The Right to Decide What Happens to One’s Own Body
When Care Must Not Be Imposed
An adult opens their arms.
The child has had a difficult day. The child has cried, become angry, and withdrawn from the others. The adult wants to offer comfort.
“Come here and have a hug.”
The child remains standing.
The adult smiles and steps closer.
“It is not dangerous. I only want to be kind to you.”
The child takes a step back.
The adult may experience the rejection as sad or difficult to understand. After all, the adult is only trying to show care. Perhaps the adult thinks the child needs to learn how to receive closeness. That a safe hug might help.
But the child has already answered.
Not with words.
With the body.
The child stepped back.
In this moment, the adult faces a choice.
The adult may allow their own understanding of care to take priority:
I know that this is good for you.
Or the adult may stop:
“You do not want a hug. That is all right. I can sit here instead.”
For a child who has experienced other people taking control of the body, this small event may carry great meaning.
An adult wanted to come closer.
The child moved away.
And the adult stopped.
No persuasion.
No guilt.
No offence taken.
The body’s no mattered.
Perhaps this is the moment when the child begins to learn that care can be different from what they have known before.
That closeness does not have to be imposed.
That the body still belongs to the child.
The Body as the First Home
Before the child has language for the self, the child has a body.
The child knows hunger, warmth, cold, touch, pain, and calm. The child encounters the world through the skin, the voice, the gaze, and movement.
The body is the child’s first home.
It is there that the child experiences:
I exist.
I am separate from others.
Something feels good.
Something hurts.
I can reach towards.
I can move away.
In safe care, the child gradually learns that the body is met with respect.
The adult lifts gently.
Comforts.
Washes.
Changes clothes.
Provides food.
But the adult also reads the child.
Is the child hungry?
Tired?
Overwhelmed?
Seeking contact?
Needing a pause?
The child cannot decide everything. A baby needs a nappy changed even when protesting. A young child may need to be held back from running into the road.
Care therefore involves power.
But safe care uses power to protect the child, not to make the child’s signals meaningless.
Through action, the adult says:
Sometimes I have to decide.
But I will still notice you.
I will not pretend that your body is not reacting.
I will do what is necessary as gently as possible.
When the Body Did Not Belong to the Child
Violence and sexual abuse violate more than the body.
They also attack the child’s ownership of the body.
Another person decides.
How close.
For how long.
What will happen.
Whether the child may protest.
Whether the child may leave.
The child’s body is treated as something to which another person has access.
Perhaps the child is threatened.
Perhaps enticed.
Perhaps restrained.
Perhaps the child learns that resistance makes the situation worse.
Some children fight.
Others run.
Some freeze.
The body becomes still even though the child does not want what is happening.
Later, the child may ask:
Why did I not say no?
Why did I not resist?
But perhaps the body chose what offered the greatest chance of survival.
Silence was not consent.
Passivity was not permission.
Bodily reactions were not desire.
The child was not responsible.
Yet the experience may leave behind a deep uncertainty:
Does my body truly belong to me?
Does my no matter?
Can an adult always decide?
Must I accept closeness if the other person says it is good?
Help must answer these questions not only with words, but through the way care is given.
The Well-Intentioned Violation
It is easy to understand that violence and abuse violate bodily boundaries.
It is harder to recognise how well-intentioned care may also cross them.
The adult wants to comfort and lifts the child onto their lap.
The child stiffens.
The adult wants to show warmth and strokes the child’s hair.
The child turns away.
The adult wants to help with a jacket and begins dressing the child without asking.
The child protests.
“I am only trying to help.”
That may be true.
But a good intention alone does not determine how an action is experienced.
Care is not care simply because the adult means it to be.
The child must also be able to receive it.
This does not mean that the child should always decide everything concerning the body. Children may need medical examinations, dental treatment, hygiene, and protection that they resist.
But even necessary help may be given with greater or lesser respect.
The adult can explain.
Ask.
Warn.
Offer choices where choice is possible.
Stop when stopping is possible.
Acknowledge the protest even when the action must continue.
The child’s reaction should not be made invalid simply because the adult has good reasons.
“I Only Want to Be Kind”
Children may be told:
“I only want to be kind.”
“You know I would never hurt you.”
“You do not need to be afraid of me.”
These words are intended to reassure.
But a child who has experienced abuse may have heard similar words before.
The person who caused harm did not necessarily always appear dangerous. Perhaps that person was also friendly, caring, and close. Perhaps the actions were described as love.
It is therefore not enough for the new adult to declare that they are safe.
Safety must be experienced.
The child moves away.
The adult stops.
The child says no.
The adult does not become offended.
The child does not want to sit on the adult’s lap.
The adult finds another way to remain close.
In this way, the child learns the difference between claimed safety and real safety.
A safe adult does not need access to the child’s body as proof that the relationship is good.
