In schools across the country, a familiar pattern plays out daily. A student misbehaves — perhaps they lie, swear, have an “outburst,” or exhibit “bad behaviour.” The response? Punishment. Detention. Reprimands. These actions are justified as necessary for discipline and maintaining order. Meanwhile, safeguarding procedures are strengthened. Staff are required to report more, document every detail, and even log the reasons for not reporting something.
Yet, in all this activity, we miss the most important question of all: Why?
Why did the student lie?
Why did the student have an outburst?
Why are they behaving this way?
People don’t lie for no reason. People don’t erupt into emotional outbursts in isolation. Behaviour, especially behaviour labelled as “challenging,” is communication. Behind every incident is a story, an experience, or a trigger. The fight-or-flight response — our most primal survival mechanism — is often at the heart of these so-called “meltdowns.”
What often appears as ‘attention seeking’. behaviour’ is actually connected seeking – in other words: “help me! I’m in free fall… I am frightened, I don’t know what’s happening to me, I feel unanchored, I don’t feel safe”
But instead of asking what prompted the reaction, the focus too often shifts to control, punishment, and compliance.
Here’s the problem: When a child already feels unsafe, punishment only confirms their fears.
Survival Out of Context
When students behave in ways that seem “extreme” or “disproportionate,” it’s worth considering whether what we’re seeing is survival in action. Imagine a child who lives in an environment where they have to be on high alert — perhaps they experience neglect, conflict, or instability at home. Their nervous system becomes trained to recognize threat everywhere. So, when a teacher raises their voice or a peer says something hurtful, it can trigger that child’s fight-flight-freeze response. What looks like “defiance” or “disruption” is often self-protection.
What happens next? Often, the child is punished. They’re sent out of the room, kept in detention, or subjected to further isolation. But here’s the paradox: when a child feels unsafe, isolating or punishing them makes them feel even less safe. Instead of resolving the behaviour, it reinforces it.
Ask Before You Act
If we know this, why do we continue to prioritise punishment over curiosity? The simple answer is often time. Teachers are stretched. Workload pressures mean that “dealing with the issue” takes precedence over “understanding the issue.” But what if we reframed our approach?
Instead of asking, “How do I stop this behaviour?”
Ask, “Why is this behaviour happening in the first place?”
This shift in perspective does not mean excusing poor behaviour. It means seeking to understand it. What triggered it? What might the child be experiencing beneath the surface?
Staff don’t need to solve these questions alone. Schools have access to services and support teams trained to recognise trauma responses and understand emotional regulation. Educational psychologists, safeguarding leads, counselling teams and pastoral staff are there to help bridge this gap. But if the first instinct is to punish, these resources are never called into action.
The Paradox of Caring Roles
Here’s an uncomfortable truth: Those who care for others often pretend they themselves have no need of care.
Teachers, social workers, clinical psychologists, safeguarding leads, and others in caring professions are constantly focused on the vulnerability of others — the students, the service users, the clients. But rarely do they acknowledge their own vulnerability. By some unspoken logic, it’s as if the very role of “the carer” grants them immunity from stress, struggle, or personal difficulty.
But is that really true? Of course not. Teachers experience emotional overwhelm. Social workers face moral injury and burnout. Safeguarding leads are exposed to the weight of distressing stories daily. They, too, are human. They, too, are vulnerable.
Yet, in many settings, this truth is quietly ignored. Why? Perhaps it’s fear. To acknowledge one’s own vulnerability requires humility, and that can feel like a threat to authority or professionalism. It’s often said that “those who teach cannot be taught,”and there is some truth in that observation. Many in positions of authority believe they know best. After all, they are the “expert” in the room. But this mindset has its dangers. When educators and carers refuse to reflect on their own vulnerability, they risk becoming rigid, defensive, and closed off to learning.
If you believe you have nothing left to learn, how can you ask “why” with an open mind? If you believe you are invulnerable, how can you recognize the vulnerability of others?
The irony is clear: Those tasked with safeguarding the most vulnerable people in society sometimes fail to safeguard themselves. They resist admitting their struggles, and in doing so, they project strength while quietly carrying stress, frustration, and burnout. The risk is that, in this state of denial, they become less able to respond with compassion, patience, and empathy.
The result? More control, more punishment, and less curiosity.
The Power of “Why”
Imagine a student who regularly disrupts the classroom. On the surface, it’s easier to label them as “difficult” than to recognise the complexity of their experience. But the teacher who asks “why?” might discover that this child is experiencing hunger, grief, bullying, or fear. Their “bad behaviour” is a reflection of their unmet needs. Once those needs are addressed, the behaviour often improves naturally.
Now, imagine a teacher who feels overwhelmed by the constant demands of the job. On the surface, it might look like that teacher is being short-tempered or “inflexible.” But if we asked “why?”, we might discover they are carrying the weight of unspoken pressures — deadlines, inspections, emotional fatigue, or personal challenges at home. Their “bad behaviour” is also a reflection of unmet needs.
If staff fail to ask “why” — of students, of colleagues, or of themselves — they send a message: “Your feelings don’t matter. Your context doesn’t matter. Only your compliance matters.” For a child already feeling unsafe, this lesson is deeply harmful. For a teacher already feeling overwhelmed, it is equally so.
A Call to Action
If there is one thing to take away from this message, it is this: Always ask why.
When a student lies — ask why.
When a student lashes out — ask why.
When a student “refuses to follow instructions” — ask why.
But also…
When a colleague is unkind — ask why.
When a staff member seems withdrawn — ask why.
When you, yourself, feel on edge or overwhelmed — ask why.
Asking “why” is not a sign of leniency; it’s a sign of strength, compassion, and professionalism. It’s safeguarding at its most effective. If staff don’t have time to ask, the cycle will continue: punish first, ask later. But later is often too late.
If you want safer schools, stronger relationships, and more meaningful safeguarding, you must always ask why — not just of others, but also of yourself.