When fear hides in unexpected places

A child I worked with was six years old and still wearing a nappy at school. He would often poo during the day, and it became increasingly difficult for him, for staff, and for the other children in the class.

We tried everything we thought might help. We used playfulness to make the toilet feel safe and inviting. We accepted his struggle without judgement, responding calmly and without fuss. There were reward charts, encouragement, and gentle praise, but nothing seemed to shift things.

Through some quiet, child-led conversations, something important emerged. At some point, he had flushed one of his favourite toy trains down the toilet, and it was “gone forever.”

In that moment, everything made sense. He wasn’t being resistant. He was scared.

Scared that he might fall in. Scared that he might be flushed away too.

No reward chart could compete with that fear.

With this understanding, we were able to respond differently. We brought in the caretaker, who gently explained how the toilet worked, what happens when you flush, and why he was safe.

It didn’t change overnight. These things rarely do. But slowly, with patience and reassurance, things began to shift.

And then one day, he did it.

He used the toilet independently and ran around the school proudly telling anyone who would listen that he had done a “big poop” in the toilet.

There were smiles, quiet celebrations, and a few subtle eyebrow raises to help the older children join in the moment with kindness.

It still makes me smile.

Because in the end, it wasn’t a reward chart that made the difference.

It was understanding.