Teaching vs. Placating: The Quiet Shift That Changed Everything
There are two very different ways to work with autistic students.
One is to teach them.
The other is to keep them comfortable.
From the outside, those two approaches can look almost identical. A calm classroom. A compliant student. No complaints coming home in the backpack. But underneath, they are worlds apart.
I learned that difference the hard way with my son Sheamus.
When School Was a Place of Growth
In elementary and middle school, Sheamus had teachers who believed in him.
They didn’t just manage him. They taught him.
If he didn’t understand something, they slowed it down. They found new angles. They used visuals, patience, repetition, creativity. They treated learning like a bridge they were responsible for helping him cross.
And he crossed it.
He learned to read better. He learned to communicate better. He learned routines and social skills and confidence. He came home tired, sometimes frustrated, but growing.
That’s what real education feels like for an autistic child. Effort, support, progress.
Then High School Happened
Somewhere between middle school hallways and high school bells, the mission quietly changed.
Teaching turned into placating.
Instead of explaining the work, teachers started excusing it. Instead of pushing him to grow, they lowered expectations. Instead of finding ways to reach him, they found ways to avoid conflict.
If he didn’t want to do something, they let it slide.
If he struggled, they watered it down.
If he was overwhelmed, they removed the challenge instead of teaching him how to manage it.
On paper, it probably looked like support.
In reality, it was surrender.
The Hidden Harm of Placating
Placating feels kind in the moment. Nobody raises their voice. Nobody gets upset. The day moves along smoothly.
But placating an autistic student sends a dangerous message:
You don’t need to grow.
You don’t need to try.
We don’t expect more from you.
For a child with autism, especially one capable of learning like Sheamus, that message slowly turns into stagnation. Skills stop developing. Confidence shrinks. Independence fades.
Comfort replaces competence.
And no parent dreams of a comfortable future. We dream of a capable one.
Choosing a Different Path
After watching this pattern repeat again and again, I made the hardest educational decision a parent can make.
I pulled him out.
Not out of frustration.
Out of responsibility.
Today Sheamus is getting what he should have been getting all along.
Real services. Real support. Real teaching.
He has speech therapy. Occupational therapy. Music therapy. A one-on-one worker who comes to our home and helps him practice daily living skills. Instead of being parked in a system that managed him, he is finally in programs that build him.
And the difference is night and day.
He is learning again.
A Message to Schools
Autistic students do not need to be pacified.
They need to be taught.
Yes, they need accommodations.
Yes, they need understanding.
Yes, they need patience and structure and compassion.
But above all, they need educators who believe they are worth the effort.
Placating is easy. Teaching is work.
And our kids deserve the work.
A Message to Parents
If something feels wrong, trust that feeling.
If your child is being kept busy instead of being helped forward, speak up. Ask questions. Demand more.
Because comfort without growth is not education.
It’s babysitting with a bell schedule.
And our children deserve far better than that.
Sheamus is proof that the right support can change everything. The goal was never to make him quiet. The goal was to help him become independent, confident, and prepared for life.
That goal hasn’t changed.
Only the path did.
/
The Shampoo Struggle: Sensory Sensitivity and Sheamus’ Hair Care Journey
When people think about raising an autistic child, they usually imagine school meetings, communication challenges, or finding the right therapies. Very few picture the battlefield that can be a simple bottle of shampoo.
But in our house, hair care has always been serious business.
Sheamus has intense sensory sensitivities. His world is experienced at full volume, and that includes smells, textures, and how things feel on his skin. A product that most people would never think twice about can feel overwhelming to him.
Strong fragrances? Absolute no go
Soaps that feel thin, watery, or too “slippery”? Also a hard no
For years, bath time was a gamble. I would stand in the store reading labels like a scientist preparing an experiment. Hypoallergenic. Unscented. Organic. Gentle. Tear-free. Every promise on the bottle sounded hopeful, but hope doesn’t always survive contact with reality.
Some products burned his scalp.
Some made his skin itch.
Some just smelled too loud.
And when something didn’t work, we paid for it. Meltdowns, anxiety, refusal to bathe, frustration for both of us. What looks like a tiny inconvenience to the outside world can feel enormous to an autistic child whose nervous system is already working overtime.
So I learned.
I learned to avoid flashy packaging and bold claims. I learned to buy organic products with simple ingredients. I learned that what feels “light and clean” to me might feel weak and uncomfortable to him. I learned that neutral scents are our best friends.
Mostly, I learned patience.
In the younger years it was trial and error, hit or miss, and more than a few wasted bottles under the sink. But over time we figured out what Sheamus’ sensory system could tolerate. We built a routine. We found products that feel safe to him.
There is a strange, beautiful kind of nostalgia in returning to a place that once held your hopes for your child’s future. This week, our family took a step back in time and a giant leap forward.
My son, Sheamus, is at a massive crossroads. He’s 16, standing on the edge of adulthood with his 17th birthday quickly approaching on February 8th. As he prepares for that final stretch of his teenage years, I realized that the support he had as a toddler was exactly what he needed again to navigate his future.
