Why Regulation Matters More Than Ever in Education

Suzanne Churcher

Imagine being a leader in a school.

You are holding attendance concerns, inclusion pressures, staffing strain, parental anxiety, stretched budgets and the growing complexity of children’s needs. You are trying to support teachers, reassure families, and make the right decisions for pupils, all while working within a system that often expects schools to solve far more than schools alone can fix.

Now imagine trying to meet those demands while leading children and staff through environments that may already feel overwhelming before the day has properly begun.

A corridor that echoes. A classroom full of visual information. Chairs scraping. Bells sounding. Lighting that feels harsh by mid-morning. Constant movement. Constant transition. Constant adjustment.

For some, these are mild irritations. For others, they are not. Some children hear sound more sharply, feel visual busyness more intensely or struggle to filter competing sensory information. Some arrive already carrying the effects of stress or trauma in their bodies. But this is not only about pupils. Staff are nervous systems too. Teachers, support staff, office teams, lunchtime supervisors, and leaders are all trying to think, respond and regulate within the same sensory and emotional climate.

This is why regulation matters in education — and why it deserves far more serious attention than it often receives.

Too often, regulation is discussed as though it belongs only to behaviour support, special educational needs, or pastoral intervention. It sits at the heart of school life. It affects how children learn, how staff cope, how relationships feel, how calmly transitions happen and how sustainable a school environment is over time. Regulation is not a niche issue for a few pupils. It is a whole-community issue.

I write this from both professional experience and personal frustration. Having worked in education and supported children with a wide range of needs, I became increasingly aware of how often we focus on behaviour without looking closely enough at the conditions surrounding it. We intervene once a child is distressed. We respond once attendance drops. We create support once a pattern becomes visible. But too often, we do this without fully asking what the environment itself may be demanding of that child — or of the adults supporting them.

That frustration eventually led me to start my own business. I wanted to explore how educational settings could better support regulation through thoughtful environmental changes, seasonal activities, and a deeper understanding of how children and adults respond to school spaces. Not by adding another initiative for schools to carry, but by encouraging a different lens: one that sees environment as an active influence on learning, wellbeing, inclusion, and staff sustainability.

This feels especially urgent now. Since Covid, many schools have been navigating a remarkably different attendance picture. More children are struggling to attend consistently. Anxiety has risen. Patterns of disengagement have become harder to separate from wider emotional, sensory, and family pressures. Heads of inclusion, pastoral leads, SENDCos and senior leaders are often carrying the weight of this every day, trying to respond compassionately while still meeting accountability demands.

Yet the strain does not stop with leadership. Class teachers are expected to maintain calm, teach effectively, differentiate, manage behaviour, and build relationships, often in environments that are noisy, visually busy, and cognitively demanding. Teaching assistants are frequently supporting children with high levels of need while absorbing the emotional atmosphere around them. Office staff may be the first to receive distressed calls from families or welcome children arriving dysregulated. Lunchtime staff often work in some of the most acoustically challenging parts of the school day. When regulation is not well supported, the pressure ripples through every role in the building.

The theories I have researched have only deepened this understanding.

Trauma-aware practice is central. For some children, unpredictability, noise, pressure, and sensory overload can activate a stress response long before adults notice outward signs of distress. What may appear to be refusal, withdrawal or poor behaviour can in fact be a child’s nervous system trying to cope. Trauma awareness matters because it shifts the question from “What is wrong with this child?” to “What might this child be experiencing here?”

Cognitive Load Theory offers another useful lens. If a child is already using mental energy to manage noise, clutter, transitions, visual distraction or uncertainty, there is less capacity left for learning. But the same can be said for staff. If adults are working all day in environments that are effortful to manage, that too affects concentration, patience, decision-making and emotional resilience. Not all load in a school day comes from the curriculum. Some of it comes from the setting itself.

Attention Restoration Theory reminds us that human attention is not endless. In highly stimulating educational environments, restoration matters. Reduced sensory pressure is not about making schools empty or silent. It is about creating conditions in which attention, communication and co-regulation are more possible.

Research linked to biophilic design has also shaped my thinking. Natural elements, softer textures, daylight, planting, views of nature and calmer sensory experiences can support wellbeing. Ideas such as hygge point us towards something schools sometimes overlook warmth, comfort, softness, and emotional ease are not indulgences. They help human beings settle.

Acoustics are another overlooked issue. In many settings, sound is treated as unavoidable background inconvenience rather than a serious barrier. Yet poor acoustics can increase listening effort, fatigue, irritability, and dysregulation. The visual environment matters too. A classroom can be stimulating without being crowded. A corridor can celebrate learning without overwhelming the eye. The environment sends messages long before any adult instruction begins.

There is also a practical and economic argument for taking regulation seriously. When children and staff are overwhelmed by their environments, schools absorb the cost through time, intervention, fractured attendance, repeated behaviour support, staff stress and burnout. By contrast, approaches that strengthen social and emotional development and reduce unnecessary strain can support better learning, stronger relationships and more effective use of already stretched resources. Regulation is not a soft extra. It is part of the foundation that makes school life more sustainable.

Importantly, supportive change does not always need to be dramatic. Some of the most meaningful shifts are gradual: reducing visual overload in key areas, thinking about how shared spaces feel, creating calmer transitions, softening harsh sensory conditions, reviewing how sound travels, considering lighting more carefully and paying attention to corridors, entrances and staff spaces as well as classrooms.

Seasonal activities can play an important role here too. Children and adults are not static across the year, and neither are their regulation needs. Autumn may call for grounding and settling. Winter may require more attention to warmth, comfort and light. Spring can invite outdoor noticing, movement and renewal. Summer may need greater awareness of glare, heat, fatigue and agitation.

This is the impact I hope my business will have. I want to contribute to a more thoughtful conversation about regulation in education, one that helps schools notice what is often hidden in plain sight and create environments that place less unnecessary strain on children and adults alike.

Because if we improve regulation, we do not improve things only for one child or one team. We improve the daily experience of the whole school community.