Your child is screaming at you. Over seemingly nothing. Over something small. Over homework, or bedtime, or the way you cut their sandwich. The rage is out of proportion. Unreasonable. They’re saying hard things: “I hate you!” “You’re the worst parent!” “You ruined my life!”
And you feel it land in your chest. The hurt. The confusion. The rising anger. Why are they so angry? Why are they melting down over nothing? Why can’t they just calm down?
You see the emotion as the problem. The behaviour as defiance, wilfulness, bad behaviour that needs correcting. And maybe underneath, you’re even taking on their words as partial truth: Maybe I am making their life difficult. Maybe I am a bad parent.
I know this confusion intimately. When Sam would explode with rage, when he’d shout terrible things at me, when his behaviour at school was labelled “dangerous” and “disruptive,” I saw it all as problems to be managed and fixed. I didn’t understand what the emotions were telling me. I didn’t see the behaviour as communication.
From Dr Naomi Fisher: “We stop listening when we say that ‘it’s just behaviour’. Because what that really means is this. We’re not going to try to understand. We don’t want to listen to their perspective. The reasons don’t matter.”
I tried to manage it. Control it. Make it stop. reason him out of it. And when I couldn’t, I absorbed both his anger and the schools’ blame as truth about my inadequacy.
It took me years to understand: The emotion wasn’t the problem. The behaviour wasn’t defiance. They were communication about needs I wasn’t hearing. I didn’t always know how to meet those needs — how to understand them, how to give them space, how to accommodate what was underneath.
When Systems Miss the Message
My daughter started refusing to go to school in Year 10. Not all at once — it built gradually. First the Sunday night anxiety, then the Monday morning reluctance to leave the house, then the full refusals. Her attendance dropped. The school noticed.
Her head of house called me in. She had a plan. Strict guidelines. Attendance targets. Clear consequences for non-compliance. And if that didn’t work? “Perhaps your daughter should speak to her GP about Prozac.”
Not once did anyone ask: “What is this refusal trying to tell us?”
Not once did they consider: “What does she need that she’s not getting here?”
The behaviour — the ‘school avoidance’ — was communication. My daughter felt profoundly disconnected from the other students. She couldn’t find her people. She was masking all day, trying to fit, exhausted by the effort of being someone she wasn’t. The refusal was her body saying: “I can’t do this anymore. This place isn’t safe for me as I am.”
But they saw defiance. Poor motivation. A mental health problem to be medicated. A compliance issue to be managed with targets and consequences.
Years later, we discovered that my daughter is autistic. The behaviour made perfect sense — she was trying to tell us she was drowning, but no one was listening.
The Messages We Couldn’t Hear
When I was eight or nine, I would swallow air to give myself a tummy ache, bang my head on my bedroom wall to get a headache, then beg my mother to be allowed to stay home unwell.
I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to just say I had these ailments. Instead, I had to actually create them.
At school, I often feigned illness so I could go and lie down in the medical room under the care of the school secretary and read copies of the Beano.
I wrote my mother a note: “I hate school.”
Looking back now, I can see it clearly. That behaviour — the self-inflicted pain, the elaborate avoidance — was communication. I felt that I couldn’t just say “I don’t want to go to school” or even just claim to be ill. I had to make the symptoms real, had to create actual physical evidence. My body was trying to tell me — and anyone who might listen — that something was wrong, that I needed help, that school felt unbearable.
But no one decoded it. They just saw manipulation and attention-seeking that needed to stop.
My daughter — now I know she’s autistic but I didn’t back then— had her own ways of communicating distress at school. She wouldn’t become argumentative or oppositional. She would withdraw completely, silent and unreachable, unable to form words. She would get emotionally overwhelmed and turn up in my classroom (I worked in the same school) in floods of tears asking to be allowed to go home. I used to send her home.
Her behaviour was saying: “I’m so disconnected from the other students. I don’t know how to be myself here. I’m exhausted from pretending.”
But all anyone at school saw was a difficult teenager who wouldn’t cooperate. And a mother who wouldn’t force the issue.
What Behaviour Actually Is
Here’s the shift in understanding that changes everything: Behaviour isn’t defiance, or manipulation or deliberate awkwardness. It’s communication of needs.
Suzanne Axelsson, whose Original Learning Approach I find deeply resonant, beautifully maps children’s needs onto a natural ecosystem — belonging flows like water, rest is the necessary darkness, neurodivergent children the biodiversity that monocultures can’t accommodate.
And what ecosystems never do is pathologise. A forest doesn’t ask why the fern isn’t growing like the oak. It asks: what does this organism need? That question is the one I’m inviting you to bring to your child’s behaviour.
