Over the years, I’ve found that the longer I spend with a child, the more we begin to align into a rhythm. Less needs to be said. We just know how the session, or the day, or the week, is going to play out.
Our time together follows the same structure. One that’s always unique to that child. They’ve played an equal part in creating it. It might start with a particular game, song, or topic of conversation. It might be the order of what we do, or simply the way we do it. But it stays the same, day in and day out.
Why is this? We don’t write it down. We don’t even talk about it. It just becomes the way things are. And it works.
These invisible structures, routines, and rhythms are incredibly powerful tools. For children who are anxious, neurodivergent, or who struggle with pressure and demands this is especially so. They create trust and predictability without triggering defence mechanisms. Without needing to say much at all.
From a theoretical perspective, this aligns closely with Polyvagal Theory, which helps us understand how safety and predictability regulate a child’s nervous system. When things feel consistent and low-pressure, the child can move into a calm, socially engaged state. This is when connection and learning are possible.
Years ago, I found an old cursive handwriting practice book in a school I was working in. The children were fascinated by it. Probably because it was older than all of us and felt like it had a story to tell.
After lunch, I would choose an activity from the book and project it onto the whiteboard. The children would come in from lunch and, without me saying a word, sit down with their pencils and get started. Some wrote lots. Some wrote nothing and read a book. Some rested their heads quietly after a busy lunchtime. Most days, I sat with a pencil too.
Looking back, I wonder why this routine worked so well. Handwriting practice isn’t exactly thrilling, and we all type more than we handwrite as adults. But it wasn’t really about the handwriting. It was about predictability. The activity was familiar. It came at the same time every day. It was low-pressure. The children had full autonomy over how they engaged. The demand was optional, but the rhythm was shared.
This kind of routine also supports executive functioning. It helps children transition between more active parts of the day and settle into something calm, without needing to process instructions or make decisions. It lowers the cognitive load and sensory input, which can be especially helpful for children who are easily overwhelmed or dysregulated.
Shared rhythms help children explore how they want to be in the world. It removes the need for micromanaging. If days are predictable, if mealtimes, rest times, and playtimes follow a similar shape, it creates a sense of safety. The child knows what’s coming, and how it’s likely to feel. And it’s easier for adults too.
For me, mealtimes have always been full of possibility. They’re a natural moment to model calmness, choice, and social interaction. I prepare my food, I sit down, and I eat. That’s it. There’s no need to instruct or entertain. Just being there together is enough.
The child might choose to join in. They might ask for help. They might ask for options. Or they might just watch. All of that is okay. There’s no pressure. I’m not trying to get them to eat a certain thing or behave a certain way. I’m modelling what this time of day can look like.
This ties into Albert Bandura's social learning theory: children absorb so much from what we model, not what we tell them. By keeping the environment low-pressure and predictable, we make it easier for them to tune in and learn on their own terms.
A lot of our waking hours are spent eating, especially if we include snacks. So these moments matter. They offer regular, repeated opportunities for connection and regulation. The child might eat, or talk, or rest. They might choose one food and not another. That’s all fine. The goal isn’t nutrition. The goal is rhythm. Predictability. Safety. Autonomy.
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