While working in education, I’ve been required to implement practices that have always felt wrong to me. A recent incident in the park brought these feelings into sharp focus, crystallizing why these mandated behavioral techniques have always made me uneasy.

While walking, I encountered an unleashed Labrador retriever who bounded up to me, all wiggles and friendly enthusiasm. Drawing from the behavioral management techniques I’m required to use at work, I employed “planned ignoring” – completely disregarding the dog’s presence despite its friendly advances.

The impact was immediate and telling. The dog’s owners, hurrying to catch up, were visibly taken aback by this unnatural response to their pet’s friendliness. Their apologetic discomfort and evident shame as they leashed their dog spoke volumes. They had never seen someone completely ignore their dog’s friendly approach, and their reaction reflected how jarring and cold this behavior appeared to those not steeped in behavioral management theory.

This moment crystallized something I’ve long felt in my bones: if this brief interaction with a dog felt cruel enough to make strangers uncomfortable, how much more damaging is it when we systematically apply these techniques to children in our schools? As someone required to implement these practices, I’ve witnessed firsthand how children’s attempts at connection – even if expressed inappropriately – are met with this same calculated indifference.

We’re told it’s “evidence-based,” that it’s for the children’s own good. But standing there in the park, seeing the shock on the dog owners’ faces, I was reminded of all the times I’ve had to override my natural instincts to respond to a child with basic human warmth. The parallel is impossible to ignore: if a few seconds of planned ignoring could feel so harsh toward a dog, what is the cumulative impact on children who experience this repeatedly?

The institutional pressure to implement these techniques places educators like myself in an impossible position. We’re forced to choose between our professional obligations and our deep-seated understanding of what children need – genuine connection, responsive caregiving, and acknowledgment of their humanity, even (or especially) when they’re struggling.

This isn’t just about questioning behavioral interventions – it’s about acknowledging the moral injury inflicted on both the children who receive these treatments and the educators compelled to administer them. While we may be required to follow certain protocols, perhaps it’s time to start having more honest conversations about the emotional cost of these practices and advocate for more humane approaches to supporting children’s development.

Sometimes it takes an unexpected mirror – in this case, a friendly Labrador and its shocked owners – to reflect back the true nature of what we’re asked to do in our schools. As educators caught in this system, maybe it’s time we more openly acknowledge: if a technique feels too cold to use with a dog, why are we being required to use it with our children?