Why does my child ask so many questions?

I was reading an email from a parent today who mentioned that the key feature of her child's expressive language is questions. It reminded me of the first time I came across this. Around 1988, I was working in a Primary School 4 mornings a week supporting a child who had left a language unit but still required intensive support. While in the classroom, I observed another child, James aged 8. He was autistic and continually asked, "Is it home time yet?" His teacher was understandably very frustrated as it started from very early in the morning and lasted all day. By lunchtime she was sending him out of the classroom. She felt he was deliberately winding her up. If she asked back "Is it hometime?" He would say "No." She had tried yelling, warning, banning.....nothing worked. I asked if I could assess him. It turned out that his verbal understanding was really poor and his expressive ability wasn't much better. He had alot of sesniry seeking behaviurs too (OTs didnt do sensory in the NHS at that stage). It wasnt as simple as he just didnt want to be there because everything was too hard, he was using the question/phrase for a variety of reasons. Many children espcially autistic children go through phases (or long-term patterns) of talking almost entirely in questions, sometimes asking dozens or even hundreds per day. This can feel confusing or exhausting for adults, but it’s usually communication, not “testing boundaries”. ✅ Why an autistic child may ask so many questions (and it may be more than one!) 1. Anxiety regulation (“If I know what's happening, I feel safe”) Questions are often a way to reduce uncertainty. Instead of small social reassurances (“It’s okay”, a glance, a gesture), autistic children use verbal checking: “Are we going now?” “What time will we get there?” “Will it rain?” “Are you sure?” “Is that right?” The questions act like an anxiety release valve. 2. Monoprocessing + need for predictability If the world feels unpredictable or overwhelming, questions help create structure. They anchor the child: * What’s the plan? * What’s next? Even questions they already know the answers to (like James above). Repeated questions = predictability-seeking behaviour, not defiance. 3. Language development – especially gestalt processors Some autistic children use questions as their preferred sentence shape. If they are gestalt language processors, they may echo: “Is that a digger?” “What are you doing?” “Are we nearly there?” Sometimes they know the answer; the question is just the “frame” they use to speak. 4. Social connection attempts Questions can be the easiest way for the child to: * start interactions * keep an adult engaged * avoid silence * express interest It’s social communication, even if it doesn’t look like typical back-and-forth. 5. Processing delay Questions come in a stream because the child may be: * thinking aloud * processing information externally * checking their understanding Question = processing tool. 6. Demand avoidance For some children (especially PDA profiles), questions serve to: * delay a demand * create control * feel safe before complying The child isn’t trying to be difficult; they’re trying to stay regulated. ✅ How to manage it without shutting the child down A. Meet the underlying need first If it’s anxiety-driven, the solution is predictability + co-regulation, not “fewer questions”. Try: * visual timelines * “first–then–next” sequences * environment previews (“We’re going into Tesco. It will be busy. We need milk and bread.”) Often this reduces the flood of questions on its own. B. Give “pre-answers” Before an anxiety-provoking activity, give the key information up front: “We’ll leave in 10 minutes. When I say ‘shoes’, that’s the 5-minute warning. In the car, we’re listening to your music.” This stops the child needing to ask everything. C. Use a “question bank” or “ask card” system For children who ask rapid-fire factual questions: * “That’s a great question—let’s write it down to explore later.” * Use a notepad or tablet. * At an agreed time, choose 1–3 questions to answer properly. This teaches containment, not suppression. D. Offer “comment models” If the child communicates in question-shaped sentences, you can gently model: Child: “Is that a big lorry?” Adult: “Yes—it’s a big lorry! Really loud too.” Child: “Are we going to Nanny’s after school?” Adult:“Yes, after school we’re going to Nanny’s.” No correction, just giving a declarative model. E. If the questions are repetitive Respond with a consistent, predictable phrase, for example: * “Same answer as before.” * “You’re thinking about that again—I get it.” * “The plan is still the same.” * “You’re checking—everything is okay.” This removes the reward loop of multiple detailed explanations, but still meets their need for reassurance. F. Use sensory or emotional regulation strategies When the questions spike, it often signals dysregulation. Try: * a movement break * deep pressure input * a quiet space * headphones * a regulating activity (lego, drawing, sorting) If the nervous system calms, the questions drop. G. For PDA profiles Shift from answering to sideways scaffolding, e.g.: * “Hmm, I wonder…” * “Let’s figure that out together.” * “You’re curious about the next bit.” * “Good thinking.” This reduces demand while still engaging. When I meet the little boy we were discussing this morning, it might be something completely different!

