When a Child Seeks Their Own Path: Understanding Without Confining
In my consultation, parents sometimes arrive with a word already placed upon their child: autism, ADHD, “behavioral disorder.” Sometimes suggested by school, sometimes by a hurried professional, sometimes born from an anxiety that has grown too large. They arrive with this word as one arrives with an explanation that reassures as much as it unsettles. They are trying to understand what, in their five‑ or seven‑year‑old child, resists, overflows, withdraws, opposes, or agitates.
But at this age, not everything that resembles autism is autism. And not everything that resembles a disorder is one.
Frances Tustin wrote that true autism is rooted in a particular way of perceiving the world, often from the earliest years of life, as if sensory experience itself became overwhelming. Meltzer described a difficulty in transforming raw experience into representation. Geneviève Haag spoke of children engaged in a silent struggle to maintain a fragile internal cohesion. These descriptions do not apply to all children who oppose, who move constantly, who dream, who withdraw, or who struggle to adapt to school.
Some children, very lively, very sensitive, very reactive, may evoke what is sometimes associated with ADHD. But René Misès reminded us that agitation can be a language, a way of expressing discomfort, fear, fatigue, or even boredom. A child who moves constantly is not necessarily “hyperactive.” He may be a child trying to regulate himself, to reassure himself, to feel alive in a world that moves too fast for him.
Other children, more solitary, more absorbed in their interests, more sensitive to routines, may evoke traits sometimes associated with discreet autistic profiles. But again, caution is essential. Some children are simply very observant, very focused, very introverted. They love details, precise universes, rituals that soothe them. Daniel Stern reminded us that each child builds their inner world in their own way, and that this way is never a disorder in itself.
Serge Lebovici emphasized the importance of understanding the child within their context, their history, their relationships. Didier Houzel described parenthood as a living space, sometimes fragile, sometimes wounded, but always transformable. Winnicott reminded us that a child can only develop if they find a sufficiently good environment, capable of holding them without overwhelming them.
In this landscape, words circulate quickly. They sometimes reassure, because they give shape. They sometimes worry, because they freeze. They can become an involuntary way of stepping back from what the child is trying to express. As if the word were enough. As if it explained everything. As if it relieved us from meeting the child in their singularity.
A five‑ or seven‑year‑old child does not express their distress with words. They express it with their body, their behavior, their refusals, their anger, their silences. Sometimes through agitation, sometimes through withdrawal, sometimes through opposition. They express it as they can. And it is up to us, adults, to help translate that language.
Sometimes a child seems to have a cork in their mouth. Something that prevents them from speaking, thinking, symbolizing. That cork may be fear, anxiety, school difficulty, family tension, hypersensitivity, emotional immaturity, or a fragile bond. It is not always a neurodevelopmental disorder. It is not always a diagnosis. It is often an enigma.
Supporting the child means unfolding that enigma. Meeting them where they are. Observing them play, draw, invent, hide, return. Play, as Winnicott wrote, is the first space of care. It is where the child shows what they cannot say. It is where they replay their fears, their conflicts, their desires. It is where they invite us, sometimes timidly, into their world.
Support is always a team effort. Psychologists, child psychiatrists, teachers, educators, speech therapists, psychomotor therapists — each brings a piece of the puzzle. None holds the truth. All try to understand. All try to support the child’s development, whatever name — or no name — is eventually placed on their difficulties.
For parents, the task is immense. They must learn to look at their child differently, to hear what they are trying to express, to not be crushed by words that circulate too quickly. They must accept that a diagnosis, if it comes one day, will never be an end but a beginning. They must be supported, accompanied, recognized in their doubts, fears, and exhaustion.
A child is never a disorder. A child is a subject in becoming. A subject seeking their place. A subject who sometimes bumps against the world. A subject who always deserves to be met with time and care.
REFERENCES
Dolto, F. (1985). When the Child Appears. Paris: Gallimard. Haag, G. (2000). The Autistic Child: The Baby and the Mother. Paris: PUF. Houzel, D. (1999). The Stakes of Parenthood. Paris: PUF. Lebovici, S. (1983). The Infant, the Mother and the Psychoanalyst. Paris: Bayard. Meltzer, D. (1975). Explorations in Autism. Perthshire: Clunie Press.