. Once again, I said the uncomfortable truths—because they need to be said. Restraint and seclusion cause harm. They are overused, underreported, and disproportionately inflicted on our most marginalized and vulnerable children.
You cannot claim to be trauma-informed and equitable while defending practices that are inherently harmful and inequitable. Good intentions are not enough. An individual’s intent can never matter more than the impact of their actions, not even when that individual is an educator.
