Every one of us has a unique story, a set of circumstances and challenges that make us who we are, and we bring that part of us to school or work every day. I’ve always tried to visualise the hundreds, or thousands, of stories coming through the school gates every morning, and consider how we can support their worries or whatever else they bring in.
I’m tired. Mum and dad were arguing again. I feel alone.
My contention has always been that, whatever is going on in someone’s life, they should walk through the school’s gates and feel safe, known, and loved. It’s a calm, warm place where you can be yourself and where your problems don’t disappear, but seem to dissipate for those hours at school, at least. I’ll talk more about how we try to create that later.
I’d like to think that I’m an empathetic person and that I have a heightened sense or peripheral vision for what’s going, or might be going on, for the people around me. It may be that I just have those traits, but I think some of it has developed from being an adoptee.
I was adopted as a child, and only in adulthood have I realised how deeply this has influenced the way I understand people, the way I behave, the way I read situations, and the way I lead. Adoption gives you an early education in difference, identity, belonging, uncertainty and resilience, and I’ve learnt over the last few years that I have a duty to use that education to (hopefully) benefit myself and others.
And while this blog focuses on adoptees, the truths within it apply just as much to children who have experienced the care system, disadvantage, trauma, inconsistency or disrupted relationships.
My other caveat is that I do not speak for all adoptees, nor do I cover all the challenges of being adopted / in care in this blog. Hopefully my personal reflections can help others consider what children who are adopted might potentially experience, and what some surface-level behaviours might mean.
What adopted children may experience beneath the surface
I’ve tried to put together some reflections from my experience, books I’ve read, and other adoptees I have spoken to.
Adopted children don’t share a single story or set of resulting traits, but many carry an early awareness that the world can change suddenly and that adults are not always permanent fixtures. Even those who grow up in loving, stable homes (that’s how I’d describe my adopted home) can never shake off that early disruption, and it can impact the way they see themselves, and those who come and go in their lives. It’s why building trust isn’t always easy, even when you want to trust someone.
This can often be observed through a tendency to scan for reassurance, or a reluctance to trust that good things will last. Some become fiercely independent because they learned early not to rely on others, and it appears to others that they don’t want help. They often do, but they just aren’t comfortable with accepting it, for fear that they seem dependent, or perhaps because they are worried that the help will not be provided. This might make them seem confident, because they want to appear capable and worthy.
Others become exceptionally attentive to the feelings of those (especially adults) around them, noticing small shifts in tone long before anyone else would, and scanning rooms with emotional awareness to observe the tone so that they can become attuned to it and fit in. These patterns are adaptations to early uncertainty and they help explain why safety, consistency and warmth matter so much in school.
Many adoptees also carry a complex set of feelings beneath what can look like calm or compliant behaviour. They might feel too much one day and not enough the next. They might not understand why certain moments trigger a strong reaction in them or why praise sometimes feels uncomfortable. Some become skilled at masking sadness or worry, giving adults the impression that everything is fine. Others (like me as a child) worry that they don’t feel things when they should, clouding them in shame that they might not be normal.
Beneath the surface, though, they may be trying to manage a mixture of feelings: wanting to fit in, fearing (and anticipating) rejection, avoiding disappointment or simply trying not to draw attention to themselves. When adults understand this, behaviour becomes easier to read. A sudden withdrawal or a quiet tear is no longer misinterpreted as moodiness but seen as a signal that the child needs steadiness and connection.
I’ve spent years trying to work out what parts of me might be just me, and which might have been nurtured because of being in care and adopted. I can definitely relate to being adept, and putting effort, into reading the emotional tone of a room, and also in the past a (probably) unhealthy drive to outwork absolutely everybody so as not to become dispensable. Over time, we all get to know our own quirks and flaws and both accept them and smooth them out.
I suppose the point is, adoptees all present differently, and, if they are like me, won’t be able to understand or articulate what they are struggling with. As adults, we must be curious and never utter the words ‘it’s because they are adopted’ when looking for a simple explanation, because all children experience emotional challenges along the way, for all sorts of reasons.
As with any form of challenge that someone will face, there is no one-size fits all approach. I have attended courses this year about supporting Young Carers (it’s so great that we do this!) and ultimately, they need a chance to speak to someone and be supported, but also chances to have fun and to socialise; there isn’t one set of things you could recommend for them, or what they all go through. Every child and circumstance is different, and that’s the same with adoptees.
Supporting adoptees (and others) as a school
With that in mind, here are a few things I think would have really helped me, and that I think benefit children who face challenges, but also every other child.
Predictability and stability
If you have lived through unpredictability, routine is not boring. It’s safety. Predictable timetables, clear expectations and steady adult behaviour form the scaffolding that allows adoptees, and other children, to learn and thrive. Routine removes the question that many adoptees carry: what will happen next, and am I safe here? Gosh, I remember those questions plaguing my childhood.
Without predictability, their cognitive load increases and they are unable to focus because their mind is busy anticipating danger or disappointment. When we reduce unpredictability, we release their attention for learning rather than self‑protection.
