J.C. loved basketball and gummy bears, and had been a student in my resource room for two years.
He had a big heart and a big smile. Then the smile faded, and I didn’t see it much again. He stopped dreaming about playing in the NBA because his life changed in just one day. Domestic violence by his older brother. He moved to a shelter with his sister and mother. He returned to my class, but he was never the same.
He forgot about the Cavaliers and any playoff games. Instead, he jumped when a pencil fell on the linoleum floor. Or when someone in too much of a hurry slammed a door. He startled at the sound of the recess or fire drill bell. Or at a visitor to our classroom or an unfamiliar smell. He was always scanning, always on alert. Even when the bruises faded, the wounds inside still hurt.
Children living in domestic violence shelters and transitional housing programs often experience heightened anxiety, hypervigilance, and emotional exhaustion. These behaviors can look like distractibility or restlessness, but they are often rooted in the child’s nervous system adapting to unsafe environments.
After working with children who have experienced violence or instability, teachers, shelter staff, and caregivers begin to notice patterns. A custodian knocks over a garbage can, and a child jumps in their chair. A scream on the playground causes another child to freeze.
Then there are the planners, those who choose seats near a door or a window. Or the ones who sit on the edge of their chair, ready to run at any time. To adults unfamiliar with these behaviors, the reactions can look like distractibility or nervous energy.
But often the child is responding exactly the way their brain learned to respond in an environment where paying close attention to sounds, tone, and movement mattered. Over time, their brain became practiced in scanning the environment to keep them safe. This state of constant alertness can follow a child even after they leave the unsafe environment behind.
Children who experience family instability learn to read rooms carefully. Footsteps in a hallway could signal whether someone was angry. The smell of beer on a parent’s breath may warn them of danger to come. A shift in the volume of a voice could mean it was time to disappear into a bedroom or closet. A door closing harder than usual could be the first sign that something was about to happen.
In homes where conflict or violence occurred, noticing small changes like these could help a child anticipate what might happen next or give them time to hide. No child wants to live like this, but when their safety depends on it, the brain becomes adept at scanning over time. Even when the environment changes, that habit can remain.
Domestic violence shelters and transitional housing programs are designed to restore stability. The ones I’ve been in are quiet and efficient, run by staff who know what they’re doing. There’s always the gurgle of a pot of coffee brewing somewhere, the smell of detergent in the washing machine that is constantly running another load. The smell of detergent in the washing machine that is constantly running another load. Sofas in the common room are well-worn, sink low, and usually have crayons stuffed between cushions.
And while it can sometimes seem like a liminal space, the residents there are cared for and safe. The children living there, however, may not experience it that way. This is because they may still see someone crying down the hall. Or hear the 2 a.m. buzzer of an emergency intake and find traumatic memories rising to the surface.
Even when their mind understands that they are safe, their nervous system often takes longer to adjust. Some children remain watchful, always on guard.
Children who remain on alert throughout the day are often tired in ways adults don’t immediately recognize. It may take the form of:
Constant scanning takes energy. Listening closely to voices, tracking adult emotions, and monitoring the environment leaves less space for the simple joys of childhood.
Some children become restless. Others seem distracted during lessons or activities. Some appear quiet and withdrawn. Often these behaviors signal exhaustion.
Feeling safe again is not something a child can be asked to do. It takes time. It takes space.
And what often helps most is an environment where the emotional landscape becomes predictable. A set time for meals, chores, and bedtime. A caregiver who responds in calm, consistent ways even when a child isn’t having their best day.
Over time, predictable environments teach kids something they may not yet trust: That the next moment will likely look a lot like the one before it. For children who have lived with unpredictability, that consistency can slowly allow them to relax their guard and perhaps be a kid again, even for a little while.
Many programs supporting children in shelters or transitional housing rely on small, steady supports, such as a quiet corner where a child can sit for a few minutes. A bin of sensory objects that allow little hands to release tension. Most shelters I’ve been in have baskets of toys and books.
Books are wonderful, but oral stories, especially trauma-informed ones, are even better. A familiar story voice slows the pace of the moment. These supports do not erase the past. But they offer something the nervous system recognizes quickly: calm signals.
And calm signals, repeated over time, help the body relearn that it is safe enough to relax.
Stories have helped children feel relaxed and calm for centuries. As child psychologist Bruno Bettelheim once said, stories meet a child’s need for magic. Magic, in the form of stories, is beneficial for all children.
But not all stories are good for all children. Sometimes fairy tales can trigger fear. And even picture books may present topics that children who have experienced trauma may find unsettling. Children living with the aftermath of crisis or abuse are best served by listening to trauma-informed stories, which are always a bridge to calm.
Trauma-informed storytelling helps children regulate their breathing, heart rate, and emotional state through safe, predictable narratives. Through the narrative, they model relaxation and calm. And the child unknowingly does the same as they follow along. Immersed in soothing imagery, lyrical rhythm, and sound, children are able to finally release the tension they have been holding for so long.
For children who have spent long periods of time feeling on guard, story can offer a quiet form of companionship during moments when their thoughts might otherwise race.
Programs supporting children in domestic violence shelters or transitional housing often look for simple tools that help children regulate stress without increasing staff workload.
Wee Meditate is a story-based audio library designed to help children relax and regulate through gentle storytelling and guided imagery. Many residential programs use calming stories as part of quiet spaces, bedtime routines, or moments when children feel overwhelmed.
Organizations interested in learning more can explore our library and contact us.
Founder of Wee Meditate and former special education teacher. Author of The Wolf Pack Classroom Management Plan, which received the Benjamin Franklin Award for Best Education Book.
