What Our Tone Teaches: The Trauma-Informed Practice of Speaking with Care
A gentle look at why the way we speak to children matters—especially for those who’ve experienced trauma—and how small shifts in tone and intention can build lasting trust.
What Our Tone Teaches: Trauma-Informed Ways to Speak to Every Child.
If you’ve ever taken a moment to listen closely on any school campus filled with children, you’ll hear a wide range of voices. Some are playful. Some are sharp. Some are loud enough to carry across courtyards. And while there are certainly times when firm direction is needed, I find myself reflecting often on this simple truth: the way we speak to children shapes the way they see themselves — and us.
In trauma-informed work, we learn quickly that tone matters. Volume matters. Presence matters.
A lot of the kids I work with here on campus have experienced more than just physical poverty. There's also situations of emotional poverty — a deep lack of consistent, safe relationships with adults who really see them, listen to them, and respond with care. When kids have been let down or hurt by adults they learn to stay guarded. They might walk into a room already bracing for the worst, reading every tone of voice, every shift in body language, trying to figure out if they need to protect themselves. That kind of hypervigilance makes it hard to trust, hard to connect, and even harder to feel safe enough to be themselves. And when grown-ups lead with yelling or control, it just confirms what these kids already suspect: that adults can’t be trusted with their hearts.
That’s why presence matters. That’s why tone and volume matter. Trauma-informed care isn’t just a buzzword — it’s a daily practice of choosing connection over control, softness over power, and calm over chaos.
Kids don’t need perfection from us. They need us to stay kind, consistent, and grounded enough to offer a different kind of relationship—one where safety isn’t just a rule, it’s a feeling.
Why Yelling Doesn’t Work (Even If It’s Normalized):
I know that in many environments—especially ones where grown-ups are exhausted, outnumbered, or holding their own unspoken stress—yelling becomes a default. I see it. I hear it. I understand it. But I also see what happens in some kiddos’ eyes when the yelling starts.
When we speak with sharpness or urgency all the time, children stop listening—not because they’re defiant, but because their nervous systems can’t stay open and engaged when they feel under threat.
Yelling may bring short-term obedience. But what it rarely brings is trust. And trust is what we’re after.
In trauma-informed education, we recognize that the way we communicate with children profoundly influences their self-perception and development. Raising our voices or using harsh tones, especially with children who have experienced trauma, can trigger stress responses and hinder their ability to learn and trust. As highlighted by the Massachusetts Adoption Resource Exchange (MARE), trauma can significantly impact a child's behavior and emotions, making it essential for caregivers to use approaches that foster safety and understanding.
By choosing calm, empathetic communication, we not only model respectful interactions but also create an environment where all children feel valued and supported. This approach aligns with the principles of trauma-informed care, which emphasize the importance of creating safe and nurturing relationships to promote healing and growth.
What We All Need to Remember:
If you wouldn’t want to be spoken to that way, why speak that way to a child?
Children may not have the words to advocate for themselves, but they’re watching. Absorbing. Learning from every tone we use. Whether we mean to or not, we’re teaching them: This is how people treat one another. This is how power sounds. This is how love feels—or doesn’t.
So when we yell, even with good intentions, it’s worth pausing to ask:
Is this how I would want to be spoken to if I were overwhelmed, tired, or scared?
Is this building connection or breaking it?
What message does this send about how grown-ups handle frustration or stress?
Kindness is not weakness. It’s strength under control.
Every Child Deserves a Soft Landing.
Not every child runs toward adults. Not every child feels safe in the presence of grown-ups. And sometimes, the most “difficult” behaviors come from the kids who are the most in need of kindness.
This is why I keep two lists.
One is mental. The other is physical. Both help me keep track—not of behavior, but of connection.
It’s easy to spend time with the kids who come skipping toward you, who sit down at the art table every day, who light up when they see you rounding the corners. But I never want to forget the quiet ones. The ones who don’t ask. The ones who linger behind a group or duck their head when I walk by.
So I check in with my list. I look for who I haven’t spoken to this week. I make time for the child who didn’t come running.
Because trauma-informed care is about more than just soothing hard moments. It’s about choosing every child, on purpose.
How Grown-Ups Can Do Better (Without Shame):
Here are a few gentle tools for speaking in trauma-informed ways—especially in community spaces where children live, learn, and grow:
Lower your voice instead of raising it. A calm voice invites regulation. A loud one often shuts it down.
Make eye contact at their level. Physically crouching down says, “I’m with you, not above you.”
Name your own emotions. “I’m feeling frustrated, but I’m going to take a breath and speak kindly” models self-regulation in real-time.
Speak to children the way you want them to speak to others. That’s how we build empathy, dignity, and mutual respect.
If we want kind, respectful children, we need to show them what kindness and respect sound like—even when we’re tired. Especially then.
A Quiet Invitation.
This isn’t about perfection. We all slip. We all raise our voices at times. What matters is the repair. The return. The moment we choose softness, even after a hard one.
So whether you're a teacher, dorm parent, caregiver, or simply someone who crosses paths with children often—may we all remember the power we carry in our tone, in our posture, in our daily words.
Note: if I’m being honest—there are moments when there’s sometimes a sassy little part of my brain that wants to to match energy. When someone’s yelling from across the courtyard, there’s a tiny voice in my head that jokes, “Oh, we’re yelling? Okay!” But I know better.
Matching energy in that way only leads to more overstimulation, not less. When I react emotionally to a situation, I’m not just responding in the moment—I’m modeling for the kids that reacting emotionally is how we handle hard things. I remember the power of being the calmest one in the room.
My regulation is what helps them find theirs. And that’s a quiet kind of magic.
