Breaktime can be the highlight of the school day for many children: freedom, play, and friendship.
But for Oskar, it’s often the opposite – a place where the social codes are hidden, the sounds too loud, and loneliness quietly grows.
Oskar series breaktime. From Small Demands to Big Obstacles
In earlier parts of this series, we’ve seen how small demands can become huge hurdles (Part 2), how daily energy levels set the pace (Part 3), and how the safety of home creates balance (Part 4). Last week we talked about circle time. Now we step outside – to the schoolyard.
When Free Time Feels Like an Obstacle Course
During recess, children are expected to find their own place in the games. But what happens if you don’t know how to join the soccer match, or if the noise and crowding feel overwhelming?
For Oskar, breaktime can feel like another obstacle course. Where others see rest, he sees a wall of questions: “Who should I be with? What should I do? What happens if I do it wrong?”
Oskar series breaktime and the Invisible Rules / The Body Reacts on the Schoolyard
Outside, there are no walls to soften the sounds.
Shouts. Whistles. The bumps of a football game. Chairs scraping inside the lunchroom – all mixing into a storm of impressions.
For Oskar it isn’t just annoying – his body reacts.
His heart races.
His head aches.
His shoulders tighten.
Sometimes he tries to shut down completely, just to survive the minutes until the bell rings.
Oskar series breaktime and the Invisible Rules / The Hidden Code
The schoolyard runs on an unwritten code.
Who picks the teams? Who starts the game? Who is included?
For Oskar, it feels like everyone else already knows the rules – but no one explains them.
When he tries to join, he guesses what’s right. Maybe he runs the wrong way in the game or joins at the wrong moment. To him it’s an effort to belong. To others it may look like he’s ruining the fun.
Soon the words come: “Teacher, Oskar is messing it up!”
Each time it happens another stone drops into Oskar’s backpack. Instead of rest and friendship, breaktime becomes a reminder of being left out.
Breaktime and the Invisible Rules / When Loneliness Takes Over
From a distance, Oskar might look like he wants to be alone. Inside, he’s calling out to be included.
He kicks the gravel. Walks in circles. Fidgets with something in his pocket.
But inside he is shouting, “Please let me play.”
The difference between what adults see and what Oskar feels is huge – and the loneliness adds yet another weight to his backpack.
Keys to Participation
Recess doesn’t have to mean chaos. Small adjustments can make all the difference:
An adult nearby to step in when things get overwhelming.
Safe zones – a bench or corner where an adult is always present.
A plan for recess so choices don’t feel endless and stressful.
Breaktime and the Invisible Rules / Play Then and Now
When I went to school in the 1970s, recess monitors often led the games.
Teachers gathered children and played classics like “Ria ra ria ra, vad har du här att göra?”, “Tingeling i tåget” or “Bro bro bränna”. Sometimes they helped with long ropes or started games where everyone could join.
We also created our own games, like marbles. We lined up, aimed carefully, and tried to knock over a small target to win more marbles – often staying after school to keep playing.
Play Leaders in Today’s Schools
Today, many schools still have recess monitors, but they often just watch.
Some schools are now training play leaders – older children who start games for the younger ones. It’s a beautiful idea, especially when supported by adults. Play leaders feel seen, learn responsibility, and become role models, while younger children gain a natural way into play.
Relationships Are Born in Play
I think of my own work with teenagers. On the residential unit we often joined whatever the youths were doing – card games, drawing, baking, talking in the moment.
It wasn’t about controlling, but about creating community. Everyone could join if they wanted, even those aged 14–19.
If that worked there, why not on a schoolyard?
When adults are part of the play or conversation, the risk of bullying and exclusion shrinks. Community grows, and children like Oskar naturally find a place.
Most important of all: shared play builds relationships – bridges of trust between children and adults.
A Bigger Perspective
It may sound idealistic, but imagine if we invested more resources early – in preschool and the first school years.
If children like Oskar were supported before loneliness became a habit.
Because children who don’t find belonging often drift toward others who also stand outside. When isolation meets isolation, the road can bend sharply – toward social services, investigations, even placements in secure youth care.
I’m not saying secure care is wrong; I’ve worked there. It can be necessary. But so many of the youths I’ve met might never have needed that path if, early on, adults had played with them and built relationships right there on the schoolyard.
Between the Lines
This isn’t about removing recess. It’s about making it accessible – so freedom doesn’t turn into chaos, but becomes a real chance for every child to recover and connect.
