Attach Therapy

24/09/2026

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24/09/2026

Please note website is experiencing some difficulties and is down at present. This should be rectified soon.

27/08/2026

I’ve thought about the difference between belonging and fitting in for a long time. It’s something I see often in the children and young people I work with.

From the outside, fitting in can look incredibly successful. A child has friends. They join in. They know what to say. They appear comfortable.

What we don’t always see is the immense amount of work that can sit underneath that. The watching. The adjusting. The constant reading of other people and sometimes, the rehearsing. Practising a conversation before it happens. Working out possible responses in advance. Running through what to say if someone asks a particular question. Rehearsing expressions in the mirror. Writing conversations down. Going over an interaction afterwards and wondering whether something was said the right way.

Was I too much? Did I talk for too long? Should I have laughed then? What am I supposed to say next time?

A young person can become extraordinarily skilled at this. So skilled that the people around them may simply see someone who is social, capable and “doing really well.”

I often wonder about the effort required to maintain it because belonging feels different.

Belonging doesn’t require quite so much rehearsal. It allows us to exhale. To be quiet when everyone else is talking. To be enthusiastic about something other people might not understand. To get something socially wrong. To need space. To be different without immediately wondering whether that difference might cost us our place.

Maybe belonging is the feeling that says you don’t have to work quite so hard to be allowed to stay. That matters enormously because a child can look beautifully included from the outside and still feel very alone on the inside. They can have friends and still feel unknown. They can become extraordinarily good at fitting in while never quite feeling that they truly belong.

So perhaps one of the questions we need to ask is not simply: “Are they fitting in?” But: “Can this child be themselves here and still feel that they belong?”

I think the difference between those two questions tells us something very important about the worlds we are creating for children.

I’m exploring more of these reflections on childhood, belonging and the emotional worlds of children in Through the Playroom Door. https://kellypickford.substack.com

Writing about childhood, play, connection, belonging and the emotional worlds of children. Click to read Through the Playroom Door, by Kelly Pickford, a Substack publication. Launched 9 days ago.

16/08/2026

I wasn't expecting the movie Blow the Man Down to make me think about play therapy. It isn't a film about children or therapy. But as I watched this dark little story unfold, I kept thinking about how little we really know when we look only at what is visible and children teach me this all the time.

We see the child who refuses school.
The child who hits.
The child who needs to control everything.
The child who won't speak.
The child who holds it together all day and falls apart at home.

We see the behaviour, and understandably, we want to know how to stop it. But sometimes we need to ask a different question first: What might be happening underneath? Because the behaviour isn't necessarily the story, it is where the story becomes visible.

Understanding behaviour doesn't mean excusing it. Children need boundaries, safety and opportunities to develop new skills, but boundaries and curiosity can exist together. Perhaps one of the most important things we can do for a child is resist knowing too quickly. Observe before interpreting, become curious before correcting and ask what happened before deciding why.

Behind what we can see may be fear, sensory overload, uncertainty, shame, a need for control, a need for connection, or something we haven't understood yet. That was the unexpected thought Blow the Man Down left me with. Human beings are always more complicated than the part of them we happen to be seeing. Children are no different.

Sometimes behaviour is simply the first page we have been allowed to read.

12/08/2026

We talk a lot about what we want children to become.

Resilient. Independent. Confident. Kind. Ready for school. Able to regulate their emotions. These are understandable hopes. But sometimes, in our focus on helping children become, we can lose sight of the child who already is.

Children matter now.

Their worries matter now. Their relationships matter now. Their need to feel safe, understood and connected matters now. Sometimes, what children need us to understand isn't communicated in words. It comes through behaviour.

The child who falls apart after school may have spent the entire day holding themselves together. The child who refuses to put on their shoes may be communicating something much bigger than, “I don't want to.” The child who needs to control every part of their play may be trying to create predictability in a world that doesn't always feel predictable.

This doesn't mean there shouldn't be boundaries. Understanding behaviour isn't the same as excusing it. It means becoming curious enough to ask: What might be happening for this child?

When we begin there, our response can change. We can hold boundaries without losing connection. We can help children take responsibility without using shame. We can recognise that sometimes a child needs support to develop a skill, and sometimes the environment around them needs to change too.

At Attach, this sits at the heart of our work: Every Behaviour Tells a Story.

Our job isn't to create children who never struggle. It is to see the child in front of us, become curious about their experience, and help them feel safe enough to keep growing because childhood isn't waiting for life to begin.

It is life.

