Jessica Carroll, PhD - Licensed Clinical Psychologist

02/19/2026

02/06/2026

When We Taught Children How to Rest — And Then Forgot Why It Mattered

In the 1950s, there was a moment in every kindergarten day so predictable you could set your watch by it.

After the singing.
After the crayons worn down to stubs.
After circle time and sticky fingers from graham crackers and small cardboard milk boxes—

The lights would dim.

A record would settle onto a turntable.
The needle would crackle, then find its groove.
Something soft would fill the room. Something slow. Something kind.

And twenty little bodies would stretch out on striped mats or faded rugs. Shoes tucked under cots. Blankets—frayed, thumb-worn, familiar—pulled up to chins. A room full of children learning, together, how to exhale.

Naptime.

For millions of children growing up in the 1950s, ’60s, and early ’70s, this ritual was as essential to kindergarten as finger paint and the alphabet. It wasn’t filler. It wasn’t babysitting.

It was the lesson.

Stillness Was Once Part of the Curriculum

Educators believed something we’ve slowly forgotten:
young children need quiet.

Not just sleep—but stillness.
A pause where feelings could settle.
A space where overstimulated minds could wander safely.
A reset before the afternoon rush of blocks, numbers, and playground dust.

The science agreed. Children’s brains and nervous systems were still under construction. Rest wasn’t a reward. It wasn’t optional.

It was developmental maintenance.

Teachers became guardians of calm. Soft voices. Slow footsteps between rows of breathing bodies. A whispered story read to no one and everyone. A hand smoothing a blanket. A steady presence in low light.

A lighthouse.

The Quiet That Shaped Us

Some children slept—deep, open-mouthed sleep—exhausted by morning play and the overwhelming newness of school.

Others didn’t.

They stared at the ceiling.
Counted tiles.
Watched dust motes dance in a thin blade of sunlight slipping through the curtains.

They drifted into that rare kind of daydreaming that only happens when you’re five—when time is wide and nobody is rushing you to become something yet.

Even the kids who hated naptime learned something important.

That sometimes you have to be still, even when you don’t want to be.
That rest is not the opposite of learning.
It’s part of the work.

For many children, it was the only stillness in an otherwise loud, busy day. A quiet bridge between lunchboxes and hopscotch. Between learning letters and learning how to share.

Then We Decided to Hurry

By the 1970s and ’80s, something shifted.

Kindergarten stopped being about socialization and curiosity and started being about readiness.
Pre-reading. Early math. Staying on track. Getting ahead.

Schedules tightened. Testing crept younger. Parents worried about falling behind before childhood had even properly begun.

Naptime began to feel inefficient.
Unproductive.
A luxury we could no longer afford.

So the mats were rolled up.
The record players disappeared.
Overhead projectors replaced them. Then computers. Then tablets.

By the 1990s, naptime was mostly gone from public kindergarten classrooms—surviving only in preschools and full-day programs for very young children.

A Day With No Pause

Today’s kindergarteners move from reading groups to math centers to screens to lunch to more instruction. Recess—if they get it—is brief. Quiet is rare.

There is no dimming of lights.
No permission to close your eyes.
No collective exhale.

And we act surprised when childhood anxiety soars.

What We Remember — And What We Lost

Those who lived it still remember:

The rows of striped mats.
The scratch of a needle finding vinyl.
The smell of that one blanket that probably only got washed twice a year.
The relief of being told it was okay—expected, even—to stop trying so hard.

Naptime wasn’t just about sleep.

It taught us that rest has value.
That quiet has purpose.
That you don’t need to be productive every minute to be worthy.

It was a lesson we didn’t realize we were learning—until we grew up in a world that never stops and makes us feel guilty for needing to pause.

Maybe That’s the Lesson Worth Remembering

To parents: your kids likely don’t have this anymore—and they’re expected to perform at full speed all day long.

To teachers fighting to protect play and rest: you’re not being soft. You’re honoring what science has always known.

To anyone who feels ashamed for needing rest: we used to teach five-year-olds that stopping was part of learning.

And to those who say childhood is “too easy” now—today’s kindergarteners have more structured academic time than third-graders did in the 1950s.

We didn’t make childhood harder because it was necessary.

We made it harder because we forgot how to slow down.

We once dimmed the lights, put on a record, and gave twenty small people permission to just… be.

Maybe it’s time we remembered how.

