Why Regulation Is Not A Feeling

Hello and a very warm welcome to SENteachCo! 👋

Before I get into the core of this week’s topic, I want to properly introduce myself and explain what this space is for. If you are here, there is a good chance you are navigating the complex world of special educational needs and disabilities in some form, whether as a practitioner, a parent, a carer, or someone reflecting on their own experiences. This blog is my space and, I hope, soon yours too. It is where I will be sharing my reflections, my engagement with research, and the practical understanding I have built over years of working closely with people whose needs are often misunderstood.

My work centres on behaviour, but not in the narrow sense. I am interested in behaviour as it relates to understanding support needs, strengthening relationships, and promoting genuine wellbeing. Every week, I will be exploring a different aspect of this work, not to provide quick answers, but to support clearer thinking in an area that is often oversimplified. My hope is that what you find here feels useful, grounded, and respectful of how complex this field really is.

This brings me to the focus of this first post.

When we talk about behaviour, we often believe we are talking about actions. For me, behaviour has never been just about what someone does. It is about how we interpret what we are seeing and, crucially, what assumptions sit underneath that interpretation. Over time, I have become increasingly aware that many of the difficulties we face in supporting behaviour do not come from a lack of strategies, but from unexamined beliefs about choice, control, and capacity.

One of the most common and most damaging misunderstandings I see relates to regulation.

Regulation is often spoken about as though it were a feeling, a mindset, or a state of calm that a person should be able to access if they try hard enough. We tell children to calm down. We expect adults to self regulate. We describe people as dysregulated in ways that quietly imply a failure to cope or a lack of effort. For me, this framing misses something fundamental. Regulation is not a feeling. It is the physiological state of the nervous system.

I see the consequences of misunderstanding this every day.

A person may appear settled and engaged. They may be following instructions, completing tasks, and meeting expectations. From the outside, there is nothing obviously wrong. Then something changes. A demand increases. A routine shifts. A mistake is pointed out. A boundary is introduced. The response that follows can feel sudden or disproportionate, and adults often describe it as coming out of nowhere.

In my experience, it never does.

What is usually happening is that the nervous system has been under strain for some time. The signs were there, but they were subtle and easy to miss. This is not unique to children. Adolescents mask. Adults mask. Many people become highly skilled at appearing regulated while internally managing anxiety, sensory overload, cognitive fatigue, or emotional stress. In adults, this ability to push through is often rewarded and praised. What is rarely acknowledged is the cumulative cost of doing so.

This is where I often pause and reflect on the assumptions we make in practice. We tend to equate outward functioning with internal capacity. We assume that because someone is complying, they are coping. We assume that because someone has managed similar demands before, they should be able to manage them again in the same way. These assumptions feel logical, but they ignore the reality that capacity is not fixed.

Capacity fluctuates. It is shaped by environment, predictability, sensory input, communication demands, emotional load, and perceived safety. This becomes especially important when supporting individuals with learning disabilities or developmental disabilities. Too often, capacity is treated as an all or nothing concept. Someone is viewed as either capable or incapable, independent or dependent. In reality, capacity is highly contextual. An individual may have the capacity to engage, communicate, or make choices under certain conditions and not under others.

What concerns me is how frequently reduced capacity is interpreted as non compliance, lack of motivation, or challenging behaviour, rather than as information about unmet support needs. When expectations consistently exceed capacity, behaviour is not a possibility. It is a certainty. This is not a failure of the individual. It is a predictable outcome of the environment they are in.

This brings me to how behaviour support is often approached.

Many traditional behaviour management systems are built on the idea that behaviour is primarily a matter of choice shaped by consequences. In some contexts, this framework can be useful. Structure, predictability, and clear contingencies matter. However, what I see repeatedly is these approaches being applied without sufficient consideration of nervous system state or cognitive capacity.

When a person is dysregulated, their access to language, reasoning, and flexible thinking is reduced. This is well established across neuroscience and psychology. Stress alters how the brain functions. Attention narrows. Cognitive resources are redirected towards managing threat. In those moments, expecting reflection, negotiation, or learning in the same way we would expect from a regulated individual is unrealistic.

This is why attempts to reason with someone in moments of heightened distress so often fail. It is not that the person is unwilling to listen. It is that the systems required to process and use information are not fully available. When adults continue to escalate demands or introduce consequences at this point, they often intensify the very behaviour they are trying to reduce.

For me, this does not mean that boundaries stop mattering. They do. Safety matters. Predictability matters. Expectations matter. The critical question is not whether boundaries exist, but how they are applied and whether they are matched to capacity in that moment. Introducing consequences when someone does not have the capacity to meet an expectation does not teach skills. It teaches frustration, fear, or learned helplessness.

What this has taught me over time is that effective behaviour support is rarely about reacting once behaviour has fully escalated. It is about noticing what happens beforehand. Dysregulation often begins quietly. There may be a subtle change in posture, increased rigidity, withdrawal, repetition, reduced communication, or a shift in tone. These signs appear in children and adults alike, yet they are frequently dismissed because they do not fit traditional definitions of challenging behaviour.

The practitioners I respect most are those who notice these early shifts. They understand that small adjustments made early can prevent far more significant difficulties later. They reduce cognitive load. They adjust how they communicate. They slow the pace. This is not permissive practice. It is precise and responsive.

This way of thinking has also shaped how I understand burnout, shutdown, and emotional overwhelm in adults. Many adults I work with do not lack coping strategies. What they lack are environments that recognise cumulative demand. When expectations consistently exceed capacity, even highly skilled individuals will eventually reach a point where their nervous system responds. When this happens, it is often framed as personal failure rather than physiological stress.

For me, seeing behaviour as communication does not remove accountability. It reframes it. It allows us to ask better questions. What is being asked of this person right now. What resources do they have available. What would make this demand manageable rather than overwhelming.

Learning, engagement, and collaboration all depend on regulation. This is true for children in classrooms, adults in workplaces, and individuals with complex learning and developmental disabilities across care settings. Noticing regulation is not a distraction from outcomes. It is what makes outcomes possible.

As I move through my own work, I consistently return to the moments before behaviour escalates. Those moments tell us the most. They show us where capacity is reducing and where support is needed. When we respond there, rather than waiting for crisis, our interventions become calmer, more effective, and more respectful.

Regulation is not a feeling. It is the physiological foundation upon which behaviour, learning, and relationships sit. When we understand that, our role shifts. We stop trying to fix behaviour and start creating the conditions in which people can function without constantly operating at the edge of their tolerance.

That, for me, is what meaningful behaviour support looks like.

If this reflection resonates with you, I would genuinely welcome your thoughts. SENteachCo is intended to be a space where complexity is acknowledged, and where behaviour is approached with the depth and seriousness it deserves.