When we talk about education, we often focus on outcomes—academic achievement, test scores, and readiness for the next grade level. But for families raising children on the autism spectrum, the questions run much deeper. Beyond grades and assessments, the real challenge is finding a school that meets children where they are, supports how their bodies and nervous systems experience the world, and allows them to learn in a way that feels safe, understood, and fully supported.
In Santa Cruz County, families are often left searching for educational environments that truly meet these needs. This gap inspired the creation of a school designed specifically for students with autism—one that integrates learning with regulation-focused, trauma-informed, and holistic approaches so children can flourish academically, socially, and emotionally.
For many students on the spectrum, traditional school environments fall short—not because educators lack care, but because the systems themselves are not built to accommodate different sensory, social, and neurological needs. Large class sizes, constant stimulation, rigid schedules, and narrow behavioral expectations can place significant strain on a child’s nervous system. Over time, this strain may show up as anxiety, withdrawal, emotional overwhelm, or behaviors that are often misunderstood or mislabeled.
These responses are not signs of failure. They are signals.
A child’s nervous system is constantly communicating what feels safe and what feels overwhelming. When a child experiences ongoing sensory overload, unpredictable transitions, or social demands that exceed their capacity, the body naturally shifts into a state of protection. In this state, the brain prioritizes survival over learning. Attention narrows, communication becomes more difficult, and emotional regulation feels increasingly out of reach.
Too often, these signals are treated as behaviors to correct rather than messages to understand.
A nervous-system–informed approach prioritizes safety, regulation, and connection as the foundation for growth and learning. It asks different questions: instead of asking how we can get a child to comply, it asks what the child needs to feel safe enough to engage. Instead of expecting children to self-regulate without support, it recognizes regulation as a skill that develops over time through attuned relationships, predictability, and consistent care.
Independent and alternative educational models offer a powerful opportunity to lead this shift. With greater flexibility, these settings can create environments that respond to students rather than forcing them to adapt to overwhelming systems. Movement can be integrated into the day. Sensory needs can be anticipated and supported. Emotional expression can be met with curiosity and understanding rather than pressure or punishment.
In supportive learning spaces, relationships are central. Students learn best when they feel seen, understood, and supported by the adults around them. Trust is not an added benefit; it is the pathway to learning. When children feel safe in their bodies and secure in relationships, curiosity naturally emerges and engagement becomes possible.
This way of educating recognizes that students experience and process the world differently, and that these differences can be supported so they grow into their strengths.
The school we are creating in Santa Cruz County will integrate education with therapeutic and emotional support rather than separating the two. Occupational therapy, physical therapy, speech and language services, psychological support, and sensory-informed spaces will all work collaboratively with learning.
Rather than pulling children out of class to address regulation or emotional needs, support will be woven into the rhythm of the day. Learning will remain flexible and responsive, shaped by each child’s capacity, interests, and needs in the moment. Progress will be measured not only through academic milestones, but through increased regulation, confidence, communication, and connection.
In this kind of environment, children are not asked to disconnect from their bodies to learn. They are supported in understanding their internal cues, building resilience, and developing the skills needed to navigate daily life with greater ease.
Equally important, this vision recognizes that children do not exist in isolation. Families carry the emotional weight of the systems their children navigate. Parents of children on the autism spectrum often experience chronic stress, advocacy fatigue, and emotional exhaustion. Many feel isolated or unsure where to turn for meaningful support, especially when systems feel fragmented or difficult to navigate.
When parents are overwhelmed or unsupported, the entire family system feels the impact. Stress moves through relationships and nervous systems, shaping daily interactions at home and at school. For this reason, education that truly supports children must also support families.
Alongside services for students, families deserve access to nervous system education, somatic-based parent support, relationship and intimacy guidance, and opportunities for authentic community connection. Parenting a child on the autism spectrum can place strain on partnerships and emotional closeness over time. When caregivers are supported in their own regulation and relationships, children benefit in deep and lasting ways.
Educational environments that include families as part of the care model are not only more compassionate, they are more effective. Independent schools have the flexibility to care for families as whole systems, addressing emotional well-being alongside learning.
