For more than a decade, I’ve worked with students whose behaviors often challenge the systems around them. I was good at it. So good that I was often chosen to train others in crisis intervention. I taught professionals how to use physical holds and seclusion techniques under the guise of keeping students “safe”. And I believed in what I was doing. I believed I was helping.

But, with time, learning, and reflection, my understanding has changed. Deeply.

Like many educators, I began my career equipped with traditional behavior management strategies: token economies, compliance-based discipline, and, when necessary, physical interventions.  I was trained and trained others to believe that when students escalated, our job was to control the situation. We were taught that safety meant immediate compliance, that the end justified the means.

What I see now is the harm that the mindset created.

Through a deeper study of trauma, neuroscience, and the work of leaders like Dr. Bruce Perry and Dr. Ross Greene, I’ve come to understand that what I didn’t before: kids do well if they can. And when they can’t, it’s not defiance. It’s communication. Communication that their nervous system isn’t allowing them to perform as expected.

Many behaviors we see in classrooms (refusal, aggression, withdrawal) aren’t choices made by manipulative or “bad” kids. They are nervous system responses to overwhelming environments, unmet needs, and dysregulation. They are stress responses. Survival strategies. Not something to punish, but something to understand. 

That shift in thinking was painful. Because once you know better, you see things differently. You recognize moments in your past where you thought you were helping, but may have been causing harm. You begin to feel the weight of the ripple effects of what you taught others to do. That burden is one I carry, and one I now use to drive my work forward.

Today, my mission is different. I coach educators through a new lens: one rooted in compassion, curiosity, and connection. I help them understand the science behind behavior, the role of the brain and the body, and a child’s past experiences. I model responses that regulate, not escalate. I help them shift from asking “what’s wrong with this kid?” to “what’s happening to this kid and how can I help?”.

But, I won’t pretend it’s been easy. Schools operate under immense pressure: pacing guides, test prep, staffing shortages, and rigid schedules. There’s often little time (or support) for reflection, de-escalation, or relationship building. We want fast fixes. And, helping a dysregulated child feel safe again isn’t fast.  And time is something the school day doesn’t always allow. Any downtime an adult has during the school day is quickly filled with covering classrooms, making copies, and calling caregivers. There isn’t time to foster resiliency,  build capacity, and protective factors. Hell, there isn’t even time for the adults to take care of their own basic needs to stay regulated. 

That doesn’t mean we give up. It means we rethink. Just because a practice, like restraint and seclusion, has always existed, doesn’t mean it should continue. Especially when we know these practices disproportionately impact our most vulnerable students. Especially when we know there are better ways. 

We must be willing to change, to learn, to say we know more now, and we can do better.

That’s what I want for my fellow educators and administrators. I want them to know that the shifting away from traditional crisis response systems is not a weakness or radical. It’s wisdom. It’s leadership.

We spend hours of professional development learning why and how to teach reading and math. We must devote the same time and energy to understanding behavior. We must become experts in emotional regulation, connection, and the power of adult response. Because our students don’t need more control, they need more connection. They don’t need more isolation. They need more inclusion. They don’t need more fear. They need more safety.

This shift isn’t about abandoning structure and accountability. It’s about redefining what safety truly means. True safety isn’t compliance at all costs. It’s an environment where every child feels emotionally and physically secure. Where every child leaves with curiosity, not control. What we need now is the courage to unlearn, to relearn, and to do better.

That’s the journey I’m on. I hope you’ll join me.