Reflection
For Oskar, recess can mean loneliness and anxiety. But with clear structures, adult presence, and small keys to inclusion, it can instead become a breathing space – a place where belonging grows.
Every time it works, a feather is added to his backpack instead of a stone.
Why can recess be difficult for children with neurodivergence? Because the rules are often invisible. A child may feel excluded when everyone else already knows how to join in.
What can a recess monitor do? Start a game, gather children, or step in when conflicts arise. That can be the difference between loneliness and belonging.
How can we create structure during recess? With visual supports, a recess plan, or a reliable safe place to go.
Are adult-led activities helpful? Yes, sometimes a guided game gives children a natural way to join, creating both safety and joyful movement.
After six parts, Oskar’s story will rest for a while. All previous chapters remain here on malix.se for you to revisit anytime. When new ideas and energy return, the journey will go on – but for now, I let the words breathe.
Yesterday has already settled into history, tomorrow waits somewhere ahead. But right now – this is where life happens. — Carina Ikonen Nilsson
My husband’s vacation is just around the corner, and I’m longing for it like I never have before. But before we get there, life offered a small lesson – about responsibility, boundaries, and a disassembled pen. The heat after our trip was heavy, but that wasn’t what made me sigh the most that evening.
Soon vacation – and I’m longing
Soon, soon, my husband will be on vacation again. I’m longing in a way I can’t recall feeling before. Not because we have big plans, but because the days will be unplanned again. I won’t have to carry the full load alone – we’ll be two sharing the doing. Even if all we do is just be, it’s more fun to just be together. A strange sentence, perhaps, but it’ll do.
Tiredness, heat and a detour through Torslanda
When we got back from Gothenburg yesterday, we were exhausted. The heat that hit us as we stepped out of the car was stifling. The little one headed straight to his room, and I sat for a while on the patio. Then I made my way down to the basement where it was cooler. I lay down on the couch and fell asleep. I had exerted myself more than I realized.
We made it home, though – even if we took a little detour through Torslanda. I missed the turnoff for the Lundby tunnel. One of those small mishaps that just happen. A consequence of missing the exit, which led to a few extra miles.
The white paint on the windowsill
Last night, my husband noticed some white paint on one of the windowsills, and it had dripped down the outside wall. I called in the one I suspected – since it was their room – and asked what he had poured out.
”Nothing,” he said.
I explained that it had to have been him – because the white paint had clearly come from his window, and no one else pours things out from there. I also told him that it didn’t really matter how it got there. What mattered was that it had to be cleaned – and he would be the one to clean it.
When the truth came out
Later, when I went into his room – and then over to my art pens in the living room – I saw where the paint had come from. One of my drawing pens was in his trash can, taken apart. And one was missing from my collection.
Another conversation followed – about how my art pens are just that: mine. That they’re expensive, and they’re for drawing – not for pulling apart.
I told him this would be costly. That particular pen he had taken apart costs close to 300 SEK. And if all you have is a weekly allowance… well, then it stings.
A conversation about boundaries and responsibility
We had another talk. I asked him if I had ever gone into his room and broken something that was his. Of course, he said no – because that has never happened.
I told him I expected an apology. And that I was disappointed. I probably shouldn’t have said that last part – but it slipped out. Still, I won’t just let this pass without consequence.
Maybe he won’t have to cover the full cost of the pen, but he’ll feel it. He’ll have less money than usual. He’ll also go to the store and buy the exact same pen – with his own money. Maybe I’ll chip in half.
He also had to scrub the windowsill to remove the paint, and he’ll repaint the outside wall where the color still lingers.
Consequences – not punishment
At work, we often talk about consequences. But many times, those ”consequences” resemble punishments – and that’s where I object. I don’t want to punish. I want to teach. A consequence should be connected to the action.
Like when a child spills a glass of milk – then they wipe it up. That’s not punishment, it’s a natural outcome.
What happened yesterday was exactly that: a consequence.
He took one of my pens, broke it apart – maybe out of curiosity – and tried to hide it by pouring the ink out the window. But he didn’t know how much those pens mean to me. And he didn’t know the ink would stick.
And the ink did stick. Everywhere.
It became his to handle
The ink didn’t disappear the way he thought it would. It disappeared because he cleaned it up. With rags. With patience. And maybe with a lump in his stomach.
At the same time, I wonder if the real consequence wasn’t the cleaning. Maybe it was the feeling – when the pen broke, when the ink spread and couldn’t be undone. That’s where the learning began. Maybe the unease, that little sting of worry, is what made it stick.
