There is an old saying that has been around for generations: it takes a village to raise a child.

The older I get, the more I believe it is true. But over the years, I have come to see those words a little differently.

I don't think it simply takes a village to raise a child.

I think it takes a village to support a family.

And when a family feels supported, children feel it too. 

For most of my life, I have been trying to understand how children learn, adapt, and develop. Part of that journey began as a little girl with an IEP who often felt overwhelmed in school. I remember sitting in meetings while adults discussed accommodations, goals, and my future. During one of those meetings, my dad said something that has stayed with me for decades.

"All I care about is my daughter's confidence, and if that's good, you won't hear from me."

At the time, I didn't fully understand what he meant.

Today, I do.

He wasn't dismissing academics. He understood that confidence matters. A child who feels believed in, encouraged, and valued approaches challenges differently. Looking back, I think that simple statement shaped the way I would spend the rest of my life thinking about children and families.

That belief eventually led me to earn a Master's degree in Human Development. I wanted to understand what helps children succeed and what helps families stay strong. I studied theories, research, and child development across the lifespan. But one of my greatest teachers wasn't graduate school.

It was becoming a homeschool mom.

Homeschooling taught me that some of the most important lessons happen outside of a curriculum. Some of the most meaningful growth happened while baking in the kitchen, exploring our beautiful beaches and redwoods, traveling and learning about other cultures, reading together, learning about money and how to make thoughtful financial decisions, staying true to our values, playing in mixed-age groups of children, working in the garden, talking around the dinner table, and simply doing life together. 

No rushing. Just being in connection. 

Those moments weren't separate from learning that happened in a classroom or school.

They were learning.

They built confidence, communication, problem solving, responsibility, and relationships. They reminded me that development is woven into everyday life.

Over the years, my work has allowed me to walk alongside many incredible children and families. I've sat in living rooms, classrooms, and IEP meetings. I've celebrated first friendships, new words, developed speech, growing confidence, and moments that might seem small to someone else but meant everything to a family.

I've also sat with parents carrying responsibilities that few people ever see.

People often ask, "What does this child need?"

It's an important question.

Some children need therapy.

Some need accommodations.

Some need a different educational environment.

Some need specialized support.

I believe deeply in those resources, and I have seen how life changing they can be.

But somewhere along the way, I started asking another question.

What does this family need?

Because children don't grow up inside appointments.

They grow up inside families.

And families grow inside communities.

The greatest progress I've witnessed rarely happened because one person had all the answers. It happened when the people surrounding a child worked 

together.

A parent who felt encouraged.

A teacher who saw strengths.

A therapist who partnered with the family.

Grandparents who stayed involved.

Friends who made room.

Neighbors who knew a child's name.

No one person carried the entire journey.

Together, they became the village.

As someone who supports many families raising children with autism and ADHD, I believe this becomes even more important. These parents are often coordinating services, advocating at school, learning new strategies, and celebrating victories that others may never notice.

If I were raising a child with profound autism or significant ADHD today, one of my first priorities would absolutely be finding quality support and services. But right alongside that, I would intentionally build a village around my family.

Not because therapy isn't important.

It is.

Not because education isn't important.

It absolutely is.

I believe a network of caring people can make an incredible difference.

As beautiful as a village can be, I've also learned that building one requires wisdom.

Not every opinion deserves equal weight.

As parents, we hear advice from every direction. Sometimes it's helpful. Sometimes it's well intentioned but doesn't fit our child or our family. Sometimes it 

leaves us questioning ourselves. Those voices may come from social media, friends, extended family members, or people who genuinely care but see the situation differently.

One of the healthiest things we can do is protect the emotional climate of our home.

Building a village doesn't mean giving everyone a vote in how we raise our children.

It means intentionally surrounding ourselves with people who strengthen our family.

People who encourage instead of criticize.

People who ask questions before making assumptions.

People who celebrate progress instead of comparison.

People who remind us that every child develops on their own timeline.

Our children often borrow our confidence before they build their own. If we allow every outside opinion to determine the peace within our home, our family can begin to feel uncertain. One of the greatest gifts we can give our children is being grounded enough to learn from others, grateful enough to accept help, and confident enough to trust what is right for our family.

When I look around Santa Cruz County, I don't see a community lacking heart. I see caring teachers, dedicated professionals, grandparents who want to help, coaches who invest in children, churches that welcome families, local businesses that support their communities, and neighbors who simply need an invitation to know one another.

The pieces are already here.

What if we became more intentional about bringing them together?

What if supporting families became one of the greatest ways to support children?

My life's work has never simply been about helping a child reach the next milestone.

It has always been about supporting the whole family.

Because when parents feel encouraged, siblings feel included, grandparents feel valued, and communities come alongside one another, families become stronger, more connected, and better equipped to help every child develop strong roots.

Maybe that's what "it takes a village" has meant all along.

Not that parents aren't enough.

But that they were never meant to do it alone.

And perhaps the greatest gift we can give the next generation is creating spaces, opportunities, and supportive communities where children and families can thrive together.