Santa Cruz has long been a community that values holistic health, alternative education, and innovative approaches to child development. This makes it a powerful place to lead in reimagining what education can look like for children on the autism spectrum. Learning environments grounded in nervous-system awareness have the potential to support not only academic growth, but long-term emotional health and family stability.
The future of education does not require lowering expectations or separating children from the world. It requires environments built on an understanding of how learning actually happens. When safety comes first, when relationships are central, and when regulation is supported, children are able to grow into their strengths without abandoning themselves in the process.
When we support families, children thrive—and parents experience less stress, relationships deepen, and the entire household benefits from greater connection, attunement, and emotional well-being. The future of education begins there.
Tovah Petra, MA, is a trauma-informed somatic practitioner and creator of the Whole Family, Whole Child approach. She works with children and families in Santa Cruz County, helping parents of children on the autism spectrum create emotionally safe, attuned, and connected homes—while supporting their own nervous systems, relationships, and intimate connection. She is dedicated to reimagining education for children on the autism spectrum and creating learning environments that honor the body, relationships, and the unique needs of each child. Learn more at www.tovahpetra.com
December often feels full of shifts and changes. Growing up with parents in separate homes, I learned early how different households can have their own rhythms, expectations, and ways of celebrating. For a child, moving between these spaces isn’t just confusing — it can feel heavy and unsettling.
As a parent now, I notice how children experience transitions even more vividly. Their bodies often signal overwhelm before they have words to express it. They might become clingy, retreat quietly, or have sudden meltdowns — and that’s their nervous system asking for support. Even minor changes — a later bedtime, a new routine, or a different holiday plan — can feel like a big adjustment for a child.
One thing I’ve learned over the years is that presence matters more than perfection. Children are watching, feeling, and absorbing the energy around them. When adults slow down, notice shifts, and prioritize connection, children can begin to feel grounded, safe, and understood — even amidst the busyness of December.
Steady anchors can make all the difference. Here are some ways I approach transitions with children and the families I work with:
Connection First
Before trying to redirect behavior, move on to the next activity, or fix a problem, I check in. I notice their energy, tone, and behavior. Naming what they might be feeling is simple but powerful: "That was a lot of change today. Your body might feel tired or off-balance." These moments of connection signal to the nervous system that it’s safe to slow down. When children feel seen first, everything else — routines, transitions, expectations — becomes easier to navigate.
Before trying to redirect behavior, move on to the next activity, or fix a problem, I check in. I notice their energy, tone, and behavior. Naming what they might be feeling is simple but powerful: "That was a lot of change today. Your body might feel tired or off-balance." These moments of connection signal to the nervous system that it’s safe to slow down. When children feel seen first, everything else — routines, transitions, expectations — becomes easier to navigate.
Predictable Routines
Children thrive on predictable rhythms. Between homes or activities, keeping familiar routines consistent can help anchor them. When my children were very young, I sometimes questioned the need to maintain these rhythms, worried it might feel too rigid. Over the years, I’ve learned that even something as simple as a familiar breakfast ritual can be a secret superpower — a small anchor that builds deeper connection and trust and helps children feel safe when they are gently led and supported. Familiar breakfast routines, bedtime stories, or short check-ins during transitions provide stability and help children navigate the inevitable shifts of December — and sometimes they’re the only thing keeping the morning coffee warm.
Children thrive on predictable rhythms. Between homes or activities, keeping familiar routines consistent can help anchor them. When my children were very young, I sometimes questioned the need to maintain these rhythms, worried it might feel too rigid. Over the years, I’ve learned that even something as simple as a familiar breakfast ritual can be a secret superpower — a small anchor that builds deeper connection and trust and helps children feel safe when they are gently led and supported. Familiar breakfast routines, bedtime stories, or short check-ins during transitions provide stability and help children navigate the inevitable shifts of December — and sometimes they’re the only thing keeping the morning coffee warm.
Sensory Pauses
The holiday season comes with extra noise, lights, and activity. For children, these changes can feel overwhelming. Short sensory breaks — a quiet cuddle, a walk outside, or a few minutes of deep breathing — give their nervous systems space to reset. Even noticing that a child needs a moment to stretch, shake, or move can prevent overwhelm from building into a full meltdown. These pauses are acts of respect for the child’s body — and, honestly, for your sanity too.
