What is Strewing?

What is strewing and how does it help a PDA child or teen (or adult!)?

This a question I get a lot, so I wanted to share with you the original definition, how I have adapted it conceptually and in my home as a key accommodation for PDA children, as well as a story to illustrate its power!

What is Strewing?

“Strewing” is a concept that originated out of the Homeschooling/Unschooling community and is a term coined by Sandra Dodd. It simply means leaving objects out – or taking your child out to places like a farmer’s market or a book store – so that your child can engage with the objects on their own time in their own way.

Often when parents of PDA children need to pull them out of school – either due to school refusal, “behavioral” challenges, or nervous system burnout – they start by replicating a school curriculum in a more formal way: "We will do math between 9:00am and 10:00am and then we will do a half an hour of reading, and then we will do a science activity." This is not strewing.

An alternative would be the parent is moving into “unschooling” or more “self-directed education” and instead of having an agenda or set activities for the school day, they would leave out painting tools on one table, perhaps some ingredients to make a volcano on another (science!), and a few books around the house that are new from the library. The child would then be able to gravitate towards their interest or autonomously opt out altogether.

How Can we Adapt Strewing as an Accommodation for PDA?

As parents of PDAers we can leverage this concept and expand it as a mindful and deliberate accommodation that can help our children's unique brains engage and explore, without setting off the threat response.

Here is how I like to define Strewing as an accommodation: “Setting out or offering a sensory-based cue in the environment for the PDA individual to engage with or not.” (The mindset shift here for parents is not getting attached to the outcome and continuing to “strew” opportunities even if at first the child doesn’t seem engaged or interested, or even rejects them.)

As a sensory-based cue, what you strew doesn’t have to be visual.  

• It can be an Auditory Strew (I am strewing a sentence in a conversation with my husband or even muttering aloud as I look at my phone. E.g. “Oh, it looks like they just opened the pool for the summer” and then see how the child or teen responds. Remember – collect data!)
• It can be a You Strew – you engaging in an activity without asking them whether or not they join. (Think getting out a big cardboard box and then getting out some paints and starting to paint it yourself while your kids are on their ipads).
• It can even be an Energetic Strew – Sometimes I just focus on my own energy and nervous system, and inevitably, my children gravitate towards me. While I am reading off on my own, doing Buddhist meditation, or even imagining a ball of light within me.

The key components of successful strewing:

• Providing a sensory-based offering in the environment
• Letting go of whether or not they engage
• Using it consistently, over time, with patience – they need to perceive it as truly safe, something that is truly optional, and that they are truly equal in the decision-making process.

I use a lot of Strewing accommodations to support both my children, especially with decision-making and transitions.

For example, I might strew myself engaging in something as an alternative to their screen, like setting up a fort and getting in it myself with a snack.

Or, I might be trying to figure out what to do on a Saturday, but I don’t want to ask questions or offer ideas in a direct way, because then the automatic “no” kicks in. I would then talk to my husband about ideas within earshot or even utter aloud, “I wonder if the nature center is open today” and then see how my son responds.

A Sweet Strewing Story

Finally, I want to share with you the sweetest strewing moment and what it meant for me as a mother.

A few weeks ago, we went “up north” in Michigan for a week with the kids. They were both often exhausted by the end of the day from playing in the sand, searching for Petosky Stones, and fishing.

Like I do at home, each night I would carry out the bedtime routine with William (4.5 years old), which ends with four songs, including two (usually off-key) renditions of “Leaving on a Jet Plane.”

One night as I was singing to William, Cooper (8.5) snuck in and watched as I sang to William. He saw his little brother's eyes close, long eyelashes on his cheeks, sucking his thumb, and then finally, sound asleep.

“I want you to sing to me,” Cooper said.

I was stunned. 

I hadn’t sung to Cooper in over four years since he asked me not to, along with asking me not to say “I love you.”

I managed my energy and didn’t get too excited or attached to the outcome in that moment. Then I walked into Cooper's room and tucked his dog-themed blanket around him.

“Can you pet me?” he asked.

I began singing and stroking his cheeks and forehead and between his eyebrows, the same way I “Haven” on myself for nervous system support each morning.

After two songs, he fell asleep.

It was SHOCKING in the most glorious of ways.

This was first time that I could ever remember – including when he was an infant, baby, toddler, or sick – that I had ever soothed him to sleep.

It struck some corner of my heart and healed it. That part of my heart that had never been able to soothe my own son by touching him or singing to him. The part that always felt like I was doing something wrong.  

William and my interaction during his normal bedtime routine that evening had been the Magical Strew that Cooper witnessed and wanted to engage with.

I wasn’t waiting for it. And I wasn’t hoping for it. It just happened.

This is how things often unfold for parents I work with – they suddenly realize that their child is getting themselves a glass of water for the first time, asking to leave the house after a year in burnout, or even putting their head on their dad’s shoulder for the first time in years.

It is never a dramatic, overnight change, just tiny unexpected moments where you feel connected, hopeful, and proud as a parent and you realize that while your life is moving in a direction you didn’t expect, it’s actually pretty good.  You know it is moving in the right direction, and you are at peace with it.