The Body’s No
A child’s no can be expressed in many ways.
“No.”
“Do not.”
“Stop.”
But also:
Looking away.
A body becoming rigid.
A hand pushing away.
A step backwards.
An arm being pulled in.
Silence.
Laughter that sounds tense.
Children may lack words, but the body may still try to create a boundary.
The adult must learn to notice these signals.
Not interpret them as certain evidence of abuse. A child may withdraw from touch for many reasons.
But the reaction must be respected in the moment.
“I can see that you do not want this.”
“I will stop.”
“You can tell me if you would like me to sit closer.”
The child then learns that they do not have to explain or defend the boundary for it to count.
This matters.
Adults sometimes ask:
“Why do you not want a hug?”
The child may not know.
Or may not wish to explain.
A no does not always require a reason.
Consent in a Child’s World
The word consent may sound legal and adult.
But the basic idea can be learned early:
Your body belongs to you.
You may say no to touch.
You should ask before touching others.
A no should be respected.
At the same time, this must be explained in a way that does not place unrealistic responsibility on the child.
The child cannot always decide.
The child may need a vaccination.
To be washed.
Protected.
Secured in a car seat.
An adult may have to intervene to prevent harm.
We should therefore not teach the child:
No one may ever touch your body unless you say yes.
That is not entirely true.
We can instead teach:
Adults should listen to your body and explain what they are doing.
They should not touch private areas without a necessary reason.
When a doctor or caregiver must help with the body, it should happen openly, respectfully, and as far as possible with your cooperation.
You can always tell someone if something feels wrong.
And it is never your responsibility if an adult breaks the boundaries.
In this way, the child learns both rights and reality.
Touch as a Language
Touch can be one of the most important languages of care.
The newborn who is held.
The child who receives a plaster on a wound.
The hand that wipes away tears.
The arm around the shoulders after a loss.
The body needs closeness.
But touch can also be ambiguous.
The same hand that comforts one child may frighten another.
The same lap that feels safe to one child may feel like a trap to another.
Touch must therefore not be used as a universal formula.
“Children need hugs” may be true in a general sense.
But this child may first need the experience that the hug will not be forced.
Care can be expressed in other ways.
A warm drink.
A blanket.
A chair nearby.
An open door.
A calm gaze.
A question:
“Would you like me to sit here, or a little further away?”
Closeness is more than physical contact.
When the Child Rejects Care
An adult may feel hurt when the child rejects closeness.
The foster parent has looked forward to offering warmth and safety. The child does not want a hug. The child pulls away, closes the door, and refuses comfort.
The adult may think:
The child does not like me.
The child cannot form attachments.
The child is ungrateful.
But the rejection may be the child’s way of protecting themselves.
Closeness may once have been dangerous.
Care may always have had a price.
Gifts may have been followed by demands.
Comfort may have been mixed with violation.
Love may have been used to explain actions that caused pain.
The child cannot immediately distinguish safe care from what came before.
The adult must tolerate offering care without receiving an immediate response.
This is difficult.
We want signs that the help is working.
A smile.
A hug.
A confidential conversation.
But the child does not owe the adult such reassurance.
Care that demands gratitude easily becomes another form of pressure.
The safe adult can say:
“You do not have to hug me.”
And mean it.
Closeness at a Distance
There is a way of being close without moving in too close.
The adult can remain in the same room.
Not ask questions all the time.
Not touch.
Not demand eye contact.
Simply remain available.
The child draws.
The adult reads.
The child builds with blocks.
The adult comments gently.
The child sits under a blanket.
The adult places a cup of hot chocolate on the table.
In this way, the relationship can grow from the side.
For children who fear direct closeness, this may be crucial.
The adult shows:
I will not disappear because you do not let me in.
But I will not force my way in either.
I can remain here without demanding access to your body or your story.
This is a patient form of love.
When Care Must Be Carried Out
Sometimes adults must do something the child does not want.
A wound must be cleaned.
An examination must take place.
The child must be removed from a dangerous situation.
An adult may have to restrain the child to prevent harm to the child or others.
In such situations, the principle of self-determination may seem insufficient.
The child’s no cannot always determine the action.
But it should still matter.
The adult can explain:
“You do not want the doctor to examine you. I hear that.”
“The examination has to be done because we need to know whether your body has been injured.”
“I will tell you what is going to happen before it happens.”
“You can ask for a pause.”
“You can choose who will be in the room.”
The child does not receive complete control.
But the child receives understanding, influence, and dignity.
There is a difference between being overpowered and being helped through something difficult.
The difference often lies in how power is used.
The Medical Body
When a child has been exposed to violence or abuse, the body may become the subject of examination.
Clothes may have to be removed.
Questions are asked.
The body is observed, touched, and documented.
All of this may be necessary.