The holiday season comes with extra noise, lights, and activity. For children, these changes can feel overwhelming. Short sensory breaks — a quiet cuddle, a walk outside, or a few minutes of deep breathing — give their nervous systems space to reset. Even noticing that a child needs a moment to stretch, shake, or move can prevent overwhelm from building into a full meltdown. These pauses are acts of respect for the child’s body — and, honestly, for your sanity too.
December also brings cultural and family expectations. One household may celebrate with certain traditions, another with different rhythms. Children pick up on all of it — from tone of voice to subtle shifts in energy. That’s why anchoring them with connection, routine, and sensory breaks is so important. They don’t need perfection or constant entertainment; they need steadiness and attunement.
Being attuned doesn’t just help children; it helps parents, too. Noticing our own nervous system allows us to model calm, regulated behavior. Stepping outside for a few minutes to breathe or quietly observing a child can help both parent and child settle. Presence is contagious, and children feel it immediately.
As a parent in the Santa Cruz area, I notice that even in a slower, small-town environment, December has its own rhythm: twinkling holiday lights along local streets, school parties, and neighborhood gatherings. Even here, transitions between homes, events, and expectations are felt strongly by children. Recognizing and supporting those transitions is an act of care, not indulgence.
This December, I’m remembering that the most meaningful gift we can give children isn’t more lights, parties, or toys. It’s attunement, steady presence, and practices that help their nervous systems feel safe and regulated, even amidst change. Connection first. Routines second. Sensory pauses third. These anchors give children a place to return to, no matter where they are, what’s happening around them, or how busy the season gets.
Staying rooted in connection means allowing ourselves to feel, to pause, and to return to our neutral state again and again. In the noise and activity of the season, these small moments of regulation are acts of deep love — quiet reminders that we deserve the same care and attunement we so readily offer to others.
Tovah Petra, MA, is a Somatic Practitioner and the creator of the Whole Family, Whole Child approach, where she helps parents of neurodivergent kids create emotionally safe, attuned, and connected homes — while also nurturing their own nervous systems, relationships, and intimate connection.
Learn more at: www.tovahpetra.com
The holidays can bring moments of magic — sparkling lights, familiar songs, cozy family gatherings. But for many parents and caregivers, they also bring full schedules, high expectations, sensory overload, and an endless to-do list. The season that’s meant to bring connection can easily leave our nervous systems on overdrive.
As parents and caregivers, we often focus on supporting our children through holiday stress: keeping routines somewhat consistent, preparing them for transitions, and helping them manage the emotional ups and downs of change. Yet we sometimes forget that our own regulation forms the foundation for how our children experience the season. When we feel grounded, calm, and connected to ourselves, we can co-regulate with them, providing a sense of safety that helps them settle more easily into the moment.
So what does regulation really mean? Regulation is our body’s ability to return to a place of neutrality after stress or stimulation. It’s not about staying calm all the time — it’s about noticing what’s happening inside us and finding ways to come back to center or a neutral state. In somatic work, regulation begins in the body, not the mind. The body leads the way through breath, movement, touch, and sensory experiences that signal safety to the nervous system.
Regulation starts with awareness — noticing subtle cues from our body before we reach the point of overwhelm. A racing heartbeat, shallow breath, or tightness in your body are invitations to slow down and reconnect. These small moments of noticing become portals back to neutrality and self-trust, allowing us to meet the season with more ease and authenticity.
Many of us know common suggestions for regulation — taking deep breaths, going for a walk, or carving out alone time. These can help, but sometimes our nervous system craves something more embodied, creative, or playful — something that brings us fully back to life rather than just calm.
Below are 10 somatic tools for parents and caregivers to stay grounded through the holidays. These ideas invite presence, curiosity, and connection amid the holiday chaos.
