Making Time for Conversations: Why listening is not optional when working with students with emotional disabilities
The audio version can be heard here
In my role as an educational supervisor at a school serving students with emotional disabilities, I’ve learned something that isn’t always written into behavior plans, IEPs, or schedules: making time for conversations is not a luxury—it’s a necessity.
The students I work with often struggle to engage with others in typical ways. Many over-dramatize situations, misread social cues, or hold onto events long after they’ve passed. Some do not have strong emotional bonds with their current caregivers; many are not living with their parents at all. Their sense of safety, trust, and even reality can be fragile and inconsistent.
As a result, their internal experiences can feel overwhelming—and when those experiences go unaddressed, they don’t simply fade away. They repeat.
Over the course of my time as an educational supervisor, I’ve noticed that some students come to me with the same concerns over and over again. They perseverate on how someone looked at them in the hallway. They replay an argument from months—or even years—ago. They fixate on perceived threats, slights, or injustices that feel immediate and urgent to them, even when time has passed.
What I’ve learned is this: if those thoughts aren’t spoken, they often turn into actions.
Sometimes a student will tell me directly that they feel like they’re going to hurt someone, destroy property, or run away. Those moments must be taken seriously. Other times, they don’t tell anyone at all—and the behavior becomes the communication.
Because of this, I’ve made it a priority to either stop what I’m doing in the moment or to always circle back and follow up. I don’t dismiss their concerns simply because they sound exaggerated or improbable. When a student tells me that someone threatened them or hurt them, I listen carefully and investigate appropriately. I don’t assume it’s true—but I also don’t assume it isn’t.
That balance matters.
What This Looks Like in Real Life
In practice, this doesn’t mean that every conversation happens immediately or perfectly.
A student might arrive at school fresh off the bus and come to me visibly upset, interpreting something that happened during the bus ride—an action, a look, a comment—from another student. In that moment, I may not have the time or space to sit down and fully unpack the situation. Students are arriving, routines need to begin, and safety comes first.
But what I do make sure of is this: I always get back to them.
Once the building has settled, I go and find that student. I check in. I ask questions. I get the full story. Sometimes that conversation happens in my office. Other times it happens in the hallway as we pass each other. If I see the student later in the day, I might pull them aside briefly or even check in with them in the lunchroom while everyone is together.
The setting matters less than the follow-through.
To make sure I don’t forget, I write the student’s name on a Post-it note and tape it to my laptop. It’s a simple system, but it works. It reminds me that this student is carrying something—and that it’s my responsibility to circle back.
I also communicate with others. I inform the student’s teachers, social workers, or related service providers about what the student shared. That way, if I don’t get to the conversation right away, someone else can. At the very least, other adults in the building are aware that the student may be perseverating on an issue and might need support.
This shared awareness prevents situations from escalating silently.
For students with emotional disabilities, being heard is often the difference between escalation and regulation. Perseveration doesn’t stop on its own. It needs interruption, clarification, and grounding. A calm conversation can help a student reality-check their thoughts, organize what actually happened, and feel less alone with what they’re carrying.
This kind of listening is not passive. It requires analysis, patience, and follow-through. It requires educators to resist the urge to rush, minimize, or “fix” too quickly. And it requires time—time that often feels scarce in schools.
But I’ve come to believe that we can’t afford not to make that time.
When we listen early and consistently, we prevent larger crises later. When we validate a student’s experience without reinforcing distortions, we build trust. And when students learn that adults will come back to them—every time—it reduces the need for their emotions to show up as aggression.
Teaching students with emotional disabilities means teaching beyond academics. It means understanding that conversation itself is a form of support, regulation, and safety. In many cases, it is the intervention.
Charles Mathison is an educator in a special needs high school in New York City and focuses his work on finding novel interventions in behavioral health settings.
Bibliography
Smith, T. E. (2022). Self-management interventions for reducing challenging behavior: A review. Campbell Systematic Reviews. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC8902300/
Sugai, G., & Horner, R. (2002). The evolution of discipline practices: School-wide PBIS. *Child & Family Behavior Therapy, 24*(1–2), 23–50.
https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1300/J019v24n01_03