Beyond Compliance: Moving from Coercion to Assent in ABA

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Let's be honest about where we are as a field.

Too many behavior support professionals still rely on coercion. They push through protests because "that's the program." They treat refusal as a justification to assert dominance. They prioritize compliance over connection, control over compassion.

This isn't okay. We have to do better.

We're here to support human beings and teach meaningful skills. Decades of neuroscience research show us that the brain's capacity for learning is fundamentally tied to emotional regulation and psychological safety. We cannot continue calling our practices "evidence-based" while actively ignoring the evidence.

If your approach involves pushing through meltdowns, dismissing signs of distress, holding to demands "no matter what," or withholding attention until a child complies—you're not building skills. You're building resentment.

Let's stop calling that therapy.

What Coercion Looks Like

Coercion isn't always dramatic or obvious. Often, it looks routine. Expected. Normal. It's been embedded into "evidence-based" practices for so long that we've forgotten to question it. Coercion has been the default approach for getting children to comply for generations—but that doesn't make it right.

In behavior support settings, coercion manifests as:

• Ignoring or overriding verbal refusals ("no," "stop," "I don't want to")

• Repeated prompting regardless of willingness or readiness

• Blocking escape, withholding attention, or removing access until the child complies

• Treating emotional distress as a behavior problem to be fixed

• Interpreting "noncompliance" as defiance rather than an unmet need requiring support

  
  

Coercive tactics can temporarily suppress unwanted behaviors and gain compliance but they don't foster genuine engagement or sustainable learning. Instead, they erode trust, damage relationships, perpetuate cycles of trauma, and teach children that their feelings, boundaries, and autonomy don't matter.

Let's be clear: if you're consistently achieving compliance through fear, exhaustion, or deprivation, that's not therapeutic progress—it's a warning sign that your relationship with your client is in trouble and you might be causing harm.

What Relationship-Based Practice Looks Like

An assent-based approach shifts the paradigm. It doesn't view behavior as something to manage or control. Instead, it sees each child as a complete person with valid preferences, legitimate needs, and an inherent right to say no. It builds skills from a foundation of a safe and trusting relationship.

This approach looks like:

Seeking genuine assent. Check in regularly: "Are you ready for this?" "Would you like to try?" When the answer is no, you adjust your approach rather than pushing forward.

Honoring withdrawal. When a child pulls away, protests, or shuts down...you stop. You don't force participation. Instead, you assess and use your clinical skills to make decisions. Do you push just a little bit and support the child through the hard part? Or is it time to back off and focus on reconnection and regulation? You can always revisit the hard thing later. The answers aren't in the protocol. Use your clinical judgement.

Offering meaningful agency. You build engagement through choice, curiosity, and collaborative decision-making—not through pressure, bribes, or dominance.

Repairing when things go wrong. When interactions don't go well, you acknowledge it, validate their experience, and work to rebuild trust.

Does this require more attunement and nuanced skill? Absolutely.

Is it messier than rigid protocols? Sometimes.

But it creates space for mutual respect, sustainable and meaningful progress, and authentic human connection.

Because here's what we know to be true: cooperation without coercion is not only possible—it's transformative. But it only happens when we start prioritizing compassion and concern over compliance and control.

If You're Feeling Defensive—That's Actually Good News

Discomfort often signals growth. If you're feeling your chest tighten or your thoughts pushing back—"But that's how I was trained" or "That's just how ABA works"—you're not alone in this experience.

Most of us grew up in an education system that valued compliance above all else. In our professional training we were taught never to reinforce challenging behavior. We were praised for our follow-through, for adhering to protocols, for outlasting tantrums, blocking escapes, and holding to demands until children "got with the program."

We weren't taught nor encouraged to ask the deeper questions: Why is this child refusing? What unmet need are they communicating? Is this approach safe? Is it kind? Does it honor their humanity? Is it teaching them what I want them to learn?

This doesn't mean we were unkind therapists. It means we were shaped by systems that either didn't know better—or worse, didn't prioritize knowing better.

But now we do know better.

With that knowledge comes responsibility. The responsibility to evolve our practice, expand our understanding, and center compassion alongside effectiveness.

If you're feeling defensive right now—lean into that discomfort. It means you care deeply about your work. It means you're capable of reflection and growth. These are the hallmarks of practitioners ready to transform their approach.

This isn't about throwing away your training or rejecting scientific principles. It's about expanding your toolkit to include your compassionate presence alongside protocols. It's about treating "no" not as defiance to overcome, but as valuable communication to honor and learn from- an invitation to go deeper into connection.

You don't need to get it perfect immediately. You just need to get curious about doing it differently.

The Call to Action

It's time to stop the coercion and start a different kind of conversation.

A conversation about what it means to truly support another human being. About the difference between compliance and cooperation. About building practices that honor both evidence and ethics, both effectiveness and humanity.

This is how we move our field forward—not by clinging to familiar approaches because they've always been done that way, but by courageously evolving toward practices that serve the whole person.

The children we work with deserve nothing less than our most thoughtful, respectful, and compassionate approach. And honestly? So do we. Because a commitment to compassionate care makes our work with children more connected, satisfying, and joyful.

What will you do differently in your next session? The transformation starts with that single, courageous choice to prioritize connection over control.