10 Somatic Tools to Support Holiday Regulation
- Self-hug
Wrap your arms around yourself, squeeze gently, and breathe. This simple act activates the body’s calming response and helps you feel safe in your own skin. - Dance it out
Put on your favorite song and move however your body wants. Movement releases built-up tension and reconnects you with yourself. - Water immersion
Step into a bath, shower, or even wash your hands slowly in warm water. Water helps reset the senses and invites a full-body exhale. - Holiday scent pause
Smell can be deeply regulating. Use a seasonal scent — cinnamon, orange, or pine — and take a slow inhale to ground yourself in the present moment. - Expressive scribbles
Grab a pen and paper and scribble out your stress. It doesn’t have to look like anything — the act of movement and expression helps emotions flow. - Micro-movement breaks
Jump, shake, stretch, or sway — short bursts of movement keep your energy from stagnating and help the body process stress. - Stress “externalization”
Give your tension a fun name, like your Tension Troll, and imagine sending it away with a flick of your hand. Playfulness helps release stress and invites humor into hard moments. - Ritual object
Keep a small item — a bell, ornament, or stone — that you touch or hold when you need to pause and breathe. Rituals create a sense of stability amid busyness. - Partnered touch or intimate connection
Share a mindful hug, gentle massage, or hand-hold with your partner. Physical connection co-regulates the nervous system and strengthens intimacy. - Solo intimate self-care
Take a few mindful moments to connect with your own body — through gentle touch, stretching, or self-massage. Tuning into your body helps release tension and restore energy.
The holidays can pull us in many directions — toward family obligations, traditions, and expectations. Yet true presence with our loved ones comes from within our own regulated body. When we tend to our inner world, we show up more available, patient, and connected — not just for our children, but for ourselves.
Staying rooted in connection means allowing ourselves to feel, to pause, and to return to our neutral state again and again. In the noise and activity of the season, these small moments of regulation are acts of deep love — quiet reminders that we deserve the same care and attunement we so readily offer to others.
Tovah Petra, MA, is a Somatic Practitioner and the creator of the Whole Family, Whole Child approach, where she helps parents of neurodivergent kids create emotionally safe, attuned, and connected homes — while also nurturing their own nervous systems, relationships, and intimate connection. Learn more at: www.tovahpetra.com
October brings with it the crisp air of autumn, pumpkins on doorsteps, and a season of playful scares. Halloween may be about jump-scares and haunted houses, but for many expecting parents, the unknowns of birth can feel far more intimidating than any ghost story. Birth is often portrayed as unpredictable and overwhelming, leaving many people feeling more afraid than excited. Yet it doesn’t have to be this way. By using somatic practices—body-based approaches that ground us in the present—we can prepare for birth with calm, trust, and even joy.
Fear is a normal part of anticipating birth. The body and mind instinctively tense when faced with uncertainty. Questions about pain, safety, or how the experience will unfold can quickly spiral into anxiety. When the nervous system is activated in this way, the body may resist rather than open. Birth, however, requires softening and flow. This is where somatic tools become invaluable. They help us regulate the nervous system, release tension, and connect to the innate wisdom of our bodies. Instead of getting caught in the question, “Why am I feeling this?” somatic practices invite us to shift toward, “What is my body feeling right now?” That small change helps us step out of mental narratives and into direct sensation, where grounding and safety can be found.
During my own pregnancies, I discovered the power of somatic preparation. I gave birth to both of my children at home, and while I felt deeply aligned with that choice, it didn’t mean I was free from fear. My first birth had been frightening, and when I became pregnant again, I knew I needed a different approach. One of the most powerful tools I used was visualization. I asked someone with a calm, comforting voice to record a guided track for me, and I listened to it every single day leading up to labor. In those moments, I could imagine my body softening and opening, my baby descending gently, and the space around me filled with warmth and calm. Listening daily gave my body a rehearsal, a way to know what trust and safety could feel like. This practice isn’t limited to homebirth. Whether you are preparing for a hospital birth, a birth center, or home, using a guided track or creating your own visualization can make the unfamiliar feel more familiar and accessible.
Grounding through the senses was another key practice. During labor, I intentionally noticed small, tangible details: the coolness of the floor under my feet, the sound of my breath, the steady rhythm of my partner’s hand on my back. These anchors kept me present in my body rather than swept away by fear. For someone birthing in a hospital, grounding might come through noticing the softness of a blanket, the steady rise and fall of your breath, or the reassuring presence of a loved one nearby. The practice is less about the environment itself and more about finding orientation and peace in the present moment.
