When “trauma-informed” misses the point
I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on how we talk about trauma, wellbeing, and behaviour. The words we use matter. They don’t just describe ideas; they shape how we understand the world and how we respond to colleagues, clients, families, and communities. And that ripple effect can be powerful, for better or worse.
Why language matters
In trauma-informed work, language is never neutral. When we use words like defiant, naughty, bad, or “making a choice” to describe someone's behaviour, we are not just making an observation; we’re framing someone’s story and shaping the way people respond. Language can either uphold dignity and agency, or it can reduce people to their most difficult day.
This is why “trauma-informed” cannot just be a badge or a buzzword. Too often, I see it attached to practices that lean heavily on punishment, control, or shame. When this happens, the label risks doing more harm than good.
Recently, I came across a behaviour framework that was labelled as “trauma-informed.” Yet it had pre-prescribed punitive consequences, and young people were referred to using labels like defiant and deceptive.
When we are truly working in a trauma-informed way, we separate the person from the behaviour. Labels don’t serve anyone.
Now, I don’t believe people set out to misuse this language. Most of the time, the intentions are good. But in the rush to adopt a new “buzzword,” the depth and complexity of what trauma-informed practice really means can get lost along the way.
The larger problem is that the broader understanding around us is then impacted. What filters into schools, organisations, and communities is a watered-down (or mixed with chemicals) version that risks doing more harm than good.
Challenging stereotypes of trauma
Another misconception I’ve seen is the idea that people who’ve experienced trauma are somehow destined to collapse under its weight, becoming unproductive, unravelled, or incapable. Recently, I heard an influential voice in this space describe trauma as something that should make us “cower in the corner and cry,” and that any other outcome is remarkable.
That kind of framing does damage. It lowers expectations and diminishes people’s strength, complexity, and potential.
In fact, it is estimated that 75% of Australian adults have experienced a traumatic event at some point in their lifetime (Australian Institute of Health and Welfare, 2025).
Many people, across all walks of life, carry trauma in some form.
Trauma can leave deep scars, even lifelong ones, but it does not erase capacity, creativity, or agency.
Trauma responses can look very different. For some, it may involve withdrawing or shutting down, and yes, there may be times when crying in the corner is part of the experience.
For others, trauma responses can take the form of over-performing. Work and achievement can become a coping strategy, a way to anchor oneself, to focus on something tangible, to keep going when everything else feels overwhelming. At the same time, it can also become tied to chasing self-worth, seeking approval, or striving to be liked.
Productivity or achievement may sometimes mask distress, but they can also reflect grit, determination, and the very human drive to find purpose and connection.
See, how complex it all is?
How can we work in a trauma-informed way?
Being truly trauma-informed does not mean stereotyping responses, lowering the bar, or reducing people to their pain. It means walking alongside them with compassion and support, holding space for both their struggles and their strengths.
True trauma-informed practice acknowledges that people’s experiences are layered, messy, and sometimes contradictory. It doesn’t gloss over pain or rush towards solutions. Instead, it asks us to pause and reflect.
It can be confusing to know what truly counts as trauma-informed practice, especially when the term is used so widely and inconsistently.
What I can say, is that trauma-informed practice is not a checklist, and not something you can “become” after reading a simple blog post.
It’s daily, weekly, lifelong work.
What I can do is provide some questions that may assist you in pausing and reflecting on your current practice:
Do we build safety—physical, emotional, cultural, and relational? (How do we know?)
Do we centre dignity? Am I treating people as capable human beings, not problems to be managed?
Do we empower voice and choice? Do people have opportunities to shape what happens to them, or are things done to them?
Do we honour complexity, avoiding easy stereotypes about trauma and holding space for multiple truths?
Do we recognise the human stress response and take this into the full picture?
Do we treat others with unconditional positive regard? (Especially on their most difficult days).
Do we move beyond just “knowing about trauma” to actually meeting needs and reducing harm?
Do we sustain practitioners too, caring for staff as well as students/clients, recognising that wellbeing is relational?
This is not neat or easy work. But it is the kind of work that changes lives, organisations, and communities.
Where to from here?
I’m encouraged by the shifts I’m seeing. More practitioners are leaning on language that is compassionate, nuanced, and empowering. More leaders are questioning the easy use of labels and choosing to slow down, reflect, and embed practice in meaningful ways.
These changes ripple out. They transform the way we show up for each other. They challenge systems that default to control. And they remind us that language, when chosen with intention, can be a tool for healing.
At Wagtail Institute, this is the work I love most—helping schools, organisations, and communities slow down, embed the principles, and move beyond “trauma-informed” as a phrase into trauma-informed as a lived culture.
If your team is ready to move past the buzzword and into meaningful, sustainable practice, I’d love to support you. If you are curious about what this could look like in your setting, schedule a free consult call with Megan.