The Way We Were
If I close my eyes, I can still see 3-year-old Sheamus walking through the doors of the United Cerebral Palsy (UCP) Center. Back then, he was just a little guy finding his way.
It’s a common misconception because of the name, but Sheamus doesn't have CP; UCP simply provides some of the most specialized, compassionate care in the region. For a while, that center was our second home. He spent hours there in Speech and Occupational Therapy (OT), building the foundation for the young man he is today. Eventually, he "graduated" or moved on, and those therapy sessions became a chapter in his baby book.
Ten Years in a Heartbeat
Fast forward a decade. The toddler is now a 16-year-old young man. The world is bigger, the challenges are more complex, and the stakes feel higher as we look toward his transition into adulthood.
I decided it was time to go back. Walking back into the UCP center after ten years felt like a time warp. The walls might have different paint and the equipment might be newer, but the heart of the place remains the same.
The most incredible moment? Walking in and seeing Mrs. C, the director. Not only is she still there leading the way, but she remembered us. There is a special kind of peace that comes with knowing your child is in the hands of someone who has seen their journey from the very beginning.
New Faces, Same Mission
While the familiar face of Mrs. C gave us a sense of continuity, Sheamus is starting this new chapter with a fresh team. His therapists are different people than the ones who worked with his 3-year-old self, but the goals are remarkably similar:
Teaching vs. Placating: The Quiet Shift That Changed Everything
There are two very different ways to work with autistic students.
One is to teach them.
The other is to keep them comfortable.
From the outside, those two approaches can look almost identical. A calm classroom. A compliant student. No complaints coming home in the backpack. But underneath, they are worlds apart.
I learned that difference the hard way with my son Sheamus.
When School Was a Place of Growth
In elementary and middle school, Sheamus had teachers who believed in him.
They didn’t just manage him. They taught him.
If he didn’t understand something, they slowed it down. They found new angles. They used visuals, patience, repetition, creativity. They treated learning like a bridge they were responsible for helping him cross.
And he crossed it.
He learned to read better. He learned to communicate better. He learned routines and social skills and confidence. He came home tired, sometimes frustrated, but growing.
That’s what real education feels like for an autistic child. Effort, support, progress.
Then High School Happened
Somewhere between middle school hallways and high school bells, the mission quietly changed.
Teaching turned into placating.
Instead of explaining the work, teachers started excusing it. Instead of pushing him to grow, they lowered expectations. Instead of finding ways to reach him, they found ways to avoid conflict.
If he didn’t want to do something, they let it slide.
If he struggled, they watered it down.
If he was overwhelmed, they removed the challenge instead of teaching him how to manage it.
On paper, it probably looked like support.
In reality, it was surrender.
The Hidden Harm of Placating
Placating feels kind in the moment. Nobody raises their voice. Nobody gets upset. The day moves along smoothly.
But placating an autistic student sends a dangerous message:
You don’t need to grow.
You don’t need to try.
We don’t expect more from you.
For a child with autism, especially one capable of learning like Sheamus, that message slowly turns into stagnation. Skills stop developing. Confidence shrinks. Independence fades.
Comfort replaces competence.
And no parent dreams of a comfortable future. We dream of a capable one.
Choosing a Different Path
After watching this pattern repeat again and again, I made the hardest educational decision a parent can make.
I pulled him out.
Not out of frustration.
Out of responsibility.
Today Sheamus is getting what he should have been getting all along.
Real services. Real support. Real teaching.
He has speech therapy. Occupational therapy. Music therapy. A one-on-one worker who comes to our home and helps him practice daily living skills. Instead of being parked in a system that managed him, he is finally in programs that build him.
And the difference is night and day.
He is learning again.
A Message to Schools
Autistic students do not need to be pacified.
They need to be taught.
Yes, they need accommodations.
Yes, they need understanding.
Yes, they need patience and structure and compassion.
But above all, they need educators who believe they are worth the effort.
Placating is easy. Teaching is work.
And our kids deserve the work.
A Message to Parents
If something feels wrong, trust that feeling.
If your child is being kept busy instead of being helped forward, speak up. Ask questions. Demand more.
Because comfort without growth is not education.
It’s babysitting with a bell schedule.
And our children deserve far better than that.
Sheamus is proof that the right support can change everything. The goal was never to make him quiet. The goal was to help him become independent, confident, and prepared for life.
That goal hasn’t changed.
Only the path did.
/
The Shampoo Struggle: Sensory Sensitivity and Sheamus’ Hair Care Journey
When people think about raising an autistic child, they usually imagine school meetings, communication challenges, or finding the right therapies. Very few picture the battlefield that can be a simple bottle of shampoo.
But in our house, hair care has always been serious business.
Sheamus has intense sensory sensitivities. His world is experienced at full volume, and that includes smells, textures, and how things feel on his skin. A product that most people would never think twice about can feel overwhelming to him.
Strong fragrances? Absolute no go
Soaps that feel thin, watery, or too “slippery”? Also a hard no
For years, bath time was a gamble. I would stand in the store reading labels like a scientist preparing an experiment. Hypoallergenic. Unscented. Organic. Gentle. Tear-free. Every promise on the bottle sounded hopeful, but hope doesn’t always survive contact with reality.