And had I added more – anger, raised voice, punishment – maybe all that would’ve remained was shame.
I chose to stay
Chose not to punish. I chose to show what had been broken – the pen, and my trust. But I also let him be part of the repair. Take responsibility. Try to clean up. And the learning was found there – in the doing. Not in a corner of shame. Not in harsh words.
What do you think?
How do you feel about consequences versus punishment? Have you ever been punished when you really needed understanding instead?
Share your thoughts in the comments – I read everything and always respond from the heart.
A little blog tool I use – Complianz
I had actually planned to write about a plugin I use – one that makes life easier as a blogger. But this post took a different turn. So I’m adding it here instead.
If you also want to simplify things on your blog or website, this might be useful to you. And if you buy it through my link, you’ll even get a discount – and I’ll get a small thank-you in return. Win-win, I’d say!
There’s something special about water. It brings out courage and play, fear and laughter. Today was a day of swimming – for me, but especially for a little brave boy. Come along to the lake and follow a journey that started with a race and ended in pride.
The Race That Led to the Water
I think I went swimming three times in the lake before the little one and I went home. He lay there on the beach, fully dressed, even though he had brought swim trunks. He didn’t go in.
But another little boy did – he jumped right into the game. He thought we were racing, and of course, he wanted to win. First, we ran down to the water. Then he thought the race was to be the first one *in* the lake – which was perfect, because that got him into the water without fear.
Splashing, Laughter, and Sneaky Bravery
Once in, we started splashing. We tested who would splash the farthest. Naturally, he won. What he didn’t notice was that he was actually getting wet – a first step toward overcoming his fear.
After a little while, he said he was cold. I told him how brave I thought he was, and pointed out that he had water on his body without even realizing it.
A Second Round – and a Leap into Safety
After some snacks, we went back to the water. This time, he was even braver. He stood on the dock and splashed water at me while I swam. And with a little gentle encouragement, he jumped in – right into my arms.
We swam to the ladder, and after a few more moments, he dared to swim a little further. He got so much praise when we finished. A bit of bribery was involved – his mom had promised him a big gift if he dared to swim in the deep water. And he did.
Next Swim – in Mellerud
We’ve now decided to swim again on Saturday, up in Mellerud where we’ll be camping. They’ll come visit, and we’ll swim in the pool.
Being afraid of deep water, or getting water in your face or ears, is nothing unusual. You have to take it slow. And that’s when games – like splash battles – can help courage grow through play.
The short videos she makes are so lovely – educational, charming, and perfect for small children. And today, it was her son who showed the most courage.
If I could show you his smile, you’d understand. His eyes sparkled when he told me about his bravery. His pride might have been even bigger than the swim itself.
Reflection
It takes courage to jump into water that feels scary. But sometimes all it takes is a laugh, a game – or safe arms. To witness that courage grow in a small body – that’s huge.
Next Time – A King, a Concert, a Feeling
Before I end, I just want to say: isn’t it wonderful to see all the beauty floating around on social media today? My next post will be about the big concert in Birmingham. About the Prince of Darkness – Ozzy Osbourne – and how amazing it is that he’s receiving all this love now, while he’s still alive.
It touches something deep within me. More on that – next time.
Want to share your thoughts?
Have you or someone you know taken a brave little step – maybe in the water, maybe somewhere else? I’d love to hear your story. Leave a comment – I read every one.
Stay connected
Don’t want to miss the next post about the Birmingham concert and the Prince of Darkness? Subscribe to the blog and get new stories straight to your inbox.
Feel free to share
If you enjoy my writing, please share it with someone who appreciates everyday courage, quiet moments – or legendary music. Thank you for reading!
We use cookies to optimize our website and our service.
Functional
Alltid aktiv
The technical storage or access is strictly necessary for the legitimate purpose of enabling the use of a specific service explicitly requested by the subscriber or user, or for the sole purpose of carrying out the transmission of a communication over an electronic communications network.
Preferences
The technical storage or access is necessary for the legitimate purpose of storing preferences that are not requested by the subscriber or user.
Statistics
The technical storage or access that is used exclusively for statistical purposes.The technical storage or access that is used exclusively for anonymous statistical purposes. Without a subpoena, voluntary compliance on the part of your Internet Service Provider, or additional records from a third party, information stored or retrieved for this purpose alone cannot usually be used to identify you.
Marketing
The technical storage or access is required to create user profiles to send advertising, or to track the user on a website or across several websites for similar marketing purposes.
