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Project Play, Singapore (2026)

23/03/2026

When I ask a teacher these questions, I'm collecting information. But I'm also doing something else.

The right question can shift how someone sees.

The child who falls apart after lunch starts to look less unpredictable. The one who seems fine all day starts to look less fine and showing some exhaustion. The moment everyone noticed stops being where the story starts.

And just as importantly, I'm looking for what lights them up. What they gravitate toward. What makes their brain work beautifully. Not because we can use that as a carrot, but because strengths and interests give us just as many clues as the hard moments. And because part of our job as adults in children's lives is helping them build a relationship with their own brain, not just survive it.

That shift in perspective is sometimes the most useful thing I can offer.

I also think about my own nervous system in those moments, particularly when I'm working alongside a teacher or another professional. How present I am. How regulated I am. Because that shapes everything about what becomes possible between us.

These questions are for therapists piecing together what a child's day actually feels like. For parents trying to explain what they see at home. For teachers who want to understand a child they can't quite read yet.

And for the adults reading this who wish someone had asked these questions about them when they were young. This one's for you too.

Sensory patterns aren't problems to solve. They're a nervous system telling you something.

If you work with children this might be a good one to save 🫶🏼 I'm always curious what resonates, and whether there's anything you'd add to this list.

Every child's nervous system is unique. These questions are a starting point, not a complete picture.

17/03/2026

I gave a talk at a school this week for Neurodiversity Week.

I could talk about what I presented, but what has stayed with me most is what happened afterwards. The conversations.

Educators sharing about students they’re trying to support, moments that suddenly made more sense, things they hadn’t quite had language for before. There was a lot of care in the room, and also a lot that they’re holding.

Because educators are being asked to do so much right now. To be inclusive, to support regulation, to meet academic expectations, often all at once, and often without the kind of support that would make that feel sustainable. And still, they are showing up, trying to understand and do right by the students in front of them.

What felt most meaningful to me wasn’t just sharing information, but noticing a shift in how people were thinking. Moving from managing behaviour to becoming curious about what might be underneath it. From “what should I do?” to “what might this student need from me right now?”

Those shifts matter. They change how support is offered and, over time, shape classrooms and relationships in meaningful ways.

I think that’s the part that stays with me. The ripple effect of these spaces. When even one adult feels a little more resourced, it doesn’t just impact one moment. It reaches the students they support, and the families around them too.

And sometimes those shifts don’t stay in individual moments. They start to shape how people think about systems — how support is structured and what environments make possible.

Something else that’s been sitting with me is how much we ask educators to support regulation in young people, without always creating space for them to understand their own.

That matters, because how we show up in relationship is shaped by how resourced we are ourselves.

I often find myself thinking about the teachers who were curious about me when I was younger. The ones who didn’t rush to change me, but made space to understand me. That stayed with me. It gave me a sense of being okay as I was, and from there, space to grow.

And I think that’s what this work makes possible.

14/03/2026

This post was written on a walk this morning.

Voice notes, half-formed thoughts, a few pauses to look at trees, and the slightly chaotic process that happens when my brain starts connecting ideas.

Which feels appropriate, because the post itself is about something I’ve been slowly learning for years: working with my brain instead of constantly trying to correct it.

For a long time I tried to force myself into systems that looked productive but didn’t actually work for me. Sitting still for long stretches trying to sustain focus on demand. Waiting for perfect conditions. Doing everything myself.

None of that was sustainable.

What has helped more is understanding the rhythms of my thinking. Moving while I process ideas. Using tools for areas that take disproportionate energy. Creating pockets where curiosity can unfold, and other pockets where tasks get finished.

Protecting moments where nothing much is happening has also become important. Walks, quiet movement, or space to write or draw without needing it to become anything.

Interestingly, these moments often align with what neuroscience describes as the brain’s default mode network — a network involved in integrating experiences, connecting ideas and generating insight.

For some people, attention also follows patterns described as monotropism, where focus moves deeply into particular threads of interest. Those deep dives can be incredibly generative, but they also need structures around them so everyday life still works.

Learning this has been an ongoing process. It hasn’t been effortless. But slowly, understanding my wiring has created more flexibility.

And I see similar patterns across the lifespan in my work. Often the difficulty isn’t the brain itself. It’s the mismatch between how a brain works and the environments around it.

If this resonates, it might be something to come back to later. Sometimes we understand our minds a little differently each time we revisit these ideas.

And sometimes the best place to start noticing how your mind works…
is on a walk.

09/03/2026

We often expect ourselves (or our children) to reach for regulation tools right at the point things feel like they’re falling apart.

But by that stage the nervous system is already working very hard.

As arousal rises, the brain shifts resources toward survival. Executive functioning drops. Behavioural flexibility decreases. Working memory becomes harder to access too.

Which makes a lot of sense when you think about it. The very skills we rely on to pause, think clearly, or try a strategy are simply less available in those moments.

This is one of the reasons proactive nervous system support matters. Not because dysregulation won’t happen. It will. Being human means moving through different nervous system states. And many of us don’t notice those shifts until things already feel big.

But when supportive practices are woven into everyday rhythms, we often have more capacity overall. It becomes easier to notice earlier cues, shift things sooner, or recover more quickly afterwards.

Sometimes that looks like very small moments during the day. Stepping outside for a minute. Moving your body. Changing the sensory environment. Slowing your breathing. Pausing long enough to notice what your body might need.

And of course there will still be moments when things feel overwhelming. In those moments support, co-regulation, and reducing demands often matter most. When regulation tools are familiar, we can sometimes reach for them there too.

