The Power of "Being With": Finding Connection Before Communication

As speech-language pathologists, we're trained to elicit language, model correct speech patterns, and create opportunities for communication. Our clinical instincts drive us to fill silence with language models, prompt responses, and measure progress through verbal output. But sometimes, our most powerful therapeutic tool isn't found in our wealth of strategies and techniques—it's found in silence and presence.

The Foundation: Connection Before Communication

In our professional enthusiasm to help children communicate, we can sometimes forget a fundamental truth: all meaningful communication begins with connection. This is especially true for autistic children, who experience the world differently and may find traditional communication approaches overwhelming or intrusive.

The idea sounds deceptively simple—meet the child where they are. Yet in practice, it requires us to set aside our clinical agenda, quiet our therapeutic voice, and simply be with the child in their experience of the world.

When Words Create Walls

I was reminded of this powerful lesson through my work with a 7-year-old autistic boy who was nonverbal when he began therapy at Speaking of Horses. During initial sessions, he would seek out dark, quiet spaces on our farm—a stall corner or the tack room—where he would self-regulate by bringing his hand to his face, moving his fingers in front of his eyes to create visual stimulation.

My initial approach was what most would consider "good therapy"—encouraging participation, modeling language, creating engagement opportunities with our horses. I used animated facial expressions, varied my tone, and employed all the techniques that typically draw children into interaction.

With each attempt to engage him verbally, I watched him withdraw further. My words weren't building bridges; they were creating barriers. His responses evolved from withdrawal to active resistance—screaming and running away when I approached. The more I tried to pull him into my world of words, the more desperately he retreated into his silent sanctuary.

As his speech therapist, I felt I was failing him. My professional toolkit—the one that had successfully helped so many other children—seemed not just ineffective but counterproductive.

The Power of Observation

Sometimes the most important therapeutic intervention is to stop intervening and start observing. I dedicated an entire session to simply watching—not with the clinical gaze that assesses deficits, but with genuine curiosity about his experience.

I observed what captured his attention, how he organized his sensory world, how he responded to different environmental elements, and what subtle communications I might have been missing while I was busy trying to elicit speech.

This period of observation revealed something crucial: my approach was creating sensory overload. My animated expressions, verbal models, and expectations for interaction were overwhelming his nervous system. No wonder he was running away—I was unknowingly creating an environment that felt unsafe for his sensory processing.

"Being With": The Two Most Powerful Tools

This realization led me to completely reimagine my approach with two deceptively simple but profound tools I now call "being with":

1. Sitting side by side

2. Embracing silence

I explained to his parent that we needed to go slow to go fast—that connection had to precede communication. Then, during our next session, I approached differently.

When I found him sitting in the sand of our riding ring, I didn't call his name or attempt to redirect his attention. Instead, I slowly approached and quietly sat down beside him, shoulder to shoulder, saying nothing. I matched his body positioning and simply joined him in his experience.

To an observer, it might have appeared that nothing was happening—just two people sitting silently in the sand. But something profound was unfolding in that shared space of quiet presence.

After several minutes, a miracle occurred. This child who had been running away from me, screaming at my approaches, gently leaned over and rested his head on my shoulder.

The gesture sent chills through my spine. This wasn't speech, but it was something perhaps even more important—it was connection. It was his way of saying, "Thank you for meeting me where I am."

The Birth of Communication

With this newfound connection established, I slowly introduced a new element. Still maintaining our side-by-side positioning and without speaking, I began to draw shapes and lines in the sand with a stick. I made no demands, created no expectations, and maintained our peaceful silence.

To my amazement, after watching intently, he reached for the stick and began imitating my drawings—first hesitantly, then with increasing confidence.

This moment was transformative. Motor imitation is a precursor to verbal imitation. His willingness to mimic my actions demonstrated not only that he was capable of imitation but that he was choosing to engage in a shared experience. We had created a communication bridge built not of words but of shared attention and mutual respect.

Redefining Success in Therapy

This experience fundamentally changed how I approach therapy, especially with autistic children and those with significant communication barriers. I realized that my definition of "progress" needed to expand beyond measurable language outputs to include:

- Moments of genuine connection

- The child's comfort in shared spaces

- Nonverbal reciprocity

- Signs of trust and security in the therapeutic relationship

The horseback riding component of our program would come later for this child—only after we had established a foundation of trust and connection. But I knew with confidence that this child could and would communicate because he could connect.

A Lesson for All Communication Partners

While this approach is especially important for autistic children, its principles apply broadly. Whether working with children with language delays, processing disorders, or emotional barriers to communication, the foundation remains the same: connection before communication.

For parents and professionals alike, this might mean:

- Pausing our instinct to fill silence with words

- Observing more than we direct

- Meeting children in their interests rather than always pulling them into ours

- Recognizing that connection happens in many forms before words emerge

The Heart of Communication

As speech therapists at Speaking of Horses, we're ultimately teaching communication, not just speech. And the heart of communication isn't found in perfect articulation or complex sentence structures—it's found in the human connection that makes sharing thoughts and feelings meaningful.

Sometimes that connection begins with the simplest act of all: being with someone exactly where they are, sitting shoulder to shoulder in absolute silence, creating a space where communication can eventually flourish.

For this young boy, our journey toward speech began not with words but with presence. And in that quiet presence, we discovered that silence—when filled with acceptance and understanding—can speak volumes.

Speaking of Horses is a nonprofit organization that relies on the generosity of community members, corporate sponsors, and grant funding to continue our mission. While we accept insurance including Medicaid to make our services accessible to families of all socioeconomic backgrounds, the costs of maintaining our therapy horses, facilities, and specialized equipment far exceed what insurance reimbursement covers. Your donations make it possible for us to provide this transformative therapy to children who would otherwise not have access to these life-changing services. https://www.speakingofhorsesincorporated.org/donate