Every behaviour — the meltdowns, the refusals, the rage, the withdrawal, the endless questions, the hitting, the controlling, all of it — is trying to tell us something essential about what’s happening for that child.
From Dr Naomi Fisher: “They often express their voice through their behaviour. Sometimes loudly, chaotically, erratically, childishly. They might communicate with us by refusing to do something, or by being increasingly disruptive. Their voice is often inconvenient for adults, who would prefer it if they kept quiet.”
From Ross W. Greene’s The Explosive Child: “Challenging behaviour occurs when the demands being placed upon a child outstrip the skills he has to respond adaptively to those demands.”
Behaviour tells us two essential things:
First, it tells us how the child is feeling. The meltdown, the rage, the withdrawal — these are showing us their emotional state.
Second, it tells us what they need. The emotion and behaviour points to the unmet need underneath.
The child's behaviour is rooted in their nervous system which monitors for safety and connection and sends messages to the body that then reacts through fight, flight or freeze. Their behaviour is not a decision.
When your child melts down over homework, they’re communicating how they feel: “I’m overwhelmed.” And what they need: “I don’t have capacity right now.”
When they rage at you over something small, they’re communicating how they feel: “I’m carrying something big I can’t name.” And what they need: “This small thing broke the dam and I need help with the big thing.”
When they refuse to go to school, they’re communicating how they feel: “I’m afraid.” And what they need: “This place doesn’t feel safe. I can’t survive another day of not belonging. I have nothing to offer here that anyone values.”
All behaviour is communication about unmet needs — needs for safety, for connection, for rest, for autonomy, for understanding, for space, for the freedom not to perform, for the need to matter.
The question isn’t “How do I make this behaviour stop?” The question is: “What is my child trying to tell me?”
There’s rarely one single answer. The same behaviour can communicate different things at different times, or multiple things at once. I remember as a teacher, a boy who was being uncharacteristically disruptive and difficult in lessons. We looked into things and discovered his parents had recently separated. He was feeling powerless at home and very alone. The behaviour was saying multiple things: “I’m overwhelmed.” “I have no control.” “I need someone to notice something’s wrong.” “I need connection but I don’t know how to ask for it.” Once we realised this we were able to make some changes to support him with what he needed at this difficult time in his family life.
Understanding behaviour as communication isn’t about finding the one right answer. It’s about staying curious, noticing patterns, and responding to what might be underneath.
Behaviour Modification vs Understanding Communication
You might have heard of the ABC model — Antecedent, Behaviour, Consequence. It’s widely used in schools and by psychologists, particularly in Applied Behaviour Analysis (ABA). The ABC model helps identify what triggers behaviour and what reinforces it, with the goal of modifying the behaviour.
But this post isn’t about behaviour modification. It’s about understanding what your child is trying to communicate.
There’s a fundamental difference:
Behaviour modification asks: “How do I change this behaviour?” It focuses on triggers and consequences to increase desired behaviours and decrease unwanted ones.
Understanding behaviour as communication asks: “What is this behaviour trying to tell me? What does this child need?” What is missing in the eco-system, as Suzanne would ask.
Both approaches recognise that behaviour happens in context. But they have different goals. Modification seeks compliance. Understanding seeks connection.
For parents of neurodivergent children — children who often can’t or shouldn’t have to comply with neurotypical expectations — understanding the communication is essential.
Decoding the Message: Common Behaviours
Physical Aggression: Hitting, Biting, Throwing Things
What it might communicate:
“I’m overwhelmed and I need to get this feeling OUT of my body” “I don’t have words for this feeling” “My capacity is completely depleted” “Something hurts and I can’t tell you what” “I need you to stop what’s happening right now”
The need underneath: Often a need for the overwhelming feeling to be released physically, for help regulating, for the situation to stop, for physical space.
Not: Intentional violence or trying to hurt you. Young children especially lack the skills to regulate big feelings or express needs verbally.
Note: Rage and anger aren’t the same thing. When children explode with rage over something small, it’s formed through accumulated anger that either hasn’t been expressed — anger that’s corrupted into something bigger and more complex. I’ll explore this distinction in a separate post later this month.
Refusing or Avoiding
What it might communicate:
“This feels threatening to me” “I don’t feel safe enough to try” “I’ve already failed at this before” “I don’t have capacity for this right now” “This demands more than I can give”
The possible need underneath: Safety, accommodation, reduced demands, understanding of what’s making it feel impossible.
Not: Laziness, defiance, or lack of motivation.
