When Lego Fell from the Sky: A Small OT Moment with a Big Lesson
Working with children with a PDA (Pathological Demand Avoidance) profile often means letting go of the idea that progress always looks neat, predictable, or therapist-led. Some of the most meaningful therapeutic moments happen when we step into the child's world first, before inviting them into ours.
This week, during one of my regular one-to-one occupational therapy sessions, a little boy called Vini reminded me exactly why relationship-based therapy matters.
Vini arrived for his session full of energy and curiosity. He spent time exploring the therapy room, enjoying the roller slide, the swings, and most importantly, a large bag of Lego pieces. My goals for the session were not simply motor skills or sensory processing. I wanted to build something deeper: regulation, connection, flexibility, empathy, and the ability to cope with small changes within shared activities.
At one point, Vini grabbed a bag of Lego, walked to the middle of the room, looked at me...
...and emptied every single piece onto the floor.
Not a few pieces.
All of them.
The room instantly became a colourful Lego explosion.
Instead of picking them up, Vini calmly climbed onto the tyre swing hanging above them.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
Then our dialogue began.
"Vini," I said with a smile, "what happened here?"
He giggled.
"Legos!"
"Yes," I replied. "Lots of Legos."
No answer.
So I started picking them up.
As I bent down, I also pushed the tyre swing with my body, causing Vini to bounce gently.
Suddenly, his laughter filled the room.
"Again!" he shouted.
I bounced the tyre again.
More laughter.
More joy.
More connection.
For the next few minutes, I kept collecting pieces while accidentally-on-purpose making the tyre bounce.
To Vini, this became the greatest game in the world.
When the floor was clear, he climbed off the swing, picked up the Lego bag...
...walked to the middle of the room...
...and emptied it all over the floor again.
I almost laughed.
This time I knew exactly what was happening.
He wasn't making a mess.
He was communicating.
In his own way he was saying:
"I want that game again."
I sat beside him.
"Vini, I know why you did that."
He looked at me carefully.
"You liked our game."
Big smile.
"You want me to play it again."
Bigger smile.
"But next time you don't need to throw all the Lego on the floor."
Silence.
"You can tell me."
"What do I say?" he asked.
I replied:
"Say it, don't show it."
He looked at me.
"Again please?"
"Exactly!"
What happened next was where the real therapy began.
I explained that if we wanted to play the bumpy tyre game again, we first needed to work together and pick up the Lego.
"No," he said.
I nodded.
"That's okay. I'll wait."
A minute later he picked up one piece.
"Good thinking."
Another piece.
A few more.
Then several handfuls.
Eventually we finished the whole floor together.
"Can we play now?" he asked.
"Absolutely," I replied.
And we did.
On the surface, this might seem like a simple play interaction.
But underneath it, some remarkable things were happening.
Vini was learning that words are more powerful than behaviour.
He was learning that another person's needs matter too.
He was learning that fun can be delayed without disappearing.
... that cooperation can help him reach his goals.
Most importantly, he was learning that relationships are safe.
For many children with a PDA profile, direct demands can trigger anxiety and resistance. When adults become focused solely on compliance, the child often becomes focused solely on escape. A battle starts, and everyone loses.
Instead, successful therapy often comes through connection first.
When a child feels understood, their nervous system begins to relax.
When anxiety reduces, flexibility increases.
When flexibility increases, learning becomes possible.
That day, Vini did not learn because I demanded that he tidy up.
He learned because he wanted to stay connected.
He learned because the interaction itself was rewarding.
He learned because helping somebody else became part of the game.
And that is why regular one-to-one occupational therapy sessions can be so powerful for children with PDA profiles.
Week after week, the therapy room becomes a safe laboratory for life.
A place where mistakes are allowed,
where relationships come before demands,
where empathy grows naturally through shared experiences.
A place where a bag of Lego scattered across the floor can become a lesson in communication, cooperation, and emotional development.
By the end of the session, Vini hadn't just picked up Lego.
He had practised flexibility.
He had practised empathy.
He had practised self-regulation.
And perhaps most importantly, he had practised trusting another person enough to share a smile and say:
"Again please?"
For me, that was worth far more than a tidy floor.