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One of the things I love most about working with young children is that they are often far more honest than adults.

Not necessarily through words, but through the way they play, connect, avoid, observe, protest, initiate, laugh, regulate, and move through the world around them.

Over time, sitting on the floor with children day after day has changed the way I think about communication entirely. It has made me slower, more observant, and much more aware of how much is happening beneath the surface of even very small interactions.

Early in my career, I think I focused more heavily on the visible goals: the sounds, the words, the measurable outcomes parents understandably come looking for. Those things still matter deeply, of course. But working closely with children across so many different personalities, developmental stages, and family dynamics has expanded the way I see progress and communication as a whole.

I’ve worked with children who communicate through movement before words. Children who appear highly verbal but struggle deeply with flexibility or reciprocity. Children who become overwhelmed by too much language at once. Children who need more space before they feel comfortable participating. Children who process everything internally before responding. Children who are constantly seeking connection, and others who are still learning that interaction itself can feel safe and enjoyable.

And the longer I do this work, the more I realize how individualized communication really is.No two children enter the room the same way. No two families experience challenges the same way. What helps one child regulate, connect, initiate, or participate may feel completely ineffective for another.

That realization has changed my practice significantly over time.

I think I’ve become much less interested in rigid approaches or one-size-fits-all strategies and much more interested in understanding the child sitting in front of me as a whole person. Their temperament, sensory profile, emotional world, family dynamic, developmental stage, interests, anxieties, strengths, and the way they experience connection all shape the way communication develops.

But this work has changed me personally too.

Children pay attention to things adults often rush past — small details, humor, repetition, curiosity, the feeling of being fully engaged with another person. They are not thinking five steps ahead. They are immersed in what is happening right in front of them.

I think sitting on the floor with children all day has made me appreciate simplicity more. The value of slowing down. Of being emotionally present enough to actually enjoy an interaction instead of constantly trying to optimize it or move to the next thing.

Children also have a way of reminding you that connection rarely happens when people feel overly rushed, performative, or distracted. The moments that stay with me most are often the simplest ones: laughing together during play, a child proudly sharing an idea they came up with independently, the moment a hesitant child finally feels comfortable enough to be silly, or watching a parent and child reconnect in a way that suddenly feels easier and more natural.

This work has made me more patient with pauses. More comfortable with imperfection. More aware of how deeply people — children and adults alike — respond to feeling emotionally safe within relationships.

I also think working so closely with families has made me more aware of how much pressure modern parents are carrying. Many parents come in feeling overwhelmed by comparison, conflicting advice online, or the sense that every interaction somehow needs to be optimized perfectly.

But sitting with so many different children and families over the years has reinforced something I come back to constantly: meaningful development does not happen through perfection.

It happens through relationships.

Some of the most meaningful moments I witness in therapy are not the dramatic ones.

It is the child who initiates a silly joke for the first time.

The child who stays engaged through frustration instead of shutting down.

The child who slowly begins contributing more of their own ideas during play.

The parent who realizes interactions at home no longer feel quite so tense or emotionally loaded.

These moments may look small from the outside, but they often reflect something much bigger happening underneath: a growing sense of confidence, connection, trust, and participation within relationships.

Sitting on the floor with children all day has made me believe more deeply in slowing down, staying curious, and paying attention to the quieter things.

Because so often, the moments that look small from the outside are the moments where children are telling us the most.