When I was a little girl, I didn’t speak until I was four years old. I remember the way adults looked at me—like I was broken, like my silence defined me. They didn’t see the potential bubbling beneath, only the ways I failed to fit the mold. That early experience taught me something I carry into every classroom today: the deepest harm comes when children are told their worth is conditional.

That’s why I can’t stay quiet about PBIS (Positive Behavioral Interventions and Supports).

The Myth of Empowerment

Over and over, I hear the same defense from schools: “Our PBIS is different. We let students choose their rewards. We make it fun and empowering!”

But let’s pause for a moment and really consider that. If empowerment only comes after compliance, is it empowerment at all?

PBIS presents itself as positive, but its foundation is still control. The “choice” it offers is limited to a prize menu an adult designed: a sticker, extra computer time, lunch with a teacher, or maybe a small toy. That isn’t true autonomy. It’s the illusion of freedom inside a cage.

Real autonomy is being trusted to co-create the classroom culture. It’s having your nervous system supported before being asked to perform. It’s knowing you are valued, whether or not you can sit still, whether or not you follow the group plan every moment of the day.

When PBIS tells kids they can choose their reward only if they comply, it reinforces a dangerous message: your dignity is something you earn, not something you already have.

The Weight of Shame

I’ll never forget one of my students, whom we’ll refer to as Marcus. In his Gen-Ed class, he picked his reward early in the week: extra computer time. He wanted it so badly, and he worked hard to hold himself together. But then Friday came, and Marcus didn’t earn enough tokens. His classmates clapped and cheered as they claimed their prizes. Marcus sat quietly, staring at the floor.

What he felt wasn’t just disappointment. It was a shame.

And neuroscience tells us shame isn’t harmless. Studies show that social exclusion activates the same pain centers in the brain as physical harm (Eisenberger & Lieberman, 2004). PBIS defenders will argue, “But there’s no punishment here, just positive reinforcement!” Yet to the child who leaves empty-handed, PBIS feels exactly like punishment.

That shame sticks. It teaches kids like Marcus not that they should try again, but that they are less worthy when they can’t meet expectations.

Who Gets Left Behind

PBIS hits some kids harder than others. Autistic students, ADHD students, children with trauma histories—these are the ones least likely to earn enough tokens consistently. Their nervous systems make compliance harder, not because they don’t care, but because their bodies and brains are wired differently.

What does PBIS teach them? That their struggles are public failures. That support is conditional. That belonging is earned.

And it’s not just disabled students. Research has shown that PBIS systems disproportionately harm students of color, too (Vincent & Tobin, 2011). The students who most need compassion and connection are often the ones PBIS excludes.

The defense of “but they get to choose their reward” crumbles in the face of this inequity. Choice doesn’t erase systemic bias. It just disguises it with bright colors and friendly language.

Joy Shouldn’t Be Conditional

One of the most insidious parts of PBIS is that it teaches children that joy is something you must earn. Whether the prize is extra art time, helping the teacher, or a simple sticker, the underlying message is the same: you are only worthy of happiness if you behave the way we demand.

But children deserve joy because they are human. They deserve to play, to rest, to be celebrated; not because they checked enough boxes, but because joy and belonging are basic human needs.

When we tie joy to tokens, we teach kids that their humanity has to be negotiated.

The Illusion of Student Voice

PBIS tries to market itself as student-centered by letting kids choose their prizes. But choice in PBIS is like choosing the paint color for the bars on your cage. You’re still locked inside a system that controls your movements and ties your dignity to compliance.

Real student voice isn’t about picking from an adult’s menu. It’s about shaping the environment, having input into what feels supportive, and being respected as a whole human being—not just a set of behaviors.

What Students Actually Need

I became a special education teacher because I believe in meeting kids where they are, not forcing them to earn their way to dignity. What I’ve learned from both my students and my own lived experience is that behavior isn’t the enemy; it’s communication.

Neuroscience backs this up. The body’s fight, flight, or freeze responses are biological survival mechanisms, not “choices” that can be stickered away. When a student is dysregulated, they don’t need a point system. They need co-regulation. They need an adult who understands their nervous system and can help them feel safe again.

Replacing PBIS means shifting our focus:

• From control to connection.
• From compliance to co-regulation.
• From prizes to presence.

This isn’t just semantics. It’s about survival for our students.

Final Thought

I know PBIS looks harmless. It’s wrapped in cheerful posters, colorful charts, and “student choice.” But beneath the surface, it sends the same harmful message: your worth is conditional.

As someone who was once underestimated for not speaking, and who now works with children facing the same battles, I can tell you: dignity should never be negotiable.

Not for me. Not for Marcus. Not for any child.

Choice doesn’t fix PBIS. It just hides the harm.