Before children can listen, learn, or cooperate—they need to feel safe.

We know this deep down, don’t we? And yet, it’s so easy to forget in the heat of the moment. We go straight to managing behaviour, redirecting, fixing. But here’s the truth I keep coming back to: emotional safety is the foundation. Without it, nothing else sticks.

Children can’t access logic, learning or self-control when they don’t feel safe. Emotional safety isn’t a soft extra it’s the ground beneath their feet.

Emotional safety starts before the behaviour shows up. It’s in the way we greet children. The way we notice their mood as they arrive. The way we set the tone of the room with our own nervous system.

It’s in the micro-moments, the soft eye contact that says, “I see you.” The steady voice that says, “You’re safe here.” The predictability that says, “You can trust this space.” Safety isn’t built at the peak of a behaviour storm. It’s built long before.

When behaviour escalates, what children need most is to borrow our calm. They need to know we’re not going to meet their storm with our own.

And yes, it’s hard. It asks us to breathe when we want to react. To soften when we want to brace. To remember that behind the behaviour is a child looking for safety, not defiance.

“I’m right here with you.”
“I won’t let you hurt yourself or others.”
“We’ll get through this together.”

That’s what emotional safety sounds like in the moment.

But when it’s all said and done, when you’ve helped quell the storm, there’s one more piece we often skip: turning inward. What’s left behind is your nervous system. Your internal narrative. And your care for yourself.

Because showing up for children in their storm takes something from us. It asks us to return to ourselves. To tend to what’s stirred inside. To breathe again. That, too, is part of the work.

I wish I could say I get it right every time. But one particular moment in a Kindergarten room still stands out to me.

There was this one child - let’s call him Jason - who had been pushing buttons all day. And just before we headed off to Forest School, I snapped:
“Jason, if I have to speak to you once down at Forest School, you’ll be sent straight up to the yard.”

The words left my mouth, and the remorse hit immediately. I hoped, truly hoped, they’d straighten up and get through Forest School unscathed. Sigh - no luck. Sure enough, I spoke to him once and true to my word, I sent him back up to the yard.

And here’s the hard truth: despite regretting the boundary I set, I also knew it was important to follow through. But as we packed up at the end of Forest School, I dropped off the supplies and made a beeline for Jason. Because now the real work began - the repair. That was more important than the action that had set him up to fail.

Tomorrow? Tomorrow I would not set him up to fail. Because in these moments, he needed safety - not another test.

We all want cooperation. But true cooperation can’t be demanded, it’s offered, when a child feels safe enough to give it.

When children trust that we see them, that we’ll protect them, that we won’t shame or abandon them in hard moments, that’s when they open to guidance.

Cooperation isn’t compliance. It’s a child choosing connection because they feel safe enough to do so. And that choice is what truly matters.

And of course - it won’t always go perfectly. None of us are regulated 100% of the time. There will be moments where we snap, where we miss the cue, where safety feels frayed.

But repair is powerful. Repair teaches children that even when things get messy, connection can be rebuilt.

“I got frustrated, but I’m here now.”
“I’m sorry that felt scary. I want to do better.”

Safety isn’t about never rupturing. It’s about always being willing to reconnect.

Next time you feel the behaviour storm rising, pause and ask:

• How can I offer safety right now?

• What would this child’s nervous system need from me?

• How can I reconnect if things went off track?

• And after the storm: what does my nervous system need right now?

Emotional safety is the foundation beneath every behaviour moment.

It’s not about the perfect plan. It’s about the child in front of you, the presence you bring and the connection you build - one breath, one moment at a time.

May your stories hold your power.

Jason