When Sensory Seeking Looks Concerning

A personal reflection on listening beneath behaviour

There are moments in parenting a neurodivergent child that stop you in your tracks.

Moments where your heart races, your mind fills with questions, and fear sits just beneath the surface. Not because your child is doing something “wrong,” but because what they are drawn to feels unsafe, confusing, or impossible to explain to others.

I’ve lived many of those moments with Jack.

There have been times when Jack has been drawn to drinking things like fabric softener. Other times, he has sought out knives—not to hurt anyone, but to cut, to control, to engage deeply with the action itself. On the outside, these behaviours look alarming. They are alarming. And pretending otherwise wouldn’t serve anyone.

But over time, I’ve learned that stopping at fear alone doesn’t help either of us.

What helped was learning to pause and ask a different question.

Not “How do I stop this?”
But “What is his body asking for?”

Sensory seeking is communication

Many autistic children seek sensory input in ways that are intense, unconventional, and sometimes unsafe. This isn’t about poor judgment, defiance, or a lack of understanding. It’s about a nervous system trying to regulate itself with the tools it has available.

Jack doesn’t experience the world through words. His communication happens through action, movement, and sensation. When he seeks strong tastes or smells, his body may be asking for oral stimulation, grounding, or organising input that helps him feel more settled. When he wants to cut things, he may be seeking resistance, precision, pressure, or control, something that brings clarity to his system.

Seen this way, the behaviour stops being random. It becomes meaningful.

That doesn’t mean it becomes acceptable or safe.

Safety still matters

One of the hardest balances to hold as a parent is this:
We can honour a child’s sensory needs without allowing unsafe behaviour.

Jack cannot drink fabric softener.
Jack cannot use sharp knives unsupervised.

Those boundaries are clear and non-negotiable.

But what can change is how we respond once the boundary is set.

Instead of shutting the behaviour down with fear or punishment, I’ve learned to translate it. To ask myself: What sensory need is being expressed here, and how can I meet it safely?

For oral sensory seeking, that might mean offering strong-tasting or crunchy foods, cold drinks, chewable sensory tools, or textures his mouth can explore safely.

For cutting and sharp-object seeking, that might mean supervised use of safe tools, heavy-duty scissors, cutting cardboard or clay, or activities that offer resistance and precision without risk.

The behaviour isn’t the enemy.
The unmet need is the message.

Saying no without saying “your needs don’t matter”

This approach doesn’t mean being permissive. It means being responsive.

It means saying:
“I won’t let you do this because it’s not safe.”
And also saying:
“I see that your body needs something, and I’m here to help you find a safe way to meet it.”

That distinction matters more than we realise.

When children feel understood instead of controlled, trust grows. When trust grows, regulation becomes possible. And when regulation becomes possible, the intensity of the behaviour often softens over time.

Not because we forced it to stop—but because the nervous system no longer has to shout.

For parents and carers reading this

If you’re reading this and recognising your child, please know this: you are not failing. You are navigating something complex, layered, and deeply human.

It’s okay to feel scared.
It’s okay to need support.
It’s okay to hold firm boundaries and compassion at the same time.

Sensory seeking isn’t something to be eliminated; it’s something to be understood, guided, and supported safely.

This is what listening without words has taught me.
And it’s what continues to shape how I meet Jack, every single day.