02/06/2026

https://www.ehcc.org/yasfest26

The Youth Arts Series Festival 2026Saturday, March 14th10:00 am-2:00 pmKalākaua Park, Downtown Hilo YAS Fest, is a vibrant celebration of youth arts on Hawai‘i Island. The festival brings together local organizations dedicated to providing arts opportunities for keiki and teens from around the is...

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12/30/2025

https://www.facebook.com/share/1ALqgugkSs/?mibextid=wwXIfr

Growing up Autistic/ADHD, I didn't have friends. My parents TRIED to teach me "social skills," but they were going about things the WRONG way....

Let me tell you why.

(Content warning: brief mention of a mild form of s/h)
______________________________

You see, when I was growing up in the 1980's, kids like me didn't get a diagnosis.

I was verbal, social, and academically skilled.

It was easy to chalk up my differences to being "gifted" and an "old soul."

These weren't major barriers. They weren't even considered to be developmentally noteworthy.

So my parents assumed I would be able make friends at school and camp, just like other kids did.
_________________________

Well....I MIGHT have made friends. But there was a problem.

My parents didn't realize that Neurodivergent kids like me, had

SIGNIFICANTLY DIFFERENT SOCIAL SKILLS

and VASTLY DIFFERENT STYLES OF COMMUNICATION,

that separated us from the crowds of Typical kids.
___________________________

It was technically possible for me to make a Neurotypical friend.

It just wasn't LIKELY.

Kids are often blatantly unforgiving when they spot a peer's differences...
even when those
differences are small.

And during MY youth....

Kids--
with glasses got called 4-eyes,

with red hair got called Carrot Top,

from poor families were called Welfare Tr*sh,

And kids who were gender non confirming got called Fruitcakes, Le***es, Bent, or much worse.
___________________________

So being a nearsighted, Detroit-born, Intersex, ginger kid, I had to develop a thick skin.

Those insults seemed unavoidable.
But also, they DIDN'T hurt that much.

After all....I couldn't DO anything about my need for glasses, or my parents' income.

I couldn't MASK my natural hair color (my parents WOULDN'T let me dye it)

and I couldn't CONFORM to a binary gender when I was BORN outside of the binary.
___________________________

So, after a while, I just ignored those kinds of jabs.

They were just a matter of preference. And there were enough red headed models out there,

glasses wearing teachers,

and celebrities who were gender non-conforming
or from poor backgrounds,

that I had POSITIVE representations of those parts of myself.

Good images to counter all the insults.
_________________________

But it was MUCH harder to tune out insults relating to my ADHD, Dyspraxia, and Autism.

I didn't HAVE positive role models for that kind of stuff.

And worse!!

Caregivers often acted like I could CHOOSE to BE NOT-DISABLED, if I just applied myself with MORE EFFORT.

I cannot begin to tell you how PERVASIVE that theme was, in my youth...

How much self hatred and able-ism I internalized.

________________________

For instance, whenever a peer called me a "sp*z" for needing to dump out my whole backpack on the floor, as I searched for my homework--

I would blush and remember that my teacher was always reminding me to "keep better organized."

After all, my teachers never explained what Executive Dysfunction was,

or suggested that perhaps my "working memory" was weak because I might have ADHD.

Nope.

Educators just told me to use a planner, to color code my folders, and to TRY HARDER.
__________________________

So when a peer insulted me for my mental disorganization, I felt like I DESERVED that insult.

I didn't fight back...not even in my own mind.

And as my self esteem sunk to new lows, my clinical depression made me stand out even more, from my peers...
who snickered at me, as I nervously stuttered and tried to keep up.
_____________________________

As another example....

It was IMPOSSIBLLY hard to tune out the chants of Freak or R*t*rd thrown at me,
when I repeated things to myself.

After all, my parents found my Autistic echolalia to be annoying.
They often told me to "hush."

And even the teachers who thought I had a "hyperactivity problem"
never connected the dots to
realize that like many ADHD kids,
I ALSO had an Auditory Processing problem!

And that I used repetition as a PHYSICAL REGULATION TOOL to calm my body's hyperactivity,

and as a MENTAL REGULATION TOOL to help my mind process new input.
___________________________

*sigh*

I don't know if YOU ever struggled with any form of s/h....
but looking back, I can even remember how painful school was, PHYSICALLY.

After all, I spent the second half of elementary school with canker sores in my mouth...

Ulcers that stung and made it hard to speak intelligibly.

These were the result of trying so hard to stifle the echolalia, that I would ACCIDENTALLY bite my cheeks and tongue.