28/07/2026

The Small Things

I was walking Louis and Winnie on a typical Ballarat winter morning. Cold and windy. The kind of morning where only Ballarat locals seem determined to get outside anyway. As we passed other walkers, I smiled and said, "Good morning." Some smiled back. Some looked surprised. Some weren't quite sure how to respond.
It made me wonder.

Have we become so used to hearing stories about what's wrong with the world that we've forgotten how powerful simple human connection can be? Then something lovely happened.

A woman stopped to chat. She spoke to Louis, my gentle old boy, who happily accepts a pat from absolutely anyone these days. Then she took her time with Winnie, letting her come closer, talking gently, building trust before giving her a pat. Winnie loved every second of it. Our conversation lasted only a few minutes before we each continued on our way.

About 500 metres later, I realised I was still smiling. That one small interaction had changed my morning. She probably has no idea how much that simple act of kindness meant. It reminded me of something I see every day with children.

Children don't always remember the big things we do. They remember how we made them feel. They remember when we stopped and truly noticed them. When we listened. When we played. When we smiled. When we made time. These moments may seem small to us, but to a child they become evidence that they matter, that they are safe, and that they are worthy of connection.

Relationships are rarely built through grand gestures. They're built through thousands of tiny moments. Maybe today we can all create one of those moments for someone else. A smile. A "good morning." A few extra minutes. You never know how far that small act of connection might travel.

❤️ What's one small act of kindness that made a difference to your day?

23/07/2026

Last weekend my husband and I went out for dinner, and I found myself watching the families around us.

At one table, a baby who wasn't even one sat happily scrolling on a phone. At another, two children were handed an iPad and a mobile before the menus had even been opened. Then another family joined them. Four children. Four screens. For a brief moment they smiled at one another, then everyone disappeared into their own device.

It made me wonder. Are we raising a generation that no longer knows how to play?

As a play therapist, I don't ask this to judge parents. Life is busy, and sometimes a screen is exactly what gets everyone through a meal or a difficult moment. We've all been there. However I do wonder what we're unintentionally losing.

Children's brains develop through relationships. Through eye contact, conversation, laughter, movement, imagination and play. These everyday moments help build emotional regulation, empathy, problem-solving, language, attention and secure attachment. Play isn't just something children do for fun. It is how they make sense of their world. When children spend all their waiting moments on highly stimulating screens, we may also be taking away the boredom that so often sparks creativity.

One of the most wonderful things I see in the playroom is that children who arrive convinced they'll miss their devices almost always begin to play. Really play. They create worlds, solve problems, tell stories, laugh, imagine and connect. They rediscover that relationships can be every bit as engaging as a screen. This isn't about banning technology. It's about protecting the moments that matter. The silly stories while waiting for dinner. The game of "I Spy" in the car. The colouring book in the café. The pillow forts, board games, made-up adventures and conversations that children will remember long after they've forgotten the videos they watched. Because children don't always need entertainment. Often, they simply need connection.

I'd love to hear your thoughts. Have you noticed screens replacing play, or have you found ways to keep connection alive in your family?
💙

29/06/2026

Acceptance Doesn't Mean Giving Up. It Means Seeing Your Child Clearly.

As parents, we spend so much of our time trying to fix things.
We fix tantrums. We fix sibling arguments. We fix behaviour, routines, homework, and emotions. Somewhere along the way, we begin to believe that if we could just get our children to behave differently, life would become easier. But what if we've been asking the wrong question? What if the question isn't, "How do I stop this behaviour?"

What if it's, "What does my child need right now?"

I watched this play out recently in the most ordinary, and most beautiful way. My daughter has two neurodivergent children. It's the school holidays, which means the usual routines have disappeared overnight. At the same time, she's completing Master of Psychology. The readings are piling up, assignments are looming, and like so many parents, she's wondering how she'll possibly keep up. There was a time when the solution might have been to organise someone else to have the children for a few hours so she could study uninterrupted. Sometimes that's absolutely the right answer.

This day was different. Instead of fighting against what the children needed, she accepted it. Her son desperately wanted to be outside. He wanted to whipper snip the edges of the garden and mow the lawn alongside Mum. Not because the lawn needed mowing, but because he needed movement, purpose, and connection. So, rather than insisting he entertain himself quietly inside while she studied, she took her university readings outside and sat in the garden with her textbook while he proudly worked beside her.

He got what his nervous system needed, and she got her study done. Neither got exactly what they had planned but both got what they needed. That's the quiet power of acceptance.

Acceptance is often misunderstood. People hear the word and think it means lowering expectations or giving in. It doesn't. Acceptance isn't saying, "This behaviour is fine." Acceptance is saying, "I can see what this behaviour is telling me." Because behaviour is communication.