Water was another powerful ally for me. Standing under the shower or sinking into a warm bath created an immediate shift in my nervous system. The sensation of water flowing over my skin brought relief, release, and a sense of ease. For those who use a birth pool, water can create a cocoon-like environment that feels both soothing and protective. Even outside of labor, water can serve as a reset—washing away tension and reminding the body to flow instead of resist.
Breathwork was perhaps the simplest yet most powerful tool. Our breath is the bridge between body and mind. Slow, steady breathing helped regulate my nervous system and provided a rhythm to follow through each wave of contraction. I often paired my breath with visualization, exhaling as if I was releasing tension and inhaling as though drawing in strength. Breathwork transcends birth settings—it is available to every parent, in every circumstance.
What surprised me most was how these somatic tools extended beyond the birth itself. Bringing a baby home, whether from the hospital or into your own living room, can feel like stepping into another kind of unknown. The sleepless nights, constant feedings, and the overstimulation of a newborn adjusting to life outside the womb can feel overwhelming. The same grounding practices that carried me through birth also helped me stay steady during those early days. When I felt stretched thin, I would take a moment to orient my senses, breathe deeply, or step into a warm shower to remind my body that we were safe.
In some ways, a newborn experiences the world much like we experience Halloween—loud, unpredictable, and filled with strange sensations. Parents who can stay grounded offer a nervous system anchor for their child. By tending to our own regulation, we create an environment where our babies can feel secure, even in the midst of chaos.
Birth preparation does not have to be about eliminating fear. Instead, it can be about transforming fear into trust. By practicing visualization, grounding, water immersion, and breathwork, we give ourselves tools that support not only labor but also the tender weeks that follow.
My homebirths gave me firsthand experience of how powerful these practices can be, but they are not limited to one type of birth. They belong to all parents, in every setting, who long to meet birth with presence, strength, and openness. Birth may always carry an element of the unknown, but it doesn’t have to feel like a haunted house. With the right tools, we can walk into it not trembling, but rooted in the wisdom of our bodies and the assurance that we are capable of moving beyond fear into trust and faith.
Tovah Petra, MA, is a trauma-informed somatic practitioner and creator of the Whole Family, Whole Child approach. She helps parents of neurodivergent children create emotionally safe, attuned, and connected homes—while nurturing their own nervous systems, relationships, and intimate connection. Learn more at: www.tovahpetra.com
In my early 20s, I found myself fascinated and deeply curious about autism while working hands-on at a special place called Education Spectrum in Altadena, CA. I didn’t know why I felt so drawn, but I followed that inner pull. That curiosity became my Master’s thesis in 2007, titled Autism: An Extraordinary Opportunity in Education, where I wrote about autism through the lens of a whole child approach.
At the time, I didn’t fully understand why my heart was so invested. I just knew it mattered. Fast forward to 2025—eighteen years later—and I find myself building something that reflects the very seeds I planted back then.
While searching through bins in storage recently, I came across a hard copy of my thesis. Reading those pages brought me to tears. So much of what I dreamed about and wrote then, I am now living and creating. Not word for word, but the essence—the vision— is similar.
Today, I offer services as a trauma-informed somatic practitioner, supporting children on the autism spectrum and their families through a whole child, whole family approach. My work is about more than strategies or behaviors—it is about connection, regulation, and resilience, through somatic approaches that support the body, helping children and families feel safe and regulated. I remain deeply committed to continuing to advocate for these children and their families, ensuring they are seen and supported.
Back then, I could not have imagined the path I would walk. I have spent these years raising and homeschooling my two children, and through that, learning more than any textbook could have taught me. With the addition of my two-year Somatica training, a trauma-informed somatic-based program, I am now stepping more fully into this work, and it feels both brand new and divinely familiar.
There is a reason God has guided me back to this place. I feel it in my bones. The years in between were not wasted—they were preparation. They were life shaping me, training me, humbling me, and reminding me what really matters.
I never would have guessed I would return to this work after so many seasons passed, but now I can see the thread... I was always being guided here.
With gratitude for this journey and for the children and families I have the honor of supporting,
Tovah Petra
Tovah Petra
