There are moments in the day when we invite children to gather together, to connect, to share a story, to reflect on the morning’s play, or to dissolve into laughter over a familiar song. These moments can be rich with possibility, offering connection and joy. Yet they can also hold quieter layers of expectation, especially when it comes to how children should position their bodies.
When we ask children to join us, how often do we pause to consider what their bodies might be telling them in that moment? Whether the way we’ve invited them supports their sense of safety, comfort, and autonomy? These questions matter, because we all understand that comfort is foundational to engagement. Comfort for children shouldn't be viewed as a luxury or a reward.
This is not a debate about whether group experiences hold value. That conversation has been explored deeply elsewhere, including in the much-loved article Children aren't born in litters, so why teach as if they are?. If you haven’t read it, add it to your reflective reading list, as it offers a powerful lens for moving from control toward connection. While today’s focus is slightly different, the themes are intimately linked.
One moment from that earlier piece stays with me. It gently calls out a long-standing assumption in early childhood education, the expectation that children should sit still, silent, and cross-legged with hands in their lap, if they are to be perceived as ready to learn. This expectation is woven so tightly into our practice that it often escapes scrutiny or reflection. We may have absorbed it through our own schooling, through mentors, through the cultural expectations of formal learning.
Which leads us to a simple but significant question:
Why are we still asking all children to sit cross legged?
Is there a pedagogical reason we would confidently stand behind? Or is this another inherited practice, repeated across generations without examining its impact?
Here’s the truth many of us know in our own bodies, I engage best when I am comfortable. Children are no different. Their capacity to listen, contribute, and participate is directly linked to how supported they feel in their bodies.
This isn’t about increasing the number of group times. In fact, even if your practice now centres on smaller, meaningful, child-led gatherings, this reflection is still relevant. Regardless of whether there is one child with you or twenty, comfort matters.
So let’s gently name something we’ve all encountered, the expectation that children will position their bodies in ways decided by adults. “Come and sit on the mat”, “Cross your legs”, “Hands in laps please”. These instructions are so familiar that they can fly beneath our conscious awareness.
Now imagine a parallel scenario in your own workplace. During a staff meeting, would your leader ask you to sit cross legged on the floor? And if they did, would you feel comfortable, respected, engaged? Would it support your ability to focus? We intuitively understand that adults have the right to choose positions that support their concentration, comfort, and wellbeing. Children deserve that same autonomy.
If our aim in shared learning moments is engagement, joy, and connection, then it makes sense to encourage children to choose positions that help them participate wholeheartedly. For some, cross-legged may feel grounding. For others, stretching their legs, curling up on a cushion, sitting on a chair, leaning on a wobble stool, or using a supportive sensory tool may give them the posture their body is asking for.
For many children, comfort is fluid, changing moment to moment. A flexible, responsive approach allows them to adjust as needed, which is a vital part of developing interoceptive awareness and self-regulation.
This invites us to reconsider what engagement looks like. Children are more competent than we often credit. They are the only ones who can truly sense their internal cues, and they deserve the autonomy to respond to them.
Returning to Dr Louise Porter’s guidance approach, we are reminded that this reflection is really about shifting from control toward collaboration. It is about letting go of directives that prioritise compliance and instead creating space for authentic, embodied engagement.
Rather than setting expectations about how children’s bodies should be arranged, we can explore what genuinely supports their agency, comfort, and connection.
Reflective prompts for practice
- How does this moment support children’s choice, agency, and autonomy (in Phoenix Cups terms, their Freedom Cup)?
- How do I support children’s need for safety and physical comfort?
- How might my expectations influence their sense of belonging, their feeling of being deeply at home in this space?
- How does this moment uphold the child’s right to comfort, safety, and dignity (see NQS QA5, and the principle that “children are successful, competent and capable learners”)?
- Am I making assumptions about what engagement looks like? How could I broaden my view to include diverse expressions of focus?
- In what ways am I fostering a culture where children have a say in how they participate in shared learning?
- Have I considered how cultural expectations or neurodiversity may shape a child’s sitting preferences or comfort needs?
- Am I modelling interactions that honour bodily autonomy, contributing to a culture of consent and dignity in my learning space (aligned with QA5.1.2)?
When we really sit with it, this conversation isn’t only about how children sit. It is about whether we, as adults, expect to decide what children’s bodies should do. It is about examining inherited practices and choosing to shape learning spaces that honour children’s rights, needs, and ways of being.
A big reflection, yes. And a worthy one, however you choose to sit while you ponder it.
An example from the field
Shifting postural policing for intentional teaching...
Four years ago, I was teaching four-year-old kinder. It was the start of the year and, if I’m being honest, things were bumpy.
This group were strong advocates for their own learning (loved that), they wouldn’t take no for an answer (loved that too), and they were eager to share their thoughts every moment of the day (loved that most of all).
But as the first few weeks settled, I noticed something unusual during a regular (voluntary) mat time.
- Six W-sitters.
- Ten children leaning, either back on hands, against couches, or draped over their peers.
- Just four with the postural support to sit cross-legged (a position they chose to sit in).
Over the following week, I paid closer attention. I noticed that many children in the group were still developing the skills that support midline crossing, core strength, spatial awareness and flexible movement. Their play and posture offered helpful clues about their developmental needs and how I might shift my practices to meet these needs.
Forget “criss cross applesauce” (what is that, anyway?). This group needed tummy time.
So my ideas about how mat time should look, and my urge for posture policing, went out the window. Enter intentional teaching.
That year we embraced:
- Tummy time mat times - children lying in tummy time position for stories
- Sitting on knees – I was OK with that – children moved to the back so others could see. And frankly I sat on my knees so who was I to judge!
- Standing and wriggling - supported, with respect for peers, at the back of the mat.
- Sitting in a circle with legs straight in front, stretched those hamstrings as we sang “head shoulders knees and toes, in 4 different languages.
- Commando crawling - down long corridors, with me leading the charge.
- Indoor obstacle courses – crawling under tables, over pillows, through chair legs, building those core muscles.
As the year progressed, so did the children. Core strength improved, W-sitting declined, and postural stability grew. Many now chose to sit cross-legged - but it was their choice, not my insistence.
Here’s the reflection: I could have insisted on “criss cross applesauce”. But imagine what I would have missed about these children and their needs if I had.
And another reflection: why do we insist children sit cross-legged on the mat?
- What’s the developmental benefit?
- What life skill is being taught?
- Is it simply about “school readiness”?
And if so, what does that reveal about our beliefs in what truly helps children thrive at school?
Author: Angela Round