SFD #4: How Do You Decide?

Before you read on, a quick note. Next week is our University break, and the next time we post will be on December 1, 2025. We’ll be resting and spending time with our families. If you have a break next week too, we hope you give yourself the rest you need (even if it’s in small amounts like Jackie will be doing while traveling with Juniper and Goldie) and time for what makes you happy.

Okay, back to our regularly scheduled programming …

When we started working together, Jackie’s pattern-seeking, researcher brain quickly noticed that Sally often followed a sequence of questions and prompts during coaching conversations, when planning an email, or, most importantly, when choosing a destination for lunch.

It was usually something like:

1. What is your goal (or what do you want to happen)?

2. What have you already tried (or what ideas do you have)? and, always …

3. How will you decide?

Jackie has lovingly joked that Sally should wear a t-shirt embroidered with the catch phrase, “How will you decide?” We hope today’s SFD story helps show how we’re understanding why knowing how we decide matters (whoa, that’s kind of meta).

My (Sally) How do you decide? defining moment happened in October 2018 when my mom, who was just 59 years old at the time, had what’s known as a “widow-maker” heart attack (don’t worry, she is ok now). Before I got to the hospital, a surgeon had placed a stent to re-open her artery, and she was admitted for recovery. When the doctor came in to give an update, he cheerfully reported that the surgery was a success and that she should be ready to go home the next day. My step-dad and I exchanged glances (imagine a thought bubble that says ‘He’s for sure joking!’ above our heads). Given that my mom was pale, weak, and still experiencing a lot of discomfort, we couldn’t imagine her leaving the hospital in 24 hours.

The next day, a Physical Therapist and nurse visited to help my mom get out of bed and walk to the bathroom. She collapsed under the weight of her own body, still weak from the heart attack, surgery, and stent. They quickly helped her back into bed and put a pair of neon yellow, non-slip socks on her feet. Then they hung a bright red sign on her door that read “Fall Risk” and told her to rest.

My mom was asleep with her neon yellow socks poking out from the blanket when the same cheerful doctor from the day before popped his head in. Smiling, he said, “Hello! You’re doing great! Let’s get you home!”

More side-glances with my step-dad, and more thought bubbles … Um, what? … Are you in the right room? … Did you see the bright red Fall Risk sign? … What about these special yellow socks she just got?

My mom was also confused, and she quietly responded by saying she didn’t feel very well. I could see tears welling in her eyes.

The doctor said it was understandable for her to be tired and emotional after a heart event, but there was nothing to worry about since her (insert whatever test results he told her about that I can’t remember) were all normal. So, again, he emphasized the “good news” that she could go home.

I immediately snapped out of my thought bubbles and said, “In addition to her test results, what other criteria do you use to decide when someone who just had a heart attack is ready to go home? How are you making this decision?”

What I learned from this doctor changed everything. He explained that his job had been to save her life (for which I am forever grateful) and to send her home (largely based on the parameters of the system he was working in). He shared that the protocol for my mom’s procedure called for up to 48 hours in the hospital, unless tests revealed complications. That’s how he was deciding, and his goal was to discharge her in the recommended timeframe.

I thought we were deciding when she would be discharged based on how she was feeling, her comfort level, and her physical recovery (a-hem, neon yellow socks).

We had very different decision criteria.

Once I understood his goal and how he was deciding, I could ask a new question: Given that she’s too weak to stand, walk, or use the bathroom, what options do we have to support her once discharged while she continues to recover?

Turns out, we had a lot of choices. We could decide, with her of course, to admit her to an in-patient recovery facility, organize home-health, or move toward one of many other options.

Essentially, we had a situation from the popular song Closing Time … “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

So, how does this relate to early childhood, inclusion, and belonging?

Maybe it doesn’t, at least not directly. But through my experience as a mental health consultant, professional development facilitator, and coach, I’ve noticed a familiarity in the way we were all taught (or implicitly learned) to make decisions.

We often make decisions about how to “support a child” or “prevent a behavior” without really understanding what it’s like to be the child (bright yellow socks and all) or without considering the goals we hope to achieve for the actual situation.

Recently, a teacher was feeling frustrated because a child in their class wasn’t sitting quietly and looking at them during circle time. They had tried offering visual reminders of the circle time agreements, but it hadn’t helped.

Together, we started thinking about what else might be possible. What if the child needs core support when seated and a different choice for how to sit comfortably and participate? Or, maybe the child would benefit from a personal copy of the book so they can see the pages in a way that supports their vision skills. Maybe this child learns best by doing, not watching, and helping in a meaningful way during circle time would capture their engagement.

There are actually so many options in this situation, depending on the goal, what’s known about the child, and the caring community agreements.

So, how do we decide?

Consider this situation … a child is not participating in the sign-in activity during arrival time. How we decide to respond depends on what is most important at that time and what we know about the child. Are we working diligently to support fine-motor development and this is the moment to use our best strategies? Are we looking for flexible ways for them to participate in the activity? Is it important for the child’s emotional health to have a smooth entry into the day, so we offer a choice to opt out of a challenging activity first thing in the morning?

Knowing how we decide is grounded in knowing our purpose.

Maybe a child regularly walks away from the group while transitioning from the playground to the classroom. How we decide what to do next is probably driven by safety and a school-wide playground schedule. That’s showbiz, baby! In this case, much like the hospital situation, our goal is likely a safe and timely “discharge” from the playground. We might decide to offer the choice to pull one another in wagons, use bubbles, introduce a new partner game, or bring in other favorite activities or materials.

When we say, “How do you decide?” it’s an invitation to think about what matters, what you know about the child and the situation, what you know about your caring community, and to make an intentional decision.

As Jackie called it today, it’s an invitation to take a brief Purpose Pause before you decide what to do next.

Deciding how to decide together,

Sally & Jackie

See ya in December!