Small supports, repeated often, can make a big difference over time.

If you’d like more everyday ideas for building those supports gently into daily life, my Rooted in Regulation guide goes into this in more depth.

Comment ROOTED and I’ll send you the details.

06/03/2026

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about how growth often happens right at the edge of our capacity, and how stepping into that space can require a certain kind of bravery.

It’s not about pushing through or forcing change. It’s about the space where challenge meets enough safety and support for something new to emerge.
It’s something I see every day in my work with both children and adults, and something I’ve had to learn personally too.

I recently had the chance to reflect more on this in an interview with where I shared a bit about my journey into this work, how my thinking around nervous systems and wellbeing has evolved, and why I believe risk and support often need to exist together.

Thank you to for the thoughtful conversation.

If you’d like to read the full interview, I’m happy to share it.

Comment ARTICLE and I’ll send you the link.

03/03/2026

I want to say this carefully.

Colour charts and structured regulation systems can be helpful for some. A lot depends on how they’re used.

But over time I’ve noticed something.

When tools become rigid, or when they’re used mainly to organise behaviour, regulation can quietly shift from internal support to external performance.

A nervous system does not regulate because it picked the “right” colour. It regulates when it feels noticed, understood and supported.

Timing matters.

When a body is overwhelmed, access to language and reflection drops. Asking someone to identify their zone in that moment can add pressure rather than support. Reflective skills are built outside of crisis, through modelling and everyday noticing.

There is good evidence that expanding emotional vocabulary supports wellbeing. Naming an experience can help us stay with it. But only when the language actually fits.

For some people, basic feeling words are enough. For others, they are not. Some experience emotion first as sensation, imagery, movement or energy.

Personally, I rarely choose just one emotion. I’ll often pick two or three. I’ve found body maps, colour gradients and visual descriptions far more representative of my internal experience than a single label. That flexibility has been more regulating than trying to fit into one box.

When “expected vs unexpected” becomes shorthand for compliance, or when “green” quietly becomes “good,” we risk reducing regulation to behaviour management rather than capacity building.

Regulation is not about looking calm or being in the “right” zone. It is about having enough support to stay with a feeling when we can, and enough connection to help us when we cannot.

Colour charts do not have to disappear completely. But they need flexibility and context.

If we only have one tool, we are more likely to use it rigidly. If we have many, we can adapt. When we are regulated ourselves, we are more able to notice when a tool is helping and when it is not.

Sometimes the real question is not “What zone are you in?” It is “What support do you need, and do I have the flexibility to offer it?”

As always, take what’s helpful. Leave the rest.

01/03/2026

I get oddly overwhelmed by morning routine content.

All the “win the morning” energy. The optimisation. All the steps.

Some mornings I’m just trying to move from horizontal to human.

And on the mornings I wake up already bracing, the last thing I need is another checklist.

There’s a reason mornings can feel intense.
Your brain is built to predict what’s coming next. As you wake, cortisol naturally rises and your nervous system shifts from sleep physiology into mobilisation.

Before your feet hit the floor, your body is already scanning for the shape of the day. Conversations. Noise. Deadlines. Logistics. Social demands.

That early activation is your system preparing.

Add in cumulative stress, unfinished thoughts from yesterday, disrupted sleep, background worry, and your bandwidth may already be thinner than you realise. It’s anticipation layered on load.

What I’m offering here isn’t a better routine. It’s a few invitations.

Light helps anchor your internal clock and orient you to time and space.

Delaying your phone gives your brain a moment before it absorbs other people’s agendas and emotions. (A work in progress for me).

Rhythm, whether that’s walking, music, swaying, or left–right touch, gives your nervous system something steady and patterned to organise around. The brain settles around rhythm. It likes knowing what comes next.

For me, mornings feel steadier when I do slightly less, slightly slower, and with more awareness of what my body is doing.

No overhaul or perfect system. Just small, repeatable cues that gently protect capacity and say, “We can begin.”

What helps your nervous system transition into the day?

19/02/2026

There’s a version of “growth” that quietly turns into endurance. Push through. Stay in it. Tolerate more.

But nervous systems don’t expand through force.

When intensity rises, the body moves into protection. Shutdown, avoidance, appeasing, pushing through… these are not failures. They’re intelligent strategies. They’re trying to help.

Capacity grows when that protection is met with safety. Not by flooding someone. Not by overriding signals. But by meeting what some people call the "growth edge" with support.

A mentor of mine describes it as learning to be "comfortably uncomfortable." And that comfort doesn’t come from grit or willpower. It comes from signals of safety in the body and from co-regulation.

I think of it less as a test of tolerance and more as a dance. There’s an art to staying close enough to intensity that it can be metabolised, without tipping into overwhelm. That art lives in relationship.

Children borrow our nervous systems. Clients feel our steadiness. And the truth is, someone else’s edge will activate ours too. We won’t get it right all the time. We’ll misattune. We’ll wobble. That’s part of it.

What builds safety isn’t perfection. It’s repair. It’s noticing when we’ve missed something and moving back toward connection. That’s what secure relationships are made of.

For sensitive and neurodivergent nervous systems especially, this distinction matters. Growth isn’t about enduring more discomfort. It’s about learning, slowly and relationally, that intensity doesn’t have to be faced alone.

These ideas are nuanced. I’m always thinking about them in my own work and relationships. I’d genuinely love to hear what comes up for you.

Project Play

23/03/2026

17/03/2026

14/03/2026

09/03/2026

06/03/2026

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Monday	09:00 - 19:00
Tuesday	09:00 - 19:00
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