✅ When to be concerned Consider extra support if: * questions cause significant distress * they interfere with daily life * questions are accompanied by rising panic * the child becomes aggressive when you cannot answer * they're asking literal medical/emotional safety questions repeatedly (“Will I die if…?”) I love working in an MDT for these ones as we can brain-storm together!

A Different Seat Is Not Enough

I popped into a coffee shop for brunch today. Two carers came in with their young disabled clients — both lovely young people, probably in their late teens. They sat nearby, one ordered drinks with the staff, and then… nothing. For the next half hour, not a single word was exchanged — not between the carers, not between the young people, not between the carers and their clients. The young people sat quietly, looking around, clearly aware of their surroundings but disengaged. It struck me how little they were actually getting from the experience. Yes, technically, they were “out in the community.” But were they included in the experience? Were they supported to enjoy it? To communicate, to choose, to connect? From where I was sitting, it seemed like it was just a change of scenery — just a different seat. It reminded me of my time working in a residential school for autistic children with complex communication needs. When we took the students out for a coffee or a meal, we made sure it was a genuinely meaningful experience. We used photos, symbols, or signs to help them choose what they wanted. We chatted — to them, to each other — modelling natural communication. We celebrated their choices, their attempts to connect, and yes, sometimes their chaos too! Of course, it wasn’t always easy. There were ketchup-squirting incidents, spontaneous food grabs, sudden exits, and all the unpredictable moments that come with real-life learning. But through all that, our young people were participating. They were experiencing the joy, the messiness, and the connection that comes with sharing a meal or a drink out in the world. That’s what inclusion looks like. Not quiet compliance. Not just “being there.” Real inclusion means communication, choice, and shared experience. Because everyone deserves more than just a different seat.

When Behaviour Is Misunderstood

I'm writing a report about a 4 year old autistic boy I saw a couple of weeks ago. We had discussed that he was being completely misunderstood by his mainstream school but reading the reports and the behavior logs is making

me feel really angry. Harry is a four-year-old boy who started school in September. He is autistic, with high sensory sensitivities. School is too noisy. Too crowded. Too unpredictable. He doesn’t understand what’s going on. So — he bites. He hits. He kicks. He spits. He’s not being “naughty”. He’s trying to survive. His world at school feels overwhelming. The lights are bright. Chairs scrape. Voices echo. Children rush past him in a blur. His brain can’t filter or prioritise — everything comes in at once. And because he experiences the world through monotropism — that intense, focused way of thinking and feeling — sudden transitions feel unbearable. When he’s deeply immersed in one activity, being told to stop and move to another is like being yanked out of a warm bath into a snowstorm. His body reacts before his words can form. That’s not defiance — it’s distress. Yet adults might say, “He needs to make good choices.” Or, “He has to apologise for hurting people.” But how can he “make good choices” when his nervous system is in survival mode? When he’s overloaded, confused, and scared? Expecting logical reflection from a dysregulated child is not fair — it’s like asking someone to swim while they’re drowning. Hs behaviour is a nueral response, not under hos cognitive control. He doesn’t need consequences. He needs connection. He doesn’t need a lecture. He needs safety, understanding, and co-regulation. When we start from compassion — when we understand why behaviour happens — we stop seeing a “problem child” and start seeing a child with problems he cannot yet express.