By Soumini Menon | Developmental & Counselling Psychologist
I went into this summer camp thinking about activities. I came out thinking much more about inclusion, belonging and what children actually need from a space designed for them. We had children with different personalities, communication styles, comfort levels, interests and energy levels. They had very different ideas of what it meant to have a “good time.” And somewhere along the way, I was reminded of something that sounds simple but is surprisingly difficult to practise:
Inclusion is not about getting every child to participate in the same way. It is about creating a space where every child has a way of belonging.
That distinction changed how I looked at the entire camp.
What does an inclusive space for children actually look like?
When we talk about inclusive spaces for children, we often imagine a place where everyone is invited to participate equally. But equal participation and meaningful participation are not always the same thing. An inclusive environment doesn’t necessarily mean every child is doing the same activity, producing the same outcome or engaging with the group in the same way.
It means children have choice, flexibility and different ways of participating.
One child might want to lead.
Another might want to observe.
One might love the craft activity.
Another might prefer to play.
One might happily perform in front of everyone.
Another might contribute an idea but never want to go on stage.
All of these can be forms of participation. And this is one of the biggest things the summer camp taught me: Participation does not have to look the same for everyone.
Inclusion also begins with parents
We often talk about inclusive environments as though children are the only people entering them. They aren’t. Parents are entering those spaces too.
For some parents, bringing their child to a new group comes with a quiet set of questions:
Will my child fit in?
Will they be expected to behave in a particular way?
What happens if they don’t want to participate?
Will someone compare them to the other children?
Will I have to explain my child?
There is a particular kind of relief in being able to bring your child somewhere without having to prepare the adults around them for who your child is. That, for me, is an important part of creating inclusive spaces for children and families. The parent should also feel that they have entered a space where there is room for their child exactly as they are.
Interestingly, both children and parents seemed to gravitate towards smaller groups. Perhaps this isn’t surprising. Large groups can be exciting, but smaller groups create something else: familiarity, safety and more opportunities to connect. There is more room to speak. More room to observe before joining. Less pressure to perform. Sometimes, inclusion is simply about making the group small enough for a child to be seen.
Participation is not the same as compliance
One of the biggest things the camp reminded me of was that we need to stop measuring participation only through visible involvement.
A child sitting beside an activity and watching is participating.
A child joining for five minutes and then walking away is participating.
A child contributing an idea but refusing to do the activity is participating.
A child watching another child make something and deciding to try it later is participating.
And a child choosing not to participate is also communicating something important.
We often create activities with an imagined “ideal participant” in mind: the child who sits down, listens to instructions, completes the task and happily moves on to the next one.But children don’t always work like that.And they don’t need to.
Participation is not the same as compliance. This matters particularly in children’s workshops, summer camps and therapeutic spaces, where we can very easily mistake an outcome for engagement.
If a child doesn’t complete the craft, did they fail?
If they didn’t perform in the final presentation, did they participate?
If they spent half the session playing instead of doing the planned activity, did we achieve the objective?
I increasingly think the answer is: not necessarily.
Sometimes the outcome is not the thing we planned.
Sometimes the outcome is that a child felt safe enough to say no.
Sometimes it is that they made one friend.
Sometimes it is that they watched.
Sometimes it is that they discovered something about themselves.
Sometimes it is simply that they came back the next day.
Child-led activities create more room for inclusion
This is why I have become increasingly wary of activity-driven children’s spaces. An activity can be wonderful.But an activity alone does not create inclusion. Choice does.
What if I want to paint but not draw?
What if I want to watch?
What if I want to work with someone else?
What if I want to work alone?
What if I want to leave?
What if I want to come back?
What if I don’t like this activity at all?
An inclusive environment allows for these possibilities. This is where child-led activities become so valuable.
The adult isn’t constantly asking:
“How do I get this child to do the activity?”
The question becomes:
“What is this child telling me about how they want to be here?”
That is a very different starting point. It moves us from control towards collaboration. From performance towards participation. From an adult-designed outcome towards a child-led experience. And sometimes, the most inclusive thing an adult can say is: “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”
It is okay for children to tap out
We don’t give children enough opportunities to practise leaving. We teach them how to join, how to complete, how to perform, how to win and how to finish. But learning when something is too much is equally important.