Perhaps it's choosing to become the village for one another.

Tovah Petra, MA, is a trauma informed somatic practitioner, founder of The Spectrum School, and creator of the Whole Family, Whole Child approach. Her work focuses on supporting children with Autism and strengthening the families and communities that help them grow, rooted in connection. 

In many classrooms and therapy settings, young children with autism are asked to complete a task before accessing play.

“First work, then toy.”

On the surface, this seems logical. Structure creates predictability. Predictability can reduce anxiety. Reinforcement increases desired behaviors.

But there is a deeper question we don’t ask often enough:

Is the child’s nervous system ready for learning when the demand is placed?

For many children with autism, behavior is not a motivation issue. It is a regulation issue.

Children with autism often experience the world with heightened sensory intensity. Noise, transitions, unpredictability, social demands, and visual clutter can all activate the nervous system. When a child is dysregulated, their body may show it through climbing, dumping toys, running, pushing, avoiding tasks, constant movement, or an inability to sustain play.

These are not signs of defiance. They are signs of activation.

When the nervous system is in a fight-or-flight state, the brain prioritizes survival and sensory processing. The prefrontal cortex — responsible for fine motor control, attention, inhibition, and symbolic reasoning — becomes less accessible.

Yet this is often the exact moment we ask for tracing letters or numbers, sitting still, task persistence, delayed gratification, or “first work, then play.”

A child may comply. But compliance does not equal regulation. And completion does not equal integration.

Much of the tension in autism education comes down to two different assumptions about how safety is created. One model assumes that structure leads to predictability, predictability leads to safety, and safety leads to skill. Another model assumes that regulation leads to safety, safety leads to readiness, and readiness leads to skill.

Both aim to support development. Both want children to succeed.

But sequencing matters.

A child who is asked to perform before their nervous system is settled may complete the task through stress activation rather than true learning integration. Over time, this can create task avoidance, increased behavioral intensity, or an association of learning with pressure rather than curiosity.

When regulation comes first, something different happens. The body settles. Attention widens. Curiosity becomes possible. Learning integrates more organically.

Many children with autism work incredibly hard just to manage sensory input throughout the day. If we ask them to suppress movement, override activation, and perform cognitively in that state, we are asking them to push past their internal signals.

Some children can do this temporarily. But at what cost?

When we prioritize compliance over readiness, we risk mistaking suppression for skill. A child sitting quietly is not always a regulated child. A child completing a worksheet is not always a learning child.

This is not an argument against structure. Children with autism absolutely benefit from clear expectations, predictable routines, visual supports, boundaries, and intentional skill-building.

Structure is not the problem. But structure without regulation awareness can become compliance-focused rather than development-focused.

The real question is not whether children should learn to tolerate non-preferred tasks. The question is whether we are building tolerance within their window of capacity, or asking for performance before their nervous system is ready.

As someone who works inside classrooms supporting children with autism, I have witnessed firsthand how quickly behaviors escalate when demands are placed before regulation. I have also seen how dramatically things shift when a child is given even a small amount of movement, connection, or nervous system support first. The difference is not subtle — it is embodied. There have been moments when I’ve stood in a classroom watching a dysregulated child be asked to perform a cognitive task, and I can feel the tension rise in my own body. Not because structure is wrong, but because I can see the child’s nervous system is not ready. Those moments have deepened my conviction that sequencing matters more than we often realize.

For parents, caregivers, educators, and behavioral technicians, this is not about choosing sides. It is not about rejecting structure or dismissing therapeutic models. It is about pausing long enough to ask:

What state is this child’s nervous system in right now?

Because state determines access.

A child who feels overwhelmed, activated, or sensory-loaded is not refusing to learn. They may be unable to access learning in that moment.

When we begin with regulation — even briefly — everything can shift. A few minutes of heavy work — simple activities that engage the muscles and joints, like pushing against a wall, carrying books, stacking chairs, crawling, squeezing putty, pressing hands together, or helping move something with resistance — can help the body settle. A moment of connection. A softened tone. A reduced demand. A clear, calm boundary paired with co-regulation.

These small adjustments do not remove expectations. They make expectations reachable.

For children with autism, readiness is not something we demand.

It is something we cultivate with patience, movement, and connection.

When a child feels safe in their body, learning becomes less of a battle and more of a bridge. 

And from that place, growth unfolds not through pressure, but through possibility.

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Tovah Petra, MA, is a trauma-informed somatic practitioner, relational guide, and Founder and CEO of The Spectrum School, a nonprofit preschool rooted in nervous system safety and connection for children with autism and related neurodivergent profiles.

Drawing on her Master’s degree in Human Development and Social Change, her background in Early Childhood Education, and two years of training in Somatica®, a trauma-informed, body-based relational modality, Tovah integrates nervous system science with lived relational experience. She offers specialized / individualized support for children with Autism and their families, helping both children and parents navigate challenges with greater regulation, resilience, and confidence. 

You can learn more at: www.thespectrumschool.org