Max, a playground and an invisible wound
Last week I went to school to pick up my son, Max. When I saw him, his gaze left me frozen: sadness, confusion, a weight that was not his, but was there. When the other children came out, the teacher called me aside and explained what had happened: Max had been throwing a shovel into the sky, just out of curiosity. They asked him to stop. He didn’t. He didn’t see it as "playing wrong," but as a need to explore, to feel, to release something. Then they made him sit on the steps until recess was over. Punished.
What we didn’t know —neither I nor the teacher at that moment— is that, for Max, that order of "don’t get up" became a rigid chain. He asks "why?" when told something. If it seems reasonable to him… For him, an adult's word isabsolute, it islaw. The teacher then explained to me that my son had wet himself out of pure anger.
When we were home, Max pulled my arm and, in a soft and trembling voice, whispered to me:
"Mom… it’s just that they told me I couldn’t get up. I wanted to go to the bathroom… but they told me I couldn’t get up, do you understand? That until we enter… I can’t get up. They said it very clearly."
And at that moment I understood the profound: this is not "a whim," nor "a tantrum." It is not rebellion. It is pain. It is literalness. It is a nervous system that, when governed by absolute rules, collapses.
With this article, I want to share this experience —from care, evidence, and compassion— to help you see how many neurodivergent children process reality differently. And why, sometimes, a phrase or an order can hurt. Because, for the teacher, what had happened was an act of rebellion and anger, when, my little one, was actually just following a clear and concise order. Stay seated and do not get up UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.
Literalness, dichotomous thinking, and the concrete world of autism
Many neurodivergent individuals, especially those diagnosed with the Autistic Spectrum, process information in avery literal. This means that what is said… is understood as is. Without nuances. Without irony. Without context.
In social life —this one that assumes people understand double meanings, indirectness, nuances— this concrete thinking can clash: "go to the steps until recess is over" does not sound like a symbolic punishment, it sounds like a firm rule. And for a neurodivergent child, it can activate as "absolute rule," not a flexible social suggestion depending on the case, for example, if you need to go to the bathroom.
This literalness is often accompanied by what we call dichotomous thinking: everything is black or white, yes or no, allowed or prohibited. The grays —which for many are an inseparable part of life— may not exist.
“What you say as a suggestion, my brain records as code, immutable.”
This way of processing the world is not a “fault.” It is a different logic. A form of security against the unpredictable. An internal compass that seeks certainties, clarity, and structure.
What can happen when rules become internal prisons
When someone neurodivergent faces an inflexible rule —especially in moments of stress, frustration, or confusion— certain intense emotional responses may arise:
- Emotional dysregulation: anxiety, fear, confusion, deep sadness.
- Feelings of guilt or betrayal: “if I cannot comply with the rule, I am bad.”
- Escape or self-harming behaviors: trying to break free, flee, “reset” the system. In Max's case, his body reacted with enuresis (wetting): a physical symptom of emotional distress.
- Inability to communicate what they feel: many times they do not understand why they feel hurt. Because their pain has no words, it has sensations.
In a recent study on understanding figurative language in autistic individuals, it was observed that many of us have difficulties interpreting metaphors, ironies, or indirect statements; which can turn a vague or social request into an absolute command, generating anxiety or discomfort.
“For an autistic child, ‘a punishment’ is not a suggestion. It is a condemnation.”
Therefore, what may seem like an act of rebellion, misbehavior, or manipulation from the outside, can actually be a cry for help from a wounded sensory and emotional system.
How to accompany with awareness and empathy
If you live or work with neurodivergent individuals, these tips can make a difference:
- Communicate clearly, with structure, using concrete phrases. This way the message is understood without room for interpretation.
- Anticipate changes or new rules: explain in advance, accompany with visual supports, provide context.
- Allow emotional regulation spaces: when waiting becomes punishment, the body speaks. Give space, calm, containment.
- Avoid ambiguous, indirect, or emotional punishment phrases: what is flexible for many can be a prison for other minds. Would it have been better to take away the shovel because it was not being used well? That would have been a direct and more tacit consequence.
- Validate pain, emotions, discomfort even if it is not 'seen'.: what is felt is not always seen. But it hurts just the same. The work at home with Max was this, accompanying, listening, and validating, not only the pain of punishment but also the shame of having an accident at school.
“Caring is not shouting louder. It is speaking a language they can understand.”
- Veronica Martín
Accompanying a child neurodivergent does not mean shaping them.
It means listening to their logic, respecting their sensitivity, and adapting the world so they can also inhabit it.
Make respect a norm, also in classrooms.
Today I shared something intimate and personal, but I think it was necessary to do so, so that this way of thinking that autistic people have is well understood, and, it is true, selfishly, because by putting it into words I free myself from a bit of maternal pain. Max's story is not an isolated case. It is the tip of the iceberg of what many families experience: the struggle of a child to fit into rules designed for others. Often without sense.
But it can also be an opportunity. To reflect. To change. To build spaces, schools, homes, and hearts where literalness is not a defect, but a way of existing.
Because neurodivergence is not a mistake. It is a diversity.
And this respect —the one that comes from understanding, not from punishing— is the best soil to grow.
If something resonates with you, hurts you, worries you… speak. Ask. Observe.
And above all: respect. Because in the concrete, tenderness also fits.
With affection and awareness,
Veronica Martín
Co-Founder of ATIPICOS.org