A child who can't sit still may not need stricter discipline; they may need movement. A child who interrupts constantly may not be trying to be rude; they may be anxious they'll forget their thoughts. A child who melts down over putting shoes on isn't necessarily being difficult, their nervous system may simply be overwhelmed.
When we stop fighting the behaviour and start understanding the need beneath it, everything begins to change.

Ironically, acceptance often creates more change than correction ever could. Children feel understood instead of managed and parents feel less exhausted because they're no longer locked in constant battles. The home becomes calmer and it’s not because children suddenly become "easy", but because everyone is working with each other rather than against each other. However, this doesn't mean there are no boundaries. Children still need guidance and they still need routines, expectations, and limits, but those boundaries become much easier to hold when they're built on understanding instead of frustration.

Imagine how different family life might feel if we asked ourselves one simple question before reacting: "What need is my child trying to meet?" Sometimes the answer will be movement. Sometimes connection. Sometimes predictability. Sometimes rest. Sometimes simply knowing that someone understands.

Acceptance doesn't remove the challenges of parenting, it removes the fight against reality and when we stop trying to force children to fit our plans, we often discover a new plan that works for everyone.

That afternoon in the garden wasn't a parenting strategy. It was a moment of seeing a child for who he was, rather than who the timetable expected him to be. Sometimes the most productive thing we can do isn't creating perfect conditions for ourselves, it's creating the right conditions for our children and often, that's where we discover that our own needs can be met too, because acceptance isn't the end of change, it's where meaningful change begins.

10/06/2026

🎈 International Day of Play 🎈

As a Play Therapist and the owner of a practice dedicated to supporting children and families, I see every day what many adults have forgotten:

Play is not a luxury.

Play is not a reward.

Play is not something children do when the important things are finished.

Play is one of the most important things children do.

Through play, children learn to understand themselves and others. They learn how to solve problems, negotiate relationships, manage big feelings, develop creativity, take healthy risks, and build resilience. Play is how children make sense of their experiences and discover who they are.

Yet increasingly, play has been devalued in Australian society.

Children's days are becoming more structured, more supervised, more scheduled, and more focused on achievement. We have become so concerned with preparing children for the future that sometimes we forget what children need right now.

In contrast, countries such as Finland continue to prioritise play, recognising that children learn best when curiosity, movement, relationships, and imagination are protected. They understand something that modern society is at risk of forgetting: play is not separate from learning—it is learning.

What concerns me most is that this is no longer just a children's issue. We are now seeing generations of adults who struggle to play.

Many adults can organise, manage, achieve, produce, and perform. But ask them to be spontaneous, creative, imaginative, silly, playful, or fully present, and many feel uncomfortable. Research suggests that opportunities for unstructured play have been declining for decades, and with it we may be losing some of the very skills that help us connect, adapt, innovate, and thrive.

At the same time, we are living in a world that is increasingly immediate. Screens fill every quiet moment. Social media, streaming services, notifications, and endless information compete for our attention. We have become experts at consuming, but less practised at wondering.

Play requires something different.

It requires slowing down.

It requires curiosity.

It requires connection.

It requires being present with uncertainty and allowing something to unfold rather than controlling the outcome.

As a therapist, I often see children longing for connection more than entertainment. They do not need us to be perfect. They need us to be present. They need adults who can enter their world, follow their lead, be playful, and delight in who they are.

Perhaps this International Day of Play is also an invitation for adults.

Not just to make space for children to play, but to rediscover play for ourselves.

Build the cubby.

Tell the silly story.

Dance badly in the kitchen.

Create something without worrying whether it's good enough.

Leave the phone inside.

Follow your child's lead.

Get bored.

Get curious.

Get messy.

Because play is not simply what children do.

Play is part of what makes us human.

And in a world that often asks us to move faster, produce more, and stay constantly connected, play may be one of the most powerful ways we reconnect with ourselves, our children, and each other.

Happy International Day of Play.

– Kelly Pickford
Play Therapist & Director
Attach Therapy

17/03/2026

This term we have witnessed many children, parents, carers and families struggle with children's anxieties around school.

We have had the opportunity to work one-on-one with some clients however are many are still looking for support, advice, and strategies so in an attempt to meet this need Attach are hoping to hold a workshop for parents and carers.

We are currently seeking expressions of interest to gauge numbers so that we can share dates, times and venue with you shortly.

Please contact us via the [email protected] with your interest and we will look to get this workshop off the ground shortly. EOI's will close Saturday April 4, 2026.

Attach Therapy