Why Some Children “Shut Down” Instead of Acting Out

by: Chana Kaiman, LCSW-RPT. Education & School Relations Lead at the Bereishis Foundation

The Child You Don’t Hear From

Every afternoon, the classroom empties the same way. Chairs scrape, voices rise, children spill into the hallway with stories from their day tumbling over one another. In the corner, there is always at least one child who leaves quietly. No rush. No complaint. Backpack zipped just so. Eyes down.

Teachers rarely worry about this child. There were no disruptions, no defiance, no emotional outbursts that demanded attention. If anything, this child feels like a relief in a long day of needs.

And yet, this is often the child who is working the hardest.

By the time he gets home, the exhaustion shows. Sometimes it looks like tears over something small. Sometimes it looks like silence. Sometimes it looks like a stomachache, a headache, or a sudden refusal to engage. Parents are left confused. School says everything is fine. Why does my child fall apart here?

The answer is not weakness. It is adaptation.

Some children learn very early that the safest way through the world is not by taking up space, but by shrinking themselves to fit it. When stress rises, academic pressure, social uncertainty, sensory overload, emotional expectations, their nervous systems do not move outward into fight or flight. They move inward.

They freeze.

From the outside, freeze looks like calm. Inside, it feels like holding your breath for hours at a time.

This child is not disengaged. He is enduring.

Throughout the day, his body is scanning: Is it safe to speak? Is it safe to move? Is it safe to be unsure? Each question is answered quietly with restraint. He sits still when his legs want to move. He nods even when he does not fully understand. He watches carefully so he doesn’t get it wrong. His nervous system learns that stillness equals safety.

By the time the school day ends, his system has spent all its energy holding things together. Home becomes the only place where the pressure can release.

Adults often misread this. Because the child does not act out, we assume he is coping. Because he is compliant, we assume he is regulated. But compliance is not the same as connection, and quiet is not the same as calm.

Behavior always has a purpose. For some children, the purpose of shutting down is belonging. Somewhere along the way, they learned that being “easy” earned approval, that not needing too much kept relationships intact. Rather than asserting themselves loudly, they adapted inwardly. Rather than risking failure in public, they stopped trying where it might show.

These children often carry a deep, unspoken belief: I belong when I don’t cause problems.

Inside them, different parts are at work. There is a part that learned to stay quiet, to disappear just enough to stay safe. That part is protective, not broken. There is often another part underneath, young, sensitive, and carrying fear, sadness, or shame, that learned it was too much for the world as it was. Silence became its shield.

When adults push too quickly for words or explanations “Tell me what’s wrong,” “You have to speak up,” “Try harder” those protective parts tighten their grip. The child retreats further, not because he doesn’t trust the adult, but because his system doesn’t yet trust safety.

The Torah understands this kind of quiet. Again and again, we are reminded that not everything meaningful arrives with noise. Sometimes messaging comes as a still, gentle presence that can only be heard if we slow down enough to notice.

Chinuch that follows this wisdom asks a deeper question than whether a child is behaving. It asks whether the child feels seen without performing, valued without excelling, safe without disappearing.

So how do caregivers begin to notice the child who shuts down?

Often, the signs are subtle. A child who says “I don’t know” to everything. A child who avoids choices rather than risking the wrong one. A child who holds it together all day and collapses at home. A child who seems mature beyond their years but rarely playful. These are not personality traits to dismiss. They are communications.

Support begins not with fixing, but with slowing down.

When a child comes home withdrawn, the most powerful response is often wordless. Sitting nearby. Offering a snack. Allowing movement, warmth, rhythm. Safety enters through the body before it enters through conversation. Once the nervous system settles, words may come or they may not. Both are okay.

Language matters, too. Instead of asking why a child didn’t speak up, we can reflect what we see: “It looks like today took a lot out of you.” Instead of pushing for explanations, we can normalize protection: “Sometimes our bodies get quiet when things feel like too much.” These statements tell the child: You make sense.