But my stress-supressed immune system wasn't able to ward off infection.

So I developed lesions that would last for weeks. And I would push at them with my pencil eraser when I felt like I "deserved punishment" for being a "weirdo."
____________________________

And yeah...the nervous stuttering and swollen mouth ulcers DID land me in Speech Therapy--

which was my small, private school's only form of Special Education.

So, I figured when my NT peers called me those slurs like 'Ret*rd" that they were probably right.

I didn't DESERVE friends.

I did TRY sometimes to make some, but it was SO HARD and I never succeeded for very long.

Once they saw my true self and how DIFFERENT I was, they were gone.
_____________________________

But what if my parents HAD suspected I was Autistic and ADHD?

Maybe then, they could have understood that I didn't have INFERIOR social and communication skills...
just DIFFERENT!

Maybe they could have found me OTHER Neurodivergent people to be around--both peers AND older mentors!
___________________________

Because let me tell you something--

I am 44 years old and OPENLY ND.

I have plenty of friends!

Some my own age, some a generation older or younger....

And ALL of my friends are either Neurodivergent or have close family relationships (including marriage) with people who ARE ND.
___________________________

But even better,
you know what?!

My social values, skills, and communication style work WELL with other ND-adjacent folks!!

I DON'T have to WORK at being likable! I don't have to change!
____________________________

I DON'T have to stifle my echolalia,

or avoid discussing my special interest,

or remind myself NOT tell a personal story that relates to THEIR personal story (a common ND way of expressing empathy).
_________________________

I DON'T have to hide the fact that I'm bringing my own safe food to a dinner party....

Or disguise my stims if I need to fidget while someone else is talking....

Or excuse away the fact that I need a moment alone to calm myself so I don't have a meltdown.

And I DON'T EVEN have to over-explain things like my Hypermobile joint pain, panic attacks, and Insomnia.
________________________

Best yet, I DON'T have to wear clothes that set off my Sensory issues!

Nope.

My friends know to expect me braless and barefoot 99% of the time.

And that time I forgot a swimsuit at my Mom-friend, Sadie's place??

Well, she told me that I could just skinny dip if I liked.

It was her private property and her only "law" was comfort.

I didn't take her up on the offer because I burn...but my Autistic 8 year old heard and was n*ked (save for water wings) in Sadie's swimming hole, faster than I could say Mississippi.

And you know what? The ducks didnt mind a bit, and my pants-hating kid was THRILLED. 🤣
_______________________

My point is this--

Your ND Child deserves to have places where they truly BELONG.

They Deserve to have people they can be around WITHOUT masking and lengthy explanations.

They NEED people who can model COMFORT for them, and JOY,
POSITIVE SELF-IMAGE,
and HEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS.

So if your child's only friends, or their only OPTIONS for friends--
are people they have to MASK for, in order to EARN acceptance....

Then it's time to seek out Neuro-Affirming spaces
and ND Mentors.

Because friendship doesn't have to be DIFFICULT.

And it shouldn't be painful, either.
________________________

Now tell me...have you ever had a friend? A friend you really loved and trusted? ....One you could see more than once or twice a year?

How old were you when that happened for you?

If you are ND like me, I'm guessing a bit later than most folks.

I had an ND Summer camp buddy who was AMAZING, but as for a friend who lived close enough to visit regularly?

I was almost 17 when that happened.

12/20/2025

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but it’s OK to get your autistic loved one exactly what they would want for Christmas.

As a therapist and autistic person myself,
I promise I understand the value of pushing folks to reach their full potential.

HOWEVER, Christmas morning doesn’t have to carry the weight of “developmentally appropriate,” “what they should want,” or “what will help them grow.”

Some autistic adults, for example, might genuinely enjoy Barney or Teletubbies.

They might prefer toys over new clothes, trendy water bottles, or practical kitchen items.

Generally speaking, special interests like this aren’t barriers to growth, in fact, the opposite is often true.
Special interests can be tools that help autistic people connect and engage.

When you insist that your nephew enjoy a new skateboard INSTEAD of Barney figurines…
the message they receive is:

You don’t really know me.
What I enjoy doesn’t matter.

Again, I’m all for pushing for people to make progress.

But Christmas isn’t the time to withhold joy until it turns into something more “socially acceptable.”

If your autistic loved one wants the same thing again, something “younger” than their age, or something very specific… that’s okay. ❤️💚

12/20/2025

12/20/2025