PART 1 of the Transitions as a Process Series
How many times have we heard or read the phrase “they really struggle with transitions”? It shows up in school reports, workplace feedback, medical or professional reports and every day conversations. All throughout these, the experienced differences are viewed as personal traits, rather than something that happens to a person. Essentially, the implication is that if transitions are hard for someone, the problem lies with them.
This outlook on the difficulties misses what transitions actually are, how nervous systems experience them and why behavior-focused responses make things worse. To understand why transitions are difficult, we need to stop asking why someone won’t move on and start asking what is being lost, demanded or disrupted in the process.
So, what does a transition actually involve? From the outside looking in, it is a simple, linear event, where something ends and something else begins and everyone moves on accordingly. However, internally there is a lot more going on.
A transition will involve (not an exhaustive list):
- Loss — of an activity, state, environment, rhythm, or source of regulation
- Uncertainty — about what comes next, how it will feel and what will be expected
- Sensory change — shifts in noise, light, movement, temperature, proximity or stimulation
- Demand — cognitive, social, emotional and executive function demands layered together
When these elements occur simultaneously, the nervous system experiences an ending.
Endings are not neutral. They require disengagement, reorientation and grief, even when the next thing is objectively positive.
Think of it this way… Human nervous systems are predictive and constantly scanning for safety, threat, and change. When a transition approaches, the body begins preparing before the person consciously moves on to the next thing.
This preparation can look like heightened vigilance, increased sensory sensitivity, anticipatory anxiety or tension, mental rehearsal or looping.
For neurodivergent people, this phase can be especially intense. Autistic nervous systems often rely on predictability and sensory continuity for regulation. ADHD nervous systems may struggle with stopping one source of stimulation and initiating another. For people with trauma histories, endings may also activate stored threat responses. So the body does what it is supposed to do and is responding to disruption.
By the time a transition is visible on the outside, the nervous system may already be working hard to manage the internal impact.
Many transition supports are established on behaviorist logic: reduce distress by increasing compliance. Techniques such as countdowns, warnings, rewards, consequences and visual schedules are used to move someone through a transition as efficiently as possible. While some of these tools can be helpful in specific contexts, the underlying assumption is the same. The goal is to get the person to comply with the transition.
What this does is it treats the outward behavior as the problem rather than the internal experience. If distress decreases in the moment, the transition is considered successful regardless of what happens later.
Second, it prioritizes performance over sustainability. A person may comply while masking, suppressing distress, or relying on adrenaline. The cost of that effort is invisible and potentially delayed.
Moreso, it reinforces blame, because when techniques fail, the conclusion is that the person is resistant, inflexible or not trying hard enough.
What’s missing from this picture is context, which varies depending on the meaning of what is ending, the predictability of what comes next, the level of sensory change involved, the amount of control or choice available, the person’s current level of fatigue, stress, or overload and so on. These variabilities alone tell us that the difficulty is not inherent to the person.
A more accurate description would be that this transition, in this context, at this time, requires more than the system can comfortably give.
One of the most overlooked aspects of transitions is loss.
Loss of a preferred activity, a regulating sensory experience, a sense of mastery or flow, control over timing or pace, connection with a person or object and the nervous system registers the loss. If that loss isn’t acknowledged or supported, it doesn’t disappear. It is carried forward into the next activity, whilst increasing distress or reducing capacity.
Another common misunderstanding is that compliance is the same as capacity – it isn’t. A person may comply with a transition while internally dysregulated, suppressing distress or using significant cognitive effort to hold it together. This is especially true in environments where safety is conditional.
Based on all of the above, I would like us to start asking the following questions:
- What is ending here?
- What is being demanded all at once?
- What uncertainty is the nervous system trying to manage?
- What sensory shifts are involved?
- What support is missing from the process?
By doing so, we are not lowering expectations, but raising understanding.
Something to think about… If transitions are fundamentally about loss, uncertainty, sensory change and demand then what exactly are we asking people to let go of?
Join Teodora for her upcoming webinar PDA & Transitions as a process, coming this January 14th, 2027. Get tickets here!