During the camp, children sometimes moved away from activities.
They wandered.
They took breaks.
They changed their minds.
They sat quietly.
They returned later.
And I began to think that “tapping out” is not necessarily disengagement.
It can be self-awareness.
It can be regulation.
It can be choice.
It can be a child’s way of saying:
“I know what I need right now.”
An inclusive space doesn’t automatically treat that as a problem to be fixed. It makes room for it.
Children don’t need us to manufacture inclusion
Perhaps my favourite discovery from the camp was watching children with each other. Adults can spend enormous amounts of time designing inclusion. Children can sometimes do it instinctively.
They are curious.
They ask questions.
They notice.
They invite someone into a game.
They change the rules.
They watch what another child is doing and become interested.
They don’t necessarily begin with all the assumptions that adults do.
We sometimes see a child who is quiet and immediately decide that they don’t want to engage.
We see a child who is moving around and assume they are disruptive.
We see a child who doesn’t speak and assume they have nothing to say.
We see a child who doesn’t join an activity and assume they are uninterested.
But what if we simply didn’t assume? What if curiosity came before interpretation? What if observation came before judgement? Children are remarkably capable of finding their own ways towards one another when adults create the conditions for it. Our job may be less about teaching children to include each other and more about making sure the environment doesn’t get in their way.
The surprising power of unstructured play
Every time we gave children space to simply play, something interesting happened. They played. No elaborate setup. No beautifully designed activity. No adult demonstrating what to do. No learning objective written on a board. Just children, materials, space and time.
And this is something I think we underestimate:
Children don’t always need structured activities to have meaningful experiences.
Unstructured play is incredibly accessible.
It doesn’t require an adult to constantly facilitate it.
It doesn’t require every child to be doing the same thing.
It doesn’t require a perfect outcome.
Children can enter and leave it.
They can negotiate.
They can observe.
They can invent.
They can change the rules.
They can be silly.
They can disagree and repair.
They can make something up entirely.
Perhaps most importantly, they can own it.
For adults, there is often a temptation to fill every space with something meaningful. But sometimes the most meaningful thing we can give children is space. And perhaps one of the most underrated benefits of unstructured play for children is that it naturally creates opportunities for inclusion.
A child doesn’t have to wait for an adult to tell them how to participate. They can find their own entry point. Small groups can create deeper connection Another thing that stayed with me was how much both children and parents seemed to appreciate smaller groups. There is something about a smaller group that changes the social experience. It becomes easier to notice the quieter child.
Easier to have a conversation.
Easier to build friendships.
Easier for children to move between observing and participating.
And easier for adults to respond rather than manage.
This is particularly relevant when we think about inclusive children’s programmes and group activities. Sometimes the answer isn’t to create more activities. Sometimes it is to create more space within the group.
Inclusion is not sameness
The summer camp left me thinking about how often inclusion gets reduced to a checklist.
Is everyone present?
Did everyone get an opportunity?
Did everyone do the activity?
Did everyone produce something?
But inclusion is much messier than that.
It doesn’t mean everyone receives the same experience.
It means everyone has access to belonging.
One child may find belonging through conversation.
Another through making something.
Another through watching.
Another through movement.
Another through a friendship.
Another through being allowed to sit quietly in the corner without anyone making them feel strange for doing so.
The goal isn’t identical participation. The goal is meaningful participation on the child’s own terms. And perhaps that is the larger lesson I am carrying forward from this summer.
We don’t need to make every space perfectly inclusive before children enter it.
We need to build spaces flexible enough to respond when children show us what they need.
We need to stop assuming.
We need to listen more closely.
We need to leave room for choice.
We need to trust children with some of the direction.
We need to make room for unstructured play.
And we need to remember that sometimes, the child who appears to be doing “nothing” may actually be watching, learning, connecting, regulating, imagining or simply figuring out whether this is a place where they belong.
Maybe inclusion begins there. Not with an activity. Not with an outcome. But with the quiet message:
You don’t have to be like everyone else to belong here.
And perhaps that is what every child and every parent deserves from the spaces we create for them.
Soumini Menon is a developmental and counselling psychologist with over 15 years of experience. She works with children, individuals, families and communities. Her work draws on narrative and arts-based practices to support people in making sense of their stories, especially around trauma, identity, and relationships.
