The Spectrum School
Somatic, trauma-informed education and developmental programs for children with autism and children with ADD/ADHD.
A 501(c)(3) nonprofit. We center the child before the diagnosis.
 



As families look ahead, conversations about preschool often surface—how to choose one, prepare, and support children through this big transition. For many, preschool is a child’s first step into a wider world beyond home. While exciting, it can also stir big feelings for children and parents alike. From a nervous-system perspective, preschool is less about academics and more about emotional safety, regulation, and connection.

As a somatic practitioner and parent, I see preschool transitions as an opportunity to gently support a child’s developing nervous system. Somatic approaches focus on the body as the foundation for emotional regulation and resilience. Young children experience emotions primarily through their bodies—tight bellies, wiggly limbs, shallow breathing—long before they have words. Supporting their bodies supports their minds.

In my family, both children attended a nature-based preschool in Santa Cruz. Like many local programs, their days were spent outdoors—climbing, swinging, digging, observing insects, singing under the redwoods, grounding barefoot in the grass, cooking imaginary meals in the mud kitchen, and building dams after a rain. The natural environment itself became a regulating force. Fresh air, open space, and unstructured play offered a softness to the transition that supported their nervous systems. While nature-based programs aren’t the right fit for every family, Santa Cruz offers many options emphasizing movement, sensory exploration, and connection to nature.

Separation anxiety is common when starting preschool. It is a healthy expression of attachment, not a problem. From a somatic lens, separation anxiety shows up as a stress response: children may cry, cling, freeze, or resist transitions. Rather than rushing to “fix” these behaviors, slowing down and offering regulation helps. A simple practice parents can use is co-regulation through breath and presence. Before drop-off, take a few slow breaths together. Place a gentle hand on your child’s chest, back, or belly and invite them to feel your warmth. You might say, “Let’s take three slow breaths together before we say goodbye.” This signals safety to the nervous system.

Predictable routines also support children. Young children feel safer when they know what to expect. Creating a consistent goodbye ritual—special hug, repeating a phrase, waving from the same spot, or offering a small trinket they can keep in their pocket or cubby—can ease anxiety. Consistency and confidence are key; children sense when we are unsure, and our nervous systems communicate this.

Emotional resilience in early childhood is about learning that feelings move through us and that support is available. When a child struggles after preschool—meltdowns, exhaustion, withdrawal—it often means their system is processing stimulation. Some children mask emotions during the day and release once back with a caregiver. Offering downtime, physical closeness, and unstructured play helps restore balance.

Body-based tools at home support resilience. Stretching, shaking out arms and legs, or lying on the floor with a pillow on the belly can help children discharge stress. I used to have many impromptu dance parties with my kids—often involving questionable dance moves and loud music chosen by them. Turning these into playful moments—“Let’s shake like dogs after they’ve been in water” or “Let’s be starfish on the ground”—keeps the practices developmentally appropriate and engaging.

Social skills also grow during preschool. From a somatic perspective, social learning begins with felt safety. Children who feel regulated are more available for connection, sharing, and cooperation. Rather than focusing solely on manners or problem-solving scripts, we can support social development by helping children notice their internal cues.

Dr. Mona Delahooke, whose work has deeply influenced my own and many trauma-informed approaches, emphasizes that behavior is a form of communication. When a child hits, withdraws, or struggles socially, their body may be in a state of overwhelm. Supporting regulation—through movement, sensory input, and connection—often leads to more organic engagement.

Parents can model this by naming body sensations and emotions in everyday moments. Part of building a child’s self-esteem is teaching self-advocacy—helping them notice needs, name feelings, and ask for support when something doesn’t feel right. For example, “It looks like your body feels tight right now. Do you want to stomp your feet or take a big breath?” This helps children respond rather than react.

Choosing a preschool that aligns with your child’s temperament matters. Some thrive in busy, social environments; others prefer smaller, slower-paced settings. There is no one-size-fits-all answer, and children are best supported when their individual nervous system needs are respected.

It is also important to acknowledge parents. Starting preschool can activate emotions—grief, relief, anxiety, pride. Children often mirror what we haven’t processed ourselves. Offering yourself compassion and regulation is not selfish; it is foundational. When we tend to our own nervous systems, we show children that transitions can be met with care and resilience.

Preschool is not just preparation for kindergarten; it is preparation for relationship, self-awareness, and emotional well-being. Approaching this milestone through a somatic lens shifts focus from readiness and performance to safety, connection, and trust. In doing so, we lay a foundation that supports children not only as students, but as their most authentic selves.



Tovah Petra, MA, is trauma-informed somatic practitioner and creator of the Whole Family, Whole Child approach. She helps parents of neurodivergent children create emotionally safe, attuned, and connected homes — while nurturing their own nervous systems, relationships, and intimate connection. Learn more at: www.tovahpetra.com 






 



When we talk about education, we often focus on outcomes—academic achievement, test scores, and readiness for the next grade level. But for families raising children on the autism spectrum, the questions run much deeper. Beyond grades and assessments, the real challenge is finding a school that meets children where they are, supports how their bodies and nervous systems experience the world, and allows them to learn in a way that feels safe, understood, and fully supported.

