The behaviour paradox: what adults can teach us about children’s behaviour
I’ve always been deeply curious about human behaviour. The young people I’ve worked with have shown me again and again that behaviour is never one-dimensional; it can be subtle or intense, confusing or clear, challenging or delightful, sometimes all within the same day.
But the further into this work I go, the more I’m struck by something we rarely say out loud:
Our expectations of a young person’s behaviour are often wildly unrealistic, whether they’ve experienced trauma or not.
The biggest piece of evidence I have for this bold statement?
Adults.
When adults behave like humans young people.
These days, most of my work is with adults- educators, mental health professionals, youth workers, foster and kinship carers, and parents. Sometimes we’re together for an hour, sometimes for several days.
And honestly? Teaching adults isn’t that different from teaching young people.
We’re all human, and our behaviour is always communicating something.
Each week, I have a few moments in training sessions that could easily be mistaken for “teenage behaviour,” but came from adults.
Here are some recent examples:
The Swordsman. During an activity where participants could anonymously share what they needed from me, from themselves, and from each other to create a safe and engaging session, one person wrote: “a big sword.” It turned out this joke came from a member of the leadership team. It was laughed off, and we moved on (but how would you have handled it if it were a young person?)
The sensory item collector. Before a workshop, I placed regulation tools and sensory items on each table. One participant walked around inspecting each table’s supplies, selecting their favourites, and returning with a personalised stash. Nobody else was bothered, and those who wanted to access an item did so, (but what would you have done if this were a child who entered a classroom before the others?)
The reluctant speaker. Some participants don’t want to speak during a session, which I completely respect. I set out post-it notes, pens and paper, and use some tech options to support engagement. (Yet, in many schools, “cold calling”- picking a student to answer on the spot- is still a common practice).
The hysterical laugher. While co-designing an implementation plan, one participant couldn’t stop laughing with her peers. She said she hadn’t slept well and was having trouble concentrating. She took a break, had a stretch, but still found herself getting distracted. Her group took the pressure off, with others leading the work and scribing. (What do you do when a young person gets the giggles in class, or is simply overtired?)
I don’t share these examples to criticise these adults. Quite the opposite.
They’re reminders that behaviour is simply the outward expression of what’s going on internally.
It’s human.
It’s not just young people.
It’s not just those who are impacted by trauma.
We all do it.
Of course, I followed up with some of these people individually, checking how they were tracking and how I could continue to support them. And that’s what I would do for young people, too.
If a young person broke out in hysterics during a group activity, or someone refused to verbally contribute, I’d want to see how I can best support them and offer some alternative ways to engage.
If a young person used their humour to connect a group (even in a serious moment) or took an interest in the colourful sensory tools, I wouldn’t get angry, I’d get curious.
When we drop the unrealistic expectation that children should behave “better” than adults often do, we create space for compassion, curiosity, and more effective support.
And we might just feel more competent and less exhausted, too.
Defining Behaviour
At its most basic, behaviour is how someone acts. But reducing it to just an “action” misses the richness of what’s going on beneath the surface.
For human beings, behaviour was our earliest form of communication. Before we had words, our bodies did the talking. As newborns, we cried when we were hungry, reached out when we wanted to be held, and shrieked when we felt unsafe.
That hasn’t changed as much as we might think. Whether we’re three years old, thirteen, or eighty-three, our behaviour is still a form of communication.
It’s meeting a need, expressing a feeling, or responding to the environment.
Behaviour always serves a purpose, no matter our age or stage of development.
These might include:
Communication and self-expression. A young person might slam a door not just to be rude, but because they can’t find the words to say, “I’m hurt and I don’t know how to tell you.” An adult might send a blunt email rather than express frustration face-to-face.
To obtain something. This could be tangible, like food, or intangible, like connection. For example, a child may repeatedly ask questions in class to seek proximity to a trusted teacher. An adult might make a joke in a tense meeting to get a laugh and gain acceptance.
To avoid something. A young person might skip class to avoid humiliation. A professional might reschedule a difficult conversation to avoid discomfort.
To protect ourselves. When stressed or unsafe, our behaviour might be purely protective. A young person might lash out. An adult might lash out.
From a trauma-informed perspective, these actions aren’t “good” or “bad.” They’re adaptive. Even behaviours that seem disruptive, defiant, or self-sabotaging are usually the most accessible or familiar strategies that person has in that moment.
So, what can we do about behaviour?
Here are some ways a trauma-informed perspective can shape your practice, whether you’re supporting children, young people, or colleagues:
Drop the double standard. If adults can struggle to self-regulate, it’s unfair to expect kids to always get it right (or to be punished instead of supported).
See behaviour as data. Instead of judging it, ask: What might this behaviour be telling us?
Stay curious, not critical. Replace “What’s wrong with you?” with “What’s happening for you?”
Normalise support. If an adult needed a quiet check-in, so might a young person. Offer choices and alternative ways to engage.
Remember, it’s adaptive. Disruptive behaviour often reflects the best survival strategy someone has in the moment.
If we start to see behaviour as communication, not defiance, we’ll not only understand young people better, we’ll also go easier on ourselves and our colleagues.
After all, behaviour is human. And when we respond with compassion and curiosity, everyone benefits.
Building your trauma-informed community with Wagtail Institute
When workplaces are truly trauma-informed, we see good outcomes for entire communities.
Creating a trauma-informed workplace where staff feel safe, supported, and competent requires a multi-faceted approach, a new perspective, and a way of being with each other.
It’s not just a bunch of catchy words.
I work alongside leaders, teachers, social workers, and a variety of practitioners to respond to wellbeing challenges, enhance trauma-informed practice, and navigate pathways to healing.
If you are curious about what this could look like in your setting, schedule a free consult call with Megan.
