Joining Playground Games

Ava knew the names of every child in her class. She could describe the rules of every playground game in exact detail — the sequences, the signals, the moments when you were supposed to run. But knowing and doing were different things.

Ava's body did not always follow the plan her mind laid out for it. She would reach for a ball that had already moved past her. She would set off at the right moment but arrive a beat too late. The other children were not unkind about it. They moved on without noticing — which felt, to Ava, like something almost worse.

Coordination difficulties — sometimes called developmental coordination disorder, or DCD — affect the way the brain and body communicate. Ava had plenty of the attributes that make a good friend and teammate: she was enthusiastic, she paid attention, she remembered everything. But the gap between wanting to catch a ball and actually catching it was genuinely wide, and closing it required more practice than most children needed.

Her parents had noticed she was withdrawing from play situations. Not dramatically — she was still cheerful, still social. But at birthday parties she drifted to the edge. At family gatherings she chose the quieter games. At school, she watched from the fence.

When Ava's parents brought her to Soul Movers, the occupational therapist spent time understanding how Ava moved and played — not just measuring what she could and could not do, but understanding the conditions under which she felt most capable.

What helped: smaller groups, predictable sequences, games where there was space to make a mistake. What made things harder: fast-moving environments, unpredictable timing, the feeling of being watched.

The assessment was clear that Ava had real strengths to build on. Her attention and enthusiasm were genuine assets. The work was not to rewire how she moved from scratch, but to build enough confidence and skill that she could step into play situations without it costing her so much.

When Ava's therapist asked what she would most like to be able to do, Ava answered quickly: "Play catch with everyone else." Not in a therapy room. Not with just one person watching. In the middle of a real game, with all her friends, where the ball actually mattered.

That answer shaped everything that followed.

The plan was practical and play-centred. Ava worked on ball skills in small, low-pressure sessions — first one-on-one, then in pairs, then in small groups. Her therapist worked on what they called entry points: the specific moments in common playground games where Ava could most easily step in.

At home, Ava's parents set aside time each day for low-stakes practice. A ball, a wall, and as many goes as she wanted.

Ava was competitive with herself in a way that helped her. She kept mental tallies of her catches, her throws, the distance she managed. The sessions felt less like therapy and more like training — she was preparing for something real.

She started suggesting games at recess. Simple ones, at first, that she had practised. She made mistakes and kept going.

Six weeks in, a ball came to Ava during a playground game and she caught it. Just once — clean, two-handed, on the first try. Her friend cheered. Ava did not cheer back. She was already thinking about where to throw it next.

Her mother heard about it that afternoon, told with no drama, like an ordinary thing. That was when they knew it had become one.

By the end of the term, Ava was in the game. Not every game, not every day — but often enough for it to be part of her ordinary life at school. She had also developed opinions about which playground games were actually good, and a habit of organising younger children into teams during lunch break.

Her parents noticed that she no longer drifted to the fence at birthday parties.

Ava's family came in with a question about motor skills and came out with something larger. Participation is not just about what a child can physically do. It is about the confidence to try, the resilience to recover from the moments that don't go well, and the experience of belonging — of being genuinely inside the game rather than watching it from the edge.

The goal was never to make Ava into a different child. It was to make it possible for her to be herself, in more places.