In Santa Cruz County, families are often left searching for educational environments that truly meet these needs. This gap inspired the creation of a school designed specifically for students with autism—one that integrates learning with regulation-focused, trauma-informed, and holistic approaches so children can flourish academically, socially, and emotionally.

For many students on the spectrum, traditional school environments fall short—not because educators lack care, but because the systems themselves are not built to accommodate different sensory, social, and neurological needs. Large class sizes, constant stimulation, rigid schedules, and narrow behavioral expectations can place significant strain on a child’s nervous system. Over time, this strain may show up as anxiety, withdrawal, emotional overwhelm, or behaviors that are often misunderstood or mislabeled.

These responses are not signs of failure. They are signals.

A child’s nervous system is constantly communicating what feels safe and what feels overwhelming. When a child experiences ongoing sensory overload, unpredictable transitions, or social demands that exceed their capacity, the body naturally shifts into a state of protection. In this state, the brain prioritizes survival over learning. Attention narrows, communication becomes more difficult, and emotional regulation feels increasingly out of reach.

Too often, these signals are treated as behaviors to correct rather than messages to understand.

A nervous-system–informed approach prioritizes safety, regulation, and connection as the foundation for growth and learning. It asks different questions: instead of asking how we can get a child to comply, it asks what the child needs to feel safe enough to engage. Instead of expecting children to self-regulate without support, it recognizes regulation as a skill that develops over time through attuned relationships, predictability, and consistent care.

Independent and alternative educational models offer a powerful opportunity to lead this shift. With greater flexibility, these settings can create environments that respond to students rather than forcing them to adapt to overwhelming systems. Movement can be integrated into the day. Sensory needs can be anticipated and supported. Emotional expression can be met with curiosity and understanding rather than pressure or punishment.

In supportive learning spaces, relationships are central. Students learn best when they feel seen, understood, and supported by the adults around them. Trust is not an added benefit; it is the pathway to learning. When children feel safe in their bodies and secure in relationships, curiosity naturally emerges and engagement becomes possible.

This way of educating recognizes that students experience and process the world differently, and that these differences can be supported so they grow into their strengths.

The school we are creating in Santa Cruz County will integrate education with therapeutic and emotional support rather than separating the two. Occupational therapy, physical therapy, speech and language services, psychological support, and sensory-informed spaces will all work collaboratively with learning.

Rather than pulling children out of class to address regulation or emotional needs, support will be woven into the rhythm of the day. Learning will remain flexible and responsive, shaped by each child’s capacity, interests, and needs in the moment. Progress will be measured not only through academic milestones, but through increased regulation, confidence, communication, and connection.

In this kind of environment, children are not asked to disconnect from their bodies to learn. They are supported in understanding their internal cues, building resilience, and developing the skills needed to navigate daily life with greater ease.

Equally important, this vision recognizes that children do not exist in isolation. Families carry the emotional weight of the systems their children navigate. Parents of children on the autism spectrum often experience chronic stress, advocacy fatigue, and emotional exhaustion. Many feel isolated or unsure where to turn for meaningful support, especially when systems feel fragmented or difficult to navigate.

When parents are overwhelmed or unsupported, the entire family system feels the impact. Stress moves through relationships and nervous systems, shaping daily interactions at home and at school. For this reason, education that truly supports children must also support families.

Alongside services for students, families deserve access to nervous system education, somatic-based parent support, relationship and intimacy guidance, and opportunities for authentic community connection. Parenting a child on the autism spectrum can place strain on partnerships and emotional closeness over time. When caregivers are supported in their own regulation and relationships, children benefit in deep and lasting ways.

Educational environments that include families as part of the care model are not only more compassionate, they are more effective. Independent schools have the flexibility to care for families as whole systems, addressing emotional well-being alongside learning.

Santa Cruz has long been a community that values holistic health, alternative education, and innovative approaches to child development. This makes it a powerful place to lead in reimagining what education can look like for children on the autism spectrum. Learning environments grounded in nervous-system awareness have the potential to support not only academic growth, but long-term emotional health and family stability.

The future of education does not require lowering expectations or separating children from the world. It requires environments built on an understanding of how learning actually happens. When safety comes first, when relationships are central, and when regulation is supported, children are able to grow into their strengths without abandoning themselves in the process.

When we support families, children thrive—and parents experience less stress, relationships deepen, and the entire household benefits from greater connection, attunement, and emotional well-being. The future of education begins there.



