Stretching Time: A Neurodiversity Perspective on Caring Differently

Time is at the very heart of early childhood theory and practice. The dominant conception of time in early childhood education and care (ECEC) is shaped by developmental theories rooted in the West, where children are understood to grow in a linear, progressive manner: palmar grasp to pincer grip, scribbling to writing, play to school readiness, all with the overarching aim of moulding children into market supply factors. While this view has acquired a kind of common-sense status, it is far from neutral. It reflects a historical alignment of childhood with capitalist, future-oriented models of time. Elizabeth Freeman (2010) calls this chrononormativity, that is, the use of time to organise and discipline bodies, behaviours, and lives towards maximum productivity.

Chrononormativity in the nursery

In early childhood practice, chrononormativity shows up not only through age-based expectations and developmental checklists, but also in the very pace of our daily practices. Children are ushered from one activity to another, hurried along certain pre-set trajectories. “Good” practice is often viewed and measured in terms of speed, efficiency, predictability, calculability and control over uncertainty.

Time becomes a taskmaster that not only regulates and controls children but also the adults who care for them. Chrononormativity doesn’t simply organise our days, it regulates our expectations. How quick and efficient are we at getting children ‘school ready’? How fast can we change nappies? How effective are we in helping children nap? Can we observe and document quickly enough? Can we reflect and plan while in action? Can we demonstrate that children are always progressing? Are there time limits for experiencing pleasure?

These timelines are not just pedagogical; they become pathologising. Children who fall out of the developmental timeline are framed as deviants, requiring special intervention to bring them back “on track”. But what if this understanding of time limits rather than supports children — not just neurodivergent children, but children of all neurotype? What if some of the richest experiences happen not in forward motion, but in pauses, slowness, or divergence?

Stretching time

To move beyond a chrononormative conception of time–time as measured, regulated and controlled, I propose time in a more qualitative sense, that is, as intensity, as presence, as emergence. It means letting go of the idea that learning is always forward-moving, instead noticing what happens when we dwell, meander, or even stall. In this section I draw on two instances from the nursery to give a fuller sense of what this looks like in practice.

Amy loves water. She seeks it out wherever she can, dipping her hands, splashing vigorously, often to the point of creating spills. On one particular day, Amy spots the hand-washing bucket that is positioned beside the easel, and immerses her hand in it and splashes the water, followed by pouring the entire bucket on the floor. She then continued splashing the water on the floor with her hands. Alarmed by the incident, two practitioners rush to intervene. One removes her from the scene, while the other begins to mop the floor.

Chrononormativity would deem Amy’s encounter with water as misbehaviour, nuisance, unruly and as underdevelopment. Refusing chrononormativity here would involve slowing down, to being attuned to Amy, her neurodivergence, and her sensory seeking explorations. It invites us to pause to consider perhaps how water feels on the body, its temperature, material qualities, the way it moves, the way it sounds. Amy isn’t “acting out”, or in need of being regulated and controlled by an adult, rather she is responding to the sensory landscape in the classroom in a way that feels grounding and joy-inducing for her.

Another moment: It was time for Charlotte to go home, and her mother had been waiting outside for 5 minutes. I had completely lost track of time and forgot to get her ready for home time. As I began helping Charlotte put her cardigan on, she collapsed into a fit of laughter. She had touched the soft, frilly edge of her cardigan and it had sent her into uncontrollable giggles. Again and again she stroked the frill, and again and again she laughed. My first instinct was to hurry her as I didn’t want to keep her mum waiting. But I decided to pause and allow her to have her moment. She was somewhere else—in a moment of sensation, pleasure. We eventually did get to the door and her mum was understanding. But I carried the moment with me.

Time here can be sensed as an accumulation of intensities that emerge through repetition. I want to specifically emphasise the relational quality of time. While I felt the pressure to interrupt and hurry her, the decision to pause and be curious allowed time to unfold differently, one that is not measured by minutes or obligations, but through presence, through a felt sense of being alongside. In her loop of touching and laughing, Charlotte was not progressing toward a goal. She is dwelling.

Stretching time in both these instances involved holding space to consider what else is unfolding in these encounters. By sharing these encounters, I am in no way suggesting that anything goes, or that classrooms become spaces of unfettered freedom. Rather, I am pointing to the transformative potential that lies in minor gestures—pauses, hesitations, refusals to rush.

Propositions for Practice

Time in early childhood is not just a backdrop or container in which development happens—it actively constitutes our beliefs, policies, and pedagogical practices. In this article, I invite those of us who work with young children to refuse a conception of time that is shaped by the regulatory gaze of chrononormativity, instead to re-encounter time in the qualitative sense, as intensities, as relational, and even inventive. The shifts in practice may seem minor and subtle, but it is in these everyday minor gestures that we find the potential to transform practice. When we allow children to move outside the straight lines of progress and into spirals, pauses, and loops, we open up new ways of being together. We allow the classroom to breathe. I conclude this article by offering some propositions:

Proposition 1: Reframe interruptions as invitations. What we see as distractions may actually be moments of emergence. Treat them with care.

Proposition 2: De-centre developmentalism. Use developmental knowledge as a guide, not a gatekeeper. Avoid the impulse to interpret all actions through the lens of development and progress.

Proposition 3: Stay with the moment. Practise slow observation—watching with patience, resisting quick conclusions, and noticing what else might be happening in the space between goals.

Proposition 4: Make time for slowness visible. Reflect with colleagues and families on the value of slow time. Share stories like Amy’s and Charlotte’s not as exceptions, but as a sensibility that permeates practice with all children, neurodivergent or not.

Works cited

Freeman, E. (2010). Time binds: Queer temporalities, queer histories. Duke University Press.

Special thanks to Highview Montessori  Nursery @highviewmontessorinursery for kindly providing the images 

Try Tapestry today – sign up for a free trial