Some products burned his scalp.
Some made his skin itch.
Some just smelled too loud.
And when something didn’t work, we paid for it. Meltdowns, anxiety, refusal to bathe, frustration for both of us. What looks like a tiny inconvenience to the outside world can feel enormous to an autistic child whose nervous system is already working overtime.
So I learned.
I learned to avoid flashy packaging and bold claims. I learned to buy organic products with simple ingredients. I learned that what feels “light and clean” to me might feel weak and uncomfortable to him. I learned that neutral scents are our best friends.
Mostly, I learned patience.
In the younger years it was trial and error, hit or miss, and more than a few wasted bottles under the sink. But over time we figured out what Sheamus’ sensory system could tolerate. We built a routine. We found products that feel safe to him.
There is a strange, beautiful kind of nostalgia in returning to a place that once held your hopes for your child’s future. This week, our family took a step back in time and a giant leap forward.
My son, Sheamus, is at a massive crossroads. He’s 16, standing on the edge of adulthood with his 17th birthday quickly approaching on February 8th. As he prepares for that final stretch of his teenage years, I realized that the support he had as a toddler was exactly what he needed again to navigate his future.
The Way We Were
If I close my eyes, I can still see 3-year-old Sheamus walking through the doors of the United Cerebral Palsy (UCP) Center. Back then, he was just a little guy finding his way.
It’s a common misconception because of the name, but Sheamus doesn't have CP; UCP simply provides some of the most specialized, compassionate care in the region. For a while, that center was our second home. He spent hours there in Speech and Occupational Therapy (OT), building the foundation for the young man he is today. Eventually, he "graduated" or moved on, and those therapy sessions became a chapter in his baby book.
Ten Years in a Heartbeat
Fast forward a decade. The toddler is now a 16-year-old young man. The world is bigger, the challenges are more complex, and the stakes feel higher as we look toward his transition into adulthood.
I decided it was time to go back. Walking back into the UCP center after ten years felt like a time warp. The walls might have different paint and the equipment might be newer, but the heart of the place remains the same.
The most incredible moment? Walking in and seeing Mrs. C, the director. Not only is she still there leading the way, but she remembered us. There is a special kind of peace that comes with knowing your child is in the hands of someone who has seen their journey from the very beginning.
New Faces, Same Mission
While the familiar face of Mrs. C gave us a sense of continuity, Sheamus is starting this new chapter with a fresh team. His therapists are different people than the ones who worked with his 3-year-old self, but the goals are remarkably similar:
Now we’ve got a grip on the situation.
Hair washing isn’t a war anymore. It’s just part of the day.
Moments like these remind me how much autism awareness lives in the details. It isn’t only about classrooms and doctors and big life plans. Sometimes it’s about something as ordinary as shampoo.
Understanding sensory needs is understanding our kids.
If you’re a parent in the middle of this struggle right now, standing in an aisle wondering why something so simple feels so hard, I see you. Keep experimenting. Keep paying attention. Your child isn’t being difficult. Their body is just speaking a different language.
And once you learn that language, even a bottle of soap can become a small victory.
One wash at a time
• Speech Therapy: Focusing on the communication skills he needs for the "real world," social confidence, and expressing himself as a young man.
• Occupational Therapy (OT): Working on the life skills and coordination that will help him gain independence as he nears 18.
Looking Ahead to 17
There is something poetic about starting this journey now. With his birthday on February 8th, Sheamus is reclaiming these tools just in time. This isn't about "fixing" anything it’s about giving him every advantage possible as he prepares for the next phase of his life.
Going back to where it all began feels like the circle is closing, but in the best way possible. We are older, Sheamus is much taller, and the goals have changed but the commitment to his success is exactly the same as it was ten years ago.
Welcome back, Sheamus. We can’t wait to see what you achieve this time around.
Now we’ve got a grip on the situation.
Hair washing isn’t a war anymore. It’s just part of the day.
Moments like these remind me how much autism awareness lives in the details. It isn’t only about classrooms and doctors and big life plans. Sometimes it’s about something as ordinary as shampoo.
Understanding sensory needs is understanding our kids.
If you’re a parent in the middle of this struggle right now, standing in an aisle wondering why something so simple feels so hard, I see you. Keep experimenting. Keep paying attention. Your child isn’t being difficult. Their body is just speaking a different language.
And once you learn that language, even a bottle of soap can become a small victory.
One wash at a time
• Speech Therapy: Focusing on the communication skills he needs for the "real world," social confidence, and expressing himself as a young man.
• Occupational Therapy (OT): Working on the life skills and coordination that will help him gain independence as he nears 18.
Looking Ahead to 17
There is something poetic about starting this journey now. With his birthday on February 8th, Sheamus is reclaiming these tools just in time. This isn't about "fixing" anything it’s about giving him every advantage possible as he prepares for the next phase of his life.
Going back to where it all began feels like the circle is closing, but in the best way possible. We are older, Sheamus is much taller, and the goals have changed but the commitment to his success is exactly the same as it was ten years ago.
Welcome back, Sheamus. We can’t wait to see what you achieve this time around.
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