Tovah Petra, MA, is a trauma-informed somatic practitioner and creator of the Whole Family, Whole Child approach. She works with children and families in Santa Cruz County, helping parents of children on the autism spectrum create emotionally safe, attuned, and connected homes—while supporting their own nervous systems, relationships, and intimate connection. She is dedicated to reimagining education for children on the autism spectrum and creating learning environments that honor the body, relationships, and the unique needs of each child. Learn more at www.tovahpetra.com






 




December often feels full of shifts and changes. Growing up with parents in separate homes, I learned early how different households can have their own rhythms, expectations, and ways of celebrating. For a child, moving between these spaces isn’t just confusing — it can feel heavy and unsettling.

As a parent now, I notice how children experience transitions even more vividly. Their bodies often signal overwhelm before they have words to express it. They might become clingy, retreat quietly, or have sudden meltdowns — and that’s their nervous system asking for support. Even minor changes — a later bedtime, a new routine, or a different holiday plan — can feel like a big adjustment for a child.

One thing I’ve learned over the years is that presence matters more than perfection. Children are watching, feeling, and absorbing the energy around them. When adults slow down, notice shifts, and prioritize connection, children can begin to feel grounded, safe, and understood — even amidst the busyness of December.

Steady anchors can make all the difference. Here are some ways I approach transitions with children and the families I work with:

Connection First
Before trying to redirect behavior, move on to the next activity, or fix a problem, I check in. I notice their energy, tone, and behavior. Naming what they might be feeling is simple but powerful: "That was a lot of change today. Your body might feel tired or off-balance." These moments of connection signal to the nervous system that it’s safe to slow down. When children feel seen first, everything else — routines, transitions, expectations — becomes easier to navigate.

Predictable Routines
Children thrive on predictable rhythms. Between homes or activities, keeping familiar routines consistent can help anchor them. When my children were very young, I sometimes questioned the need to maintain these rhythms, worried it might feel too rigid. Over the years, I’ve learned that even something as simple as a familiar breakfast ritual can be a secret superpower — a small anchor that builds deeper connection and trust and helps children feel safe when they are gently led and supported. Familiar breakfast routines, bedtime stories, or short check-ins during transitions provide stability and help children navigate the inevitable shifts of December — and sometimes they’re the only thing keeping the morning coffee warm.

Sensory Pauses
The holiday season comes with extra noise, lights, and activity. For children, these changes can feel overwhelming. Short sensory breaks — a quiet cuddle, a walk outside, or a few minutes of deep breathing — give their nervous systems space to reset. Even noticing that a child needs a moment to stretch, shake, or move can prevent overwhelm from building into a full meltdown. These pauses are acts of respect for the child’s body — and, honestly, for your sanity too.

December also brings cultural and family expectations. One household may celebrate with certain traditions, another with different rhythms. Children pick up on all of it — from tone of voice to subtle shifts in energy. That’s why anchoring them with connection, routine, and sensory breaks is so important. They don’t need perfection or constant entertainment; they need steadiness and attunement.

Being attuned doesn’t just help children; it helps parents, too. Noticing our own nervous system allows us to model calm, regulated behavior. Stepping outside for a few minutes to breathe or quietly observing a child can help both parent and child settle. Presence is contagious, and children feel it immediately.

As a parent in the Santa Cruz area, I notice that even in a slower, small-town environment, December has its own rhythm: twinkling holiday lights along local streets, school parties, and neighborhood gatherings. Even here, transitions between homes, events, and expectations are felt strongly by children. Recognizing and supporting those transitions is an act of care, not indulgence.

This December, I’m remembering that the most meaningful gift we can give children isn’t more lights, parties, or toys. It’s attunement, steady presence, and practices that help their nervous systems feel safe and regulated, even amidst change. Connection first. Routines second. Sensory pauses third. These anchors give children a place to return to, no matter where they are, what’s happening around them, or how busy the season gets.

Staying rooted in connection means allowing ourselves to feel, to pause, and to return to our neutral state again and again. In the noise and activity of the season, these small moments of regulation are acts of deep love — quiet reminders that we deserve the same care and attunement we so readily offer to others.


Tovah Petra, MA, is a Somatic Practitioner and the creator of the Whole Family, Whole Child approach, where she helps parents of neurodivergent kids create emotionally safe, attuned, and connected homes — while also nurturing their own nervous systems, relationships, and intimate connection. 
Learn more at: www.tovahpetra.com








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The Spectrum School is a donation-supported nonprofit organization.
Your support helps us:
  • Expand access to somatic, trauma-informed programs

  • Provide scholarships and sliding-scale participation

  • Develop sensory-safe learning and regulation spaces

  • Offer caregiver education and community workshops

  • Sustain high-quality, child-centered programming
Donations support the program as a whole and help ensure that families can access services regardless of financial means. Participation in programs is not contingent on payment or donation.

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We welcome partnerships with companies, foundations, and organizations aligned with:
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  • Trauma-informed and somatic care

  • Disability-affirming education

  • Early childhood and family mental health

  • Community-based family support

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