Functions of Behavior: Asking Better Questions About Unmet Needs

“Functions of behavior” is a language many families and professionals already know. It often gets introduced as a set of categories, three or four common reasons behavior develops and continues over time.

Escape. Attention. Access. Sensory.

The framework is useful, and it gives us a place to start. But categories are containers, they are not conclusions.

If we stop at labeling a behavior “escape-maintained” or “attention-seeking,” we risk reducing something deeply human into something mechanical. And when behavior is reduced too quickly, the person inside it can disappear.

This post is not about discarding the framework. It is about using it more carefully and asking better questions about the unmet needs behavior may be expressing.

Functions are hypotheses, not diagnoses.

When a behavior allows someone to leave a situation, we often call that escape. But what if we translated that first into something more human?

Escape can mean relief — from noise, confusion, demands stacked too high, social pressure, or physical discomfort. When a behavior results in someone turning toward the learner, we often call that attention.

But attention can also mean connection — connection with a caregiver, through shared energy, reaction, being seen.

And then, there are sensory needs: the need for input, or the need for relief from input. The need to move, rock, hum, press into something firm, withdraw, flap, repeat, or stim. For many neurodivergent learners, these are not secondary needs. They are foundational.

The categories remain useful. But they are starting points, invitations to investigate, not final answers.

Sensory Regulation as the Gatekeeper

Before we ask what a behavior is trying to escape or access, there is an earlier question that matters just as much: Is the nervous system ready to learn right now?

This question is often skipped not because it isn’t important, but because it can be harder to see.

Sensory needs show up through bodies before they show up through words: a turned head, a tightened jaw, pacing, humming, dropping to the floor, refusing materials, reaching for pressure or movement. These are forms of communication, even when we’ve been taught not to treat them that way.

Many families and teams have been unintentionally trained to value certain kinds of communication over others. Spoken words are often prioritized. Still bodies are often rewarded. Compliance is sometimes mistaken for readiness. At the same time, behaviors that regulate — movement, sound, repetition, withdrawal — can be targeted for reduction because they are uncomfortable for others, not because they are harmful to the learner. This is rarely intentional, but it matters.

When sensory regulation is not available, behavior becomes less clear. What looks like task avoidance may actually be an attempt to escape sensory overload. What looks like refusal may be a body asking for movement, pressure, or relief.

If a child is asked to sit and complete math homework, there may be more than one demand operating at once: reading the problem, understanding the concept, tolerating frustration, inhibiting movement, managing background noise, sustaining attention. When these are stacked without awareness, the behavior that follows can look like defiance and exhaust everyone involved. This is why regulation is a gatekeeper.

When a learner’s nervous system is supported, patterns become easier to see. It becomes clearer whether a child is trying to escape math itself, or whether they are trying to escape math plus reading plus noise plus sitting still. Without regulation, everything can look like avoidance. With it, function becomes visible.

This does not mean that discomfort should always be removed. Learning often involves challenge, effort, and moments of frustration. The ability to sit with discomfort is a skill and an important one.

But like any skill, it can be taught intentionally, practiced in small doses, and supported with choice and assent. It is not a prerequisite for accessing instruction, connection, or care.

This is where ethical support begins: not by demanding readiness, but by creating the conditions and the skills that allow learners to access readiness for themselves, in ways that honor their bodies, communication, and autonomy.

Assent and the Learner as Team Member

If we treat function as a practice of listening, then the learner must be included in the conversation.

Assent is not the same as compliance. It is not a guarantee that a learner will enjoy every task. It is the recognition that participation matters — that learners are partners, not projects.

Including a learner as a team member can look simple:

• Speaking to them directly, even if they do not use spoken words.

• Assuming competence in how we talk about them.

• Watching for facial expressions, body shifts, gestures, and patterns as meaningful input.

• Offering choices whenever possible.

• Respecting “no” as information.

Communication does not belong only to speech. Many modes of communication have been undervalued because they do not fit a neurotypical standard. At the same time, certain behaviors have been overvalued because they make others more comfortable. Listening carefully requires us to examine both.

In recent years, autistic adults and other neurodivergent advocates have helped the field recognize the cost of suppressing traits simply because they look different. Their voices have clarified something essential: behavior that regulates or communicates should not be reduced simply because it challenges expectations.

We are still learning. In fifty years, we will understand even more. For now, doing better means listening and allowing lived experience to shape practice.

Stacked Needs, Clearer Questions

When regulation is supported and assent is respected, the original function questions become clearer.

Is this behavior seeking relief?Is it reaching for connection?Is it attempting to regulate?Is it avoiding a skill that has not yet been mastered?Are multiple barriers stacked at once?

Function is not about finding the “right category.” It is about asking questions that move us closer to what is real. When we shift the lens from control to curiosity, the work changes. Behavior becomes information. Adults look at the environment, not just the child. Teams examine what precedes and what follows, not just what appears in the moment. And sometimes, the most important change begins with us.

An Invitation

Before labeling a behavior, pause.

What need might be underneath this moment?What sensory information might be shaping it?What barriers might be stacked?What communication might we be overlooking?

What would become clearer if readiness came first?

Curiosity does not weaken structure. It strengthens it. When we ask better questions, we build better systems and we honor the human at the center of the work.

* This piece was originally published on Substack.