I remember being an avid football player and fan throughout my childhood. I played non stop. It took me ages playing in a team, though, to be less nervous and more comfortable with the social dynamics. Once I got used to it, it’s all I wanted to do. But the idea of going to a half term holiday camp for football? Even just for one day. I can’t even tell you how far I’d run in the other direction if someone dropped me off at one. I could see adults looking at me like ‘what the heck is wrong, he loves football’. But new situations and routines just set me spiralling.
Give me high expectations so that I can meet them
It’s possible that we might lower expectations for adopted children or those who have experienced adversity, not wanting to put pressure on them. It feels kind, but it can also communicate that we do not believe in their capability. High expectations are not pressure for these children, but dignity. They signal that we see their potential rather than their past and that we believe they can thrive rather than simply cope. High expectations paired with relational warmth communicate belief, and that was important to me.
All I wanted as a child was to feel like I was included and part of the group. I didn’t want to stick out. I wanted people to tell me that I could, and would, achieve as much as everyone else. I was so paranoid about being seen as less worthy after my start in life, that I craved adults thinking, and telling me, they expected me to do great things.
We can still provide exceptional care, understanding, and some adjustments for children who are going through difficulties, while also telling and showing them that we have high expectations of them.
Steady adults
Adoptees need steady adults who respond predictably and with genuine warmth. They need clarity, not assumption, because their early experiences often mean they fill in gaps with the worst possible interpretation. They need adults who stay curious about behaviour rather than rushing to judgement, validation without pity, and connection through small, repeated moments rather than grand gestures.
I used to hang on to words a lot as a child. If someone told me they’d check back in again soon, and then they didn’t, that stayed with me. My survival instincts screamed: totally write them off because they’ll just let you down. I didn’t want any special treatment or time out of class for chats, but I just wanted to know where I stood, and, if you took an interest in me or my situation, keep it predictable and steady!
These adults, and I know it’s hard, need to be patient, too. Adoptees can be really inconsistent, and yet they need consistency from others as a priority. I’ve heard the phrase ‘well, you know they’re adopted / in care…’ in relation to a child’s behaviour before, as if it somehow explains it all. Staff need to know that patience, consistency, and an open mind are vital tools to support these children.
Schools support a wide range of children, and the foundations overlap
Schools work with an extraordinary mix of pupils. Adopted children. Children in care. Young carers. Children with SEND. Pupils who have faced trauma, loss, instability or disadvantage. It is easy for leaders to feel overwhelmed by the idea that each group requires a different bespoke plan. In truth, many of the principles that help one group flourish, help them all. Predictability, clear communication, emotional steadiness and relational warmth create conditions that allow every child to feel safe enough to learn.
Supporting vulnerable pupils does not mean inventing a dozen new systems for each group, but having a core set of principles for how you and your teams will support them.
And do you know what else really helps? Schools with calm, excellent behaviour. This was not a feature of my secondary school; it was wild. The low expectations of behaviour made me second guess everything. It doesn’t matter how amazing your compassionate Head of Year is who checks in once a week, if you are walking chaotic corridors and spending time in erratic lessons, you learn to give up pretty quickly.
So, I think my advice to leaders is that if you are developing staff, and pastoral / inclusion teams in how they can better understand a whole range of children, and put in place systems to support, that’s fantastic. Shared principles across the staff about how we do this will help, so that staff are consistent.
Creating a calm, safe, purposeful school environment with routines and predictability goes a long way, too.
What adoption taught me about leadership
Being adopted has made me aware that people’s internal worlds are rarely visible. I have learned not to assume that others share the same information, the same understanding or the same emotional context that I do.
Adoption has taught me to ask what my team knows, what they do not know and what they might need in order to contribute meaningfully. It has taught me that clarity is care and that leadership is, in many ways, emotional regulation for the group. Teams cannot think clearly if they do not feel safe and cannot collaborate effectively if stress has narrowed their thinking. The leader sets the emotional weather; if I’m frantic, the team will be frantic. If I’m steady, the team remains able to think, reflect and challenge with openness.
Every adult in a school brings their own story into the building each day. Their past experiences shape how they respond to feedback, conflict, change and challenge. Some colleagues carry old scars from previous workplaces. Some have histories of feeling unheard or undervalued. Some mask their worries just as effectively as the children do. Leading adults with empathy does not mean lowering expectations, it means recognising that people’s reactions often come from places we cannot see. Steadiness, clarity, curiosity and relational warmth create the same safety for staff that they do for pupils, allowing teams to collaborate without fear and to bring their best thinking into the room.
Schools are ultimately people places. When the people inside them feel considered, understood and safe, everything else becomes possible.
So overall, I’m grateful to my adoptive parents and for the second chance I got in life. For the opportunities to reflect and grow. And for being in a profession where I feel I can support those who are going through, or have gone through, difficult times. No revelations or incredible tips here, just a perosnal set of reflections. Hopefully they haven’t been a total waste of your time!
Again, I have no wish to speak as an authority on adoptees, or other children who have had difficult starts to life, or to judge how schools support children. If anything, this is more of a conversation starter than me pontificating!
Thanks for reading
Sam
Sam Crome 