But for the child, the examination may resemble what has already happened:
Adults decide.
The body becomes an object.
The child must lie still.
Someone looks at parts of the body the child would rather hide.
Medical help must therefore be more than technically correct.
The child must be prepared.
Who will be present?
What will be examined?
Which clothes must be removed?
How long will it take?
Can the examination be paused?
Can a trusted adult be present?
The child should be covered again as soon as possible.
There should be as few people in the room as possible.
The professional must speak to the child, not only about the child.
Dignity also lives in the details.
Nakedness and Shame
For some children, the body has become a place of shame.
They do not want to change clothes with others.
Shower.
Visit a doctor.
Take part in swimming.
They hide in large clothing.
The adult may interpret this as shyness or resistance.
But the child may experience the body as dangerous, dirty, or visible in a way that feels unbearable.
We should not automatically assume abuse.
But we must meet shame carefully.
The child should not be forced to “get used to” nakedness through exposure without understanding.
The child may be given privacy.
Allowed to change alone.
Shower at another time.
Explain what feels possible.
The aim is not to confirm that the body is shameful.
The aim is to give the child enough control for the body gradually to become a safer place to live in.
The Child’s Body in the Institution
Institutions regulate the body.
When the child gets up.
Eats.
Sleeps.
Showers.
Takes medication.
Stays indoors.
Goes outside.
Some of this is necessary for communal life to function.
But when many rules concern the body, the child may experience that it once again belongs to the system.
“You must eat now.”
“You have to go to bed.”
“You cannot close the door.”
“We have to search your room.”
The adult must ask:
Is this truly necessary?
Can the child have choices?
Can the rule be explained?
Is the intervention proportionate?
Is the child’s privacy respected?
Professional care can become violating when routine is given greater value than the human being.
An institution cannot promise complete self-determination.
But it can avoid unnecessary power.
The Right to Privacy
Children need privacy.
Including children who receive help.
They need a place where the body can exist without constant adult observation.
A door that adults knock on.
A bathroom no one enters without warning.
The opportunity to change clothes alone.
Personal belongings that are not searched without reason.
Adults may be afraid to give vulnerable children too much privacy.
What if the child harms themselves?
What if something is hidden?
What if risk increases?
Safety may require supervision.
But supervision should not become total surveillance if less intrusive solutions are possible.
The child needs to experience that protection does not mean every boundary disappears.
Privacy is not merely a privilege.
It is part of human dignity.
Learning to Recognise the Body’s Signals
Some children have learned to disconnect from the body.
They do not notice hunger until they become dizzy.
Not tiredness until they collapse.
Not distress until they explode.
Not that a boundary has been crossed until much later.
Help can support the child in rediscovering these signals.
“How do you notice that you are beginning to become angry?”
“What happens in your stomach when you become frightened?”
“Can you feel your shoulders becoming tense?”
But this too must be done carefully.
The child should not be pressured to focus inward if the body feels overwhelming.
Some children first need to orient themselves towards the world outside:
Notice five things.
Listen to the sounds in the room.
Feel the chair beneath the body.
Later, attention may turn more inward.
The aim is for the body to become a source of information again, not only a place of danger.
The Right to Change One’s Mind
A yes is not a contract that cannot be withdrawn.
The child may first agree to a hug and then pull away.
Agree to speak and later ask for a pause.
Agree to an examination, but become frightened during it.
The adult must tolerate the change of mind.
“You wanted to before, but now you want to stop. I will stop.”
Where the action can be stopped, it should be stopped.
If it cannot be stopped completely, the pace can be changed and the child can receive an explanation and a pause.
This teaches the child something important:
I am allowed to notice how I feel.
I am not trapped because I said yes once.
My boundary may change.
This also applies between children.
Children need to learn that play, tickling, wrestling, and physical closeness must stop when the other person no longer wants it.
“But she was laughing” is not enough if she later says stop.
Laughter may also be nervousness.
Another person’s body is not ours to continue touching simply because it began as play.
The Adult’s Need for Closeness
Caregivers may have needs of their own.
A need to be liked.
Recognised as safe.
Receive a hug.
Experience that the child is forming an attachment.
This is human.
But the adult must distinguish between the child’s needs and their own.
When a foster parent says:
“It makes me so sad when you do not want to hug me,”
the child may begin to offer the body in order to regulate the adult.
The child learns:
I must accept touch so that you do not become hurt.
This is an unfair burden.
The adult must carry their disappointment somewhere else.
The child may be invited into closeness.
But should not be made responsible for the adult’s feelings if the answer is no.
Care should not demand bodily payment.
The Child Who Hugs Everyone
Not all children protect themselves by withdrawing.
Some seek closeness with almost everyone.
They hug strangers.
Sit on laps.
Want to hold hands with adults they have only just met.
This may be understood as openness and trust.
