ANEW: Seeing the Whole Child
On Big Emotions and What We Miss in Most Schools
Over the last few months, as I crisscross the eastern half of the United States, I find myself sitting and getting. That’s an old-school phrase — a little bit pejorative — for being a passive taker of information. But that’s what I’ve been doing: listening, observing, absorbing. Not offering fixes. Not solving problems. Just… being present. I also have been mining and excavating the internal seismic shifts inside of me — remembering, cataloging, and bringing to the surface — to try to come to grips with what makes me tick. (Witness my last post: “ANEW: Reckoning with My Younger Self.”)
For someone who has spent most of his life doing, it’s a radical act of humility. Examining the past and letting go of the need to shape the moment, and instead allowing the present moment to shape me.
This clarity came into focus a few weeks ago, on a visit to a specialized school for students on the autism spectrum in New York State. There, I witnessed something that stayed with me: a young man, clearly agitated, pacing the halls. His longtime paraprofessional had recently left for another assignment, and you could see the rupture in his body — unsettled, unsure, barely keeping it together.
What struck me most wasn’t just him. It was the response.
The new paraprofessional had her eyes on him. Not in a surveillance way — in a presence way. Redirecting when needed. Staying close. Gentle, grounded. Nearby, my guide narrated the situation with a calm that belied the intensity of the moment:
“The BCBAs are trained to ensure that student and adult safety are what we focus on.”
“He’s trained in physical restraint that allows students dignity. It’s hardly ever used…”
“Yes, people can and have gotten hurt, but that’s rare.”
There was no panic. No blame. No whispers of “What’s wrong with him?” Just a collective agreement to meet the child where he was.
And I thought: What would it look like if every school treated students this way — with this level of real-time care, respect, and attunement to emotion?
Most schools aren’t built for big emotions. In many of the schools I’ve worked in, strong feelings get internalized — the student puts her head down, stops taking notes, or zones out. At best, you get a side conversation. At worst, a disciplinary write-up. In the end, there may some powerful “acting in(ward)” that happens that also may need to be unwound, especially with this anxious generation.
But what I saw on that visit was a space built for emotional reality. Not emotional suppression. And it got me wondering: in our rush to “normalize” behavior, how often do we miss the invitation to really see a child?
It reminded me of something simple and surprisingly hard: how to begin again.
We think emotional connection — in school or life — starts with shared interests, or time, or just being in the same place long enough. But more often, it begins when someone chooses to stay near you, even when you’re not at your best. It starts when someone sees your big emotions and doesn’t flinch.
In that school, I saw adults modeling something quietly radical: emotional steadiness in the face of emotional storms. They were showing students how to build relationships that aren’t based on compliance or performance — but on trust, presence, and patience.
And maybe that’s what we’re all trying to remember: how to be a friend to others, and to ourselves, when things get messy.
That’s the kind of school — the kind of world — I want to be part of.
One where children aren’t punished for having feelings.
One where adults don’t fear emotional truth.
One where connection is stronger than control.
And maybe, just maybe, one where all of us — students and grown-ups alike — have permission to land softly.
Curated Listening:
Al Green has been in the news lately. Let’s listen to what he is trying to say in “Let’s Stay Together.” Listen HERE. Because, in the end, “whatever you want to do is alright with me.” And it is.