When “Just Playing” Isn’t Harmless: Understanding Covert Bullying and Disability

I want to share a story. Shared with full permission, and held with deep care.

A beautiful young client of mine, in third class. Bright, thoughtful, deeply self-aware. The kind of child who feels things fully and loves wholeheartedly. She had a close friend, and in that space of trust and safety, she shared something deeply personal. Her Autistic identity. Not as a label, but as part of who she is. Something she was beginning to understand and hold with pride.

Fast forward a year, and that same friendship had shifted. Subtly at first. Small comments. Little digs. The kind of moments that are so easily dismissed because they don’t look like what we expect bullying to look like. Nothing loud. Nothing obvious. But something had changed, and she felt it. Until it built to a moment that broke everything open.

In a drama class, while the teacher’s attention was elsewhere, the children were asked to create a scene. This girl took the lead and announced that they were now in a “disability room” and that everyone had autism. What followed wasn’t overt or dramatic. It was quiet, laced with tone and implication. A kind of covert shaming that often goes unseen by adults but is felt deeply by the child at the centre of it. She knew exactly what was happening.

She went home devastated and said something that stopped her mum in her tracks: “Autism is a superpower for me. It’s not a disability.”

And that is where our work began.

In our session, we gently unpacked that word, disability. Not as something negative, and not as something to reject, but as something to understand. Using a visual support similar to the one I often share with children , we explored a simple but powerful truth. Autistic brains are not broken. They are not less than. They work beautifully, especially when they are understood, supported, and in environments that feel safe. But when environments are too loud, too busy, too demanding, or expect a child to hide who they are, that is when things become difficult. That is when a child becomes disabled by the environment, not by who they are.

We talked about what helps her brain feel calm and able to shine. We talked about what makes things harder. We named it, clearly and without shame. And something shifted. She didn’t lose her belief that her brain is powerful. She expanded it. She came to understand that both things can be true. Her brain is amazing, and sometimes the world around her disables her.

What struck me most in this situation was how easily it could have been missed. Because covert bullying often is. It hides behind phrases like “they were only messing” or “it’s just a game”. But children know. They feel the shift in tone, the change in energy, the subtle exclusion. And over time, those moments accumulate. They chip away at safety, at trust, at belonging, until one moment becomes the moment.

What mattered most in our work together was not trying to fix what had happened, but helping her make sense of it. She left that session clear in her understanding of what disability means, clear that her brain is not the problem, clear in how she can respond if someone uses that language again, and most importantly, clear that this particular child is no longer a safe space for her. That clarity matters. Because information builds confidence, and confidence builds protection. Not walls, but a grounded sense of self that says, I know who I am, and I know what I deserve.

Covert bullying thrives in silence and misunderstanding, and understanding begins with conversation. We need to be talking to our children, all of them, about what disability actually means, how environments can disable people, why difference is not something to mock or minimise, and how to recognise when something doesn’t feel safe, even if it looks harmless on the surface. This is not just a conversation for neurodivergent children. It is a conversation for every child.

So here is my invitation to you. Start the conversation. At the dinner table, in the car, before bed. Ask your child what helps their brain feel safe. Ask them what makes things harder. Talk about difference. Talk about kindness. Talk about what it really means to include.

Because when children understand themselves and each other, we don’t just prevent harm. We create a world where every child has the chance to belong.