But it may also mean that the child has not developed clear boundaries between familiar and unfamiliar people.
Perhaps the body has learned that closeness is something one gives in order to receive attention.
The adult should not shame the child.
“You must not be so clingy.”
Nor should the adult exploit the closeness because it feels pleasant.
The child needs help learning distinctions.
Whom do I know?
Whom can I hug?
What kind of touch is appropriate in different relationships?
The adult can say:
“I am happy to see you. Today we can wave or shake hands.”
The child is not rejected.
But is helped to build boundaries.
The Body and Disability
Some children need extensive practical help with the body.
They must be lifted.
Fed.
Dressed.
Washed.
Helped on the toilet.
Self-determination may then seem more difficult.
But the more dependent the child is, the more important respect becomes.
The adult can explain what is happening.
“Now I am lifting your arm.”
“I am going to wash your face.”
“Is the water warm enough?”
The child may choose clothes, the order of activities, or who helps.
Children without spoken language also communicate.
Through gaze.
Muscle tension.
Sounds.
Movements.
Care must learn the child’s expressions.
Dependence does not remove dignity.
It makes dignity more dependent on the other person’s sensitivity.
The Digital Body
The child’s body also exists in images.
Photographs are shared.
Videos are posted.
Adults document everyday life.
A child may have intimate, vulnerable, or embarrassing moments stored and distributed without understanding the consequences.
Pictures in a nappy.
During illness.
In anger.
While crying.
Adults may think this is harmless.
But digital images also concern bodily integrity.
The child should be asked as far as age and understanding allow.
“Is it all right if I take a photograph?”
“May I send this to Grandmother?”
A no should be respected.
Children who have been exposed to abuse especially need to experience that others do not own the right to display their body or vulnerability.
Privacy follows the child into the digital world.
When Language About the Body Causes Harm
Adults speak about children’s bodies.
Too large.
Too small.
Thin.
Heavy.
Pretty.
Cute.
Strong.
Clumsy.
Comments that seem harmless may remain with the child.
The child learns that the body is judged from the outside.
For children carrying experiences of abuse or shame, this may be particularly sensitive.
Adults should be careful about making appearance a public subject.
The child needs language for function, signals, and boundaries.
What the body can do.
What it needs.
When it is hungry.
When it is tired.
What feels safe.
The body should not be only something other people observe.
It is the place from which the child lives.
Taking the Body Back
After violation, healing may involve the child gradually reclaiming the body.
Not through one decisive action.
But through many small experiences.
Choosing clothes.
Closing the door.
Saying no to a hug.
Deciding where the adult should sit.
Taking part in movement that feels good.
Eating when hunger is felt.
Resting when the body is tired.
Receiving medical help with explanation and respect.
Discovering that touch can be safe when it is wanted.
The child learns:
I can notice.
I can speak.
Others can listen.
The body is not only something to which something happened.
It is still mine.
When Care Must Not Be Imposed
We cannot help children without coming close.
Sometimes we must wash, examine, protect, hold, and guide.
We must set boundaries.
We cannot make all care dependent on the child saying yes.
But we can choose how we use power.
Whether we explain or surprise.
Whether we ask or assume.
Whether we stop or continue.
Whether we notice the protest or make it insignificant.
Whether we offer closeness or demand that it be received.
Care does not become good simply because it is well intended.
It becomes good when it also respects the child as a separate human being.
The Right to One’s Own Body
The child’s right to their own body does not mean that the child should stand alone with the responsibility of protecting it.
That is the adults’ responsibility.
The child should not have to say no clearly enough.
Fight hard enough.
Understand the situation well enough.
If an adult violates the child, the responsibility lies with the adult.
But the child needs to experience that personal signals matter.
That a no can stop a hand.
That a step backwards is noticed.
That the child may choose between a hug and a chair nearby.
That an examination is explained.
That adults knock on the door.
That the body is not public property simply because the child receives help.
These are not minor considerations beside care.
They are the ethical core of care.
A Different Experience
A child who has experienced abuse has learned that another person placed their own desire above the child’s boundary.
Help must offer the opposite experience.
The adult may want closeness.
But stops when the child moves away.
The adult may want to know.
But respects that the child does not wish to speak now.
The adult may have authority to decide.
But explains, listens, and offers choices.
The child then learns that power can be used differently.
That adults can limit themselves.
That care does not mean access.
That love does not cancel boundaries.
That closeness does not demand submission.
The Body That Can Become a Home Again
The aim is not for the child never again to fear touch.
Not to teach the child to hug adults.
Not to make the child comfortable with everything the body must endure.
The aim is for the body gradually to become a place the child recognises as their own.
A place with signals that may be listened to.
Boundaries that may be expressed.
Needs that may be taken seriously.
Joy.
Movement.
Rest.
Closeness when it is wanted.