Belonging must also be uncoupled from performance. Shut-down children need experiences of being valued simply for being present. Private moments of connection. Small responsibilities that contribute without pressure. A sense that they matter even when they are unsure.

Choice restores dignity. Not big choices that overwhelm, but gentle ones: “Do you want to talk now or later?” “Would you rather draw or sit together?” Each choice tells the nervous system it has agency again.

The goal is not to turn the quiet child into a loud one. Not every child needs to raise their hand or lead the room. The goal is something much deeper and much holier: to help the child feel safe enough to be fully alive inside.

When we respond to shut-down not with urgency, but with presence; not with pressure, but with patience; not with correction, but with curiosity, we teach a powerful lesson.

You do not have to disappear to belong here.

And slowly, in their own time, the still, small voice begins to speak.

Practical Takeaways for Caregivers

Slow Yourself Down First

Before addressing the child, regulate yourself. Lower your voice. Soften your posture. Sit rather than stand. A calm adult presence signals safety long before words do.

Lead With Connection, Not Questions

Start with togetherness:

• Sit nearby without expectations
• Offer a snack, warmth, or water
• Invite gentle movement or quiet activity

The body must feel safe before the child can reflect.

Name the Experience Without Pressure

You do not need details to validate:

• “It looks like today took a lot of energy.”
• “Being around people all day can be tiring.”
• “You don’t have to explain anything right now.”

This reduces shame and builds trust.

Respect the Protective Silence

Avoid framing quiet as avoidance or refusal. Instead:

• “Something in you is helping you get through.”
• “We can go slowly.”

Protection softens when it feels understood.

Offer Belonging Without Performance

Create moments where the child matters without needing to succeed:

• One-on-one time with no agenda
• Participate in an activity that you know the child likes
• Shared activities without talking
• Private acknowledgment instead of public praise

Belonging should never feel earned.

Restore Agency Through Small Choices

Offer gentle options:

• “Do you want to talk now or later?”
• “Would drawing help, or just sitting together?”
• “Should we walk or stay inside?”
• Use drawing or animation to express what is not accessible with words: “Show me how you are feeling”

Choice rebuilds a sense of control.

Expect Feelings to Arrive Late

Emotions may surface hours later. Meet them with curiosity rather than correction. The release means the child finally feels safe.

The Goal Is Not Loudness

The goal is not to turn the quiet child into a loud one.

The goal is to help the child feel safe enough to be alive inside, to wonder, to struggle, to speak when ready, and to rest when needed.

When caregivers respond with patience instead of pressure, presence instead of performance, and compassion instead of correction, the child learns something essential:

You do not have to disappear to belong.

And in time, the still, small voice begins to speak, not because it was demanded, but because it was welcomed.

About the Author

Chana Kaiman, LCSW-RPT, is a Licensed Clinical Social Worker and Registered Play

Therapist specializing in child, adolescent, and family therapy. Chana has advanced training in Child-Centered Play Therapy, Filial Play, Adlerian play therapy, Trauma-informed care, and Internal Family Systems (IFS). Her clinical work integrates neuroscience and somatics with a deeply Torah-rooted approach to emotional wellness.

Chana is the Education and School Relations Lead at the Bereishis Foundation, where she develops educator training and parent programming that weave contemporary mental health practices with Chassidus-based perspectives on the inner world of the child. Her private practice in Brooklyn supports children struggling with anxiety, learning challenges, trauma, behavioral concerns, and low self-esteem. Known for creating a warm, relational space grounded in safety and curiosity, Chana helps children befriend their inner parts and grow into confident leaders of their emotional world.

At Bereishis, we are bringing this work into schools and communities. If you believe in this mission and want to empower more children, we invite you to get involved and partner with us for educator coaching, parent workshops, and child-centered Torah-based resources.

Chana can be reached at: Chana@BereishisFoundation.org | 407-208-2406

To support the work of the Bereishis Foundation, or to bring this approach to your school or community, please visit: https://www.bereishisfoundation.org/