Withdrawal and Silence
What it might communicate:
“I need connection but I can’t reach for it” “I’m carrying something heavy” “Everything feels like too much” “I don’t have words for what’s happening” “I need someone to sit with me without demanding anything”
The need underneath: Connection, witnessing, someone to be present without fixing or demanding, space to feel without pressure to perform.
Not: Sulking, manipulation, or rejection of you.
Being Argumentative or Oppositional
What it might communicate:
“I have no control over anything in my life” “I need some power here” “I need you to really hear me” “This feels unjust and I’m fighting for what matters” “I’m overwhelmed and pushing back is the only way I can create space”
The need underneath: Control, power, being heard, having boundaries respected, space to breathe.
Not: Disrespect, deliberate defiance, or trying to make your life difficult.
Controlling Games or Changing Rules
What it might communicate:
“I need predictability” “I can’t cope with things not going the way I expected” “I need some control in a world that feels chaotic” “I’m anxious and controlling this helps me feel safe” “I don’t know how to be flexible yet”
The need underneath: Control, predictability, safety, help developing flexibility skills.
Not: Being bossy, manipulative, or a bad sport.
Asking Endless Questions
What it might communicate:
“I’m anxious and information helps me feel safer” “I need reassurance” “I need connection and this is how I get your attention” “I’m trying to understand something that feels confusing or threatening” “I need you to be present with me”
The need underneath: Reassurance, connection, information to reduce anxiety, presence.
Not: Deliberately annoying you or not listening.
Sitting Alone, Disengaging from Others
What it might communicate:
“I need to recharge” “Social interaction is exhausting right now” “I don’t know how to join in” “I don’t feel safe with this group” “I’m different and I can’t find my people here”
The need underneath: Rest, accommodation for social exhaustion, help with social skills, connection with people who accept them as they are.
Not: Antisocial behaviour, social skills deficits that need fixing, or preferring to be alone (though some children genuinely do prefer solitude, and that’s okay).
A Framework for Understanding Any Behaviour
When you’re faced with behaviour that confuses, frustrates, or worries you, try this approach:
Pause before reacting
When your child’s behaviour triggers you (anger, fear, shame, your own rising emotion), pause. Take three breaths. Feel your feet on the ground.
This pause creates space between their communication and your reaction. It lets you listen instead of defend, fix, or control.
Notice what’s actually happening
What exactly is the behaviour? Try to observe it without judgment.
Not: “They’re being defiant again.” But: “They’re refusing to put their shoes on. They’re shouting. Their body is tense.”
Consider the context
When does this happen? (Time of day, particular situations, with certain people) What was happening just before? (A transition, a demand, sensory overload, social interaction) What’s their capacity right now? (Tired, hungry, overwhelmed from school, already had multiple demands today)
Get curious about the need
Ask yourself: “What might they be trying to tell me?”
Use what you know about your child:
Do they struggle with transitions? Are they carrying anxiety about something? Has their capacity been depleted? Do they feel powerless or unheard? Are they missing connection?
Ask what need is underneath
All behaviour communicates one or more of these fundamental needs:
Safety (physical, emotional, sensory) Connection (to you, to others, to themselves) Rest (from demands, from stimulation, from performing) Autonomy (power over their own life and body) Understanding (of what’s happening, of expectations, of themselves) Space (physical, emotional, from demands) The freedom not to perform The need to matter — to contribute, to be useful, to have their particular gifts valued
Respond to the need, not just the behaviour
Once you understand what they’re actually communicating, you can respond to the real need:
“You’re overwhelmed by this homework. Let’s take a break and come back to it.” “School doesn’t feel safe right now. What would you need to feel okay there?” “You need to get this big feeling out. Let’s find a way to do that without hurting anyone.” “You’re carrying something heavy. I’m here. You don’t have to talk, but I’m not leaving.”
This doesn’t mean permitting harmful behaviour. It means understanding the communication so you can address the actual need whilst holding appropriate boundaries around safety.
Remember: Behaviour escalates when the first communication is missed
Children often start with subtle communication. When that’s missed or dismissed, the behaviour escalates.
The refusal might start with a quiet “I don’t want to.” If that’s not heard, it becomes louder resistance. If that’s not heard, it becomes a full meltdown.
The earlier you can hear what they’re trying to tell you, the less the behaviour needs to escalate.
What This Practice Might Reveal
When I started listening to behaviour as communication instead of problems to fix, I discovered:
When capacity is depleted: Most “difficult” behaviour happens when your child has nothing left. The behaviour is saying: “I need rest/space/smaller demands.” They’ve been holding it together at school, masking, complying, performing. Home is where they finally feel safe enough to fall apart. The behaviour isn’t happening AT you — it’s happening NEAR you because you’re safe.
When they feel powerless: Much rage and resistance is about having no control. The behaviour is saying: “I have no control over anything in my life. I need some power here.” They can’t control the school that doesn’t accommodate them, the teacher who shames them, the other children who exclude them. But they can refuse to put their shoes on, or change the rules of the game, or say no to your requests.
When they don’t feel safe: Refusal, avoidance, shutting down are often about not feeling safe. The behaviour is saying: “This situation feels threatening. I need safety before I can engage.” What feels threatening to them might not look threatening to you — but their nervous system is responding to real danger signals, even if you can’t see them.
When they don’t belong: Acting out, withdrawal, sadness often communicate: “I don’t belong here. I need to be seen and valued as I am.” The behaviour at school, the refusal to engage, the disconnection — it’s all saying “This place wasn’t built for people like me. I can’t keep pretending to be someone I’m not.”
When they have no sense of purpose: Some of the quietest and most heartbreaking behaviour comes from children who cannot find a way to matter. Who have gifts — intensity, creativity, deep thinking, unusual ways of seeing — that the system has no use for. The behaviour is saying: “I don’t know why I’m here. Nothing I have to offer seems to count.” This is particularly painful for neurodivergent and gifted children, whose contributions are so often experienced as problems rather than possibilities. They don’t need fixing. They need a place where what they carry has value.
Sam’s story: His “dangerous” behaviour at six wasn’t defiance. It was communication about being in an environment that couldn’t accommodate his intensity, his giftedness, his need to move and question and engage differently. He was trying to tell us: “This doesn’t work for me. I can’t survive here as I am.”
His rage at home wasn’t wilfulness. It was accumulated overwhelm from holding it together at school, from having no control, from not being able to express boundaries or say no to demands that felt impossible. Home was the only place safe enough to release it.
His withdrawal in his late teens wasn’t teenage sullenness. It was deep sadness and fear about his future, about never finding a place he belonged, about carrying the message that something was fundamentally wrong with him — and that what he had to offer the world had no value.
If I’d understood behaviour as communication earlier, I might have heard what he was trying to tell me. I might have fought harder for accommodation instead of trying to make him fit. I might have protected him from environments that kept rejecting him.
Living With This Understanding
As you practise listening to behaviour as communication, watch for these signs that you’re shifting:
You catch yourself before reacting. That pause becomes more natural. You notice your own trigger response and create space before acting on it.
You get curious instead of defensive. When behaviour is challenging, you find yourself wondering “What are they trying to tell me?” instead of immediately trying to make it stop.
You look for patterns. You start noticing when behaviour happens, what precedes it, what needs aren’t being met consistently. The patterns show you what to address.
You stop taking it personally. When your child rages at you, you can hold that it’s about their overwhelm, not about your inadequacy. You can be present with their feelings without believing their words as truth about you.
You respond differently. Instead of consequences and control, you’re addressing needs. Instead of “You need to calm down,” you’re saying “You’re overwhelmed. What do you need?”
Your child feels seen. When someone hears what you’re actually trying to communicate, even when you’re communicating it badly, it changes everything. They feel less alone. They feel understood. The behaviour often reduces because the need is being met.
The Invitation
Your child’s behaviour isn’t defiance. It’s communication.
Every refusal, every meltdown, every withdrawal, every rage — they’re all trying to tell you something essential about what’s happening for your child, about needs that aren’t being met, about capacity that’s depleted, about safety that’s missing.
When you can hear the communication underneath the behaviour, when you can get curious about the need instead of just trying to make the behaviour stop, you can respond to what’s actually happening instead of fighting the surface problem.
This doesn’t make parenting easy. Your child will still melt down. They’ll still rage and refuse and withdraw. But you’ll understand what they’re trying to tell you.
This month, I’ll explore this topic more deeply. I’ll look at what emotions are actually for—a heads up: they’re communication too.
Start with one simple but profound practice: Next time your child’s behaviour triggers you into irritation, concern or exasperation—pause. Take three breaths. Ask: “What are they trying to tell me? What do they need?”
You might be surprised what you hear.
If this resonates, I’d love to hear what you discovered. Reply to this email or leave a comment sharing: What behaviour did you see differently when you listened to it as communication? What need did you hear underneath?
Warmest wishes, Davina
Just a shout out to Aimee from @AI Meets Girlboss for her brilliant tutorial that I followed to achieve this moving image! Happy Days.
Davina -- Thank you! What a thorough and thoughtful summary that rings true at many levels. And it is relevant for adults as well as children. In the U.S., public health departments have divisions called "Behavioral Health" which appear to be designed to regulate behavior to fall within narrow constraints.