Sensory Supports Are Not Rewards. They Are a Right.
This is a hill I will die on.
Fidgets, movement breaks, noise-cancelling headphones, wobble cushions, chewing tools—these are not rewards.
They are not privileges to be earned with good behaviour. They are necessary supports that help many children function, regulate, learn, and connect.
And yet, every week, I walk into schools and see sensory supports treated like prizes for compliance. As if access to basic regulation should be dangled like a carrot, only available to those who can perform the expected behaviour first.
You hear it everywhere:
“If he can’t follow instructions, he doesn’t get the wobble cushion.”
“If she keeps interrupting, she loses access to the sensory room.”
“If they want the fidget, they need to finish their work first.”
“If he finishes his maths, he can go in the calm down corner.”
Let’s be absolutely clear:
We don’t take away a child’s glasses because they’re not focusing enough.
We don’t remove a wheelchair ramp because a student is being “defiant.”
We don’t confiscate inhalers or mobility aids because a child was "disruptive."
Sensory supports are the same.
They are not a bonus.
They are not a luxury.
They are not something to be earned.
They are access tools.
They are regulation tools.
They are human rights in a learning environment.
In my work as a child psychologist, I see again and again how unmet sensory needs show up as "behavioural issues." The child who can't sit still. The child who melts down after too long in a noisy room. The child who shouts answers before being called upon, simply trying to stay connected to the task at hand.
And I also see how dramatically those "behaviours" can ease when children are given what they need without shame, delay, or conditions.
The question we should be asking is not,
"How do we make this child earn their sensory support?"
It’s,
"What would shift if we simply gave them what they needed in the first place?"
Because the truth is: when children are regulated, when their sensory systems are supported, when they feel safe—everything changes. Connection, communication, and learning become possible again.
It’s not about making things “easier” for them. It’s about making things possible. It's about equity. It's about dignity.
I would love to hear your thoughts on this—especially from educators, allied health professionals, parents, and carers navigating these realities in real time. How do you advocate for sensory supports in your settings? What has helped shift the mindset from rewards to rights?
Let’s keep this conversation going.
Because every child deserves access—not after they behave, not once they’ve earned it—but always.
