The cost of being careful: how punishment rewires the brain for fear, not learning

There are classrooms where children learn to think, and there are classrooms where children learn to be careful. Too often, we pretend they are the same.

But when punishment—especially collective or public punishment—dominates the emotional tone of a learning space, what emerges is not intellectual risk-taking or social responsibility. What emerges is fear. Surveillance. A hush that sounds like order but is, in fact, withdrawal. A quiet classroom is not always a safe one.

I’ve been thinking lately about the chilling effect of punishment—how it doesn’t just correct behaviour but reshapes the internal life of those subjected to it. I read a thread recently, filled with adults remembering punishments from childhood. And what stayed with me wasn’t the stories themselves, but the emotional residue: the way people still try like stink to avoid doing something wrong. The way so many of us still scan for the rules, still brace for being singled out, still overcorrect—even decades later.

That’s the legacy of punishment. Not just the moment of humiliation, but the self-monitoring it installs.

And for neurodivergent kids especially—for kids with executive functioning challenges, impulse control differences, or a brain that already works overtime just to be in the room—the cost of this monitoring is enormous.

Imagine this: you enter a classroom and you’re already using a good chunk of your working memory to follow the invisible rules—don’t interrupt, don’t stim, don’t forget your pencil, don’t talk out of turn, don’t ask too many questions, don’t seem rude even though your voice is too loud or too flat or too fast. You’re trying. Really trying. And then the teacher says if anyone misbehaves, everyone loses their privilege.

Suddenly the stakes shift.

Now, you’re not just managing yourself. Now, you’re on alert for others. You’re scanning the room, gauging the vibe, bracing for the moment something goes wrong—and hoping it isn’t you. Because you know that if you make a mistake, it won’t be a private correction. It’ll be a public shame.

And so you clamp down harder. You hold your breath. You use every drop of your focus trying not to mess up.

But that’s not learning. That’s fear.

Hypervigilance isn’t focus. It’s a trauma response.

There’s a growing body of research on how environments shaped by threat—especially unpredictable or relational threat—trigger hypervigilant behaviours. In schools, this often looks like compliance: the quiet student, the cautious student, the student who seems mature beyond their years. But that’s a misreading. What looks like maturity may be self-protection. What looks like respect may be fear of humiliation.

In one study on the impact of disciplinary surveillance, researchers found that “students internalize a gaze that leads to constant self-monitoring and self-correction” (Raible & Irizarry, 2010). In another, students exposed to harsh or public discipline reported “decreased self-efficacy, increased anxiety, and a reluctance to participate”—not just during punishment but long after (Gregory & Ripski, 2008).

This is especially dangerous for disabled students, racialized students, and those navigating complex trauma—because the stakes are not just educational. They are identity-shaping. When a child learns that their mistakes will be punished publicly, or that their peers will suffer for their errors, they do not grow into responsible citizens. They grow into hypervigilant perfectionists or self-exiled failures. And sometimes both.

I know, because I lived it.

As a child, I was terrified of making mistakes. I was even more terrified of being called out—especially in front of others. So I developed a system: check everything six times. Rehearse what I wanted to say before I said it. Script small talk. Anticipate possible reactions. Memorize the rules of every adult I encountered.

People thought I was conscientious. But I wasn’t trying to succeed. I was trying to stay safe.

And that’s what schools too often misinterpret. They see the child who “tries really hard to do the right thing” and miss the emotional cost. They see effort without understanding what it’s in service of.

We must build classrooms where mistakes are not met with shame.

The goal of education isn’t conformity. It’s connection. And punishment, especially collective punishment, severs connection at the root. It teaches children that mistakes are threats, that learning is conditional, and that safety can be withdrawn at any time—if someone else breaks the rules.

What we need instead are classrooms where mistakes are the beginning of a process—not the end of one. Where the first response is curiosity, not control. Where behaviour is understood in context. And where every child, especially those who struggle to meet expectations, is met with a calm invitation to try again.

Because when kids are walking on eggshells, they can’t use their brain cells. And when they’re using all their energy to not mess up, they can’t learn, grow, or feel safe enough to participate.

Let’s stop punishing children for being human. Let’s start creating classrooms where being human is the point.

Further reading

• Raible, J. & Irizarry, J. (2010). Redirecting the Teacher’s Gaze: Teacher Education, Youth Surveillance and the School-to-Prison Pipeline. This paper explores how disciplinary surveillance fosters internalised monitoring and fear in marginalised students.
• Gregory, A. & Ripski, M. B. (2008). Adolescent trust in teachers: Implications for behavior in the high school classroom. School Psychology Review, 37(3), 337–353. Demonstrates how trust is eroded by punitive practices, reducing student engagement and increasing emotional withdrawal.
• Souers, K. & Hall, P. (2016). Fostering Resilient Learners: Strategies for Creating a Trauma-Sensitive Classroom. An educator-friendly book that offers practical guidance on shifting from punishment to connection in classrooms affected by trauma.
• Monahan, T., & Torres, R. D. (2009). Schools under surveillance: Cultures of control in public education. A broader sociological look at how control, surveillance, and fear-based discipline shape school cultures.
• Ross, D. E. (2019). Becoming trauma-informed: A tool for transforming school culture. From ASCD Express. Introduces basic principles of trauma-informed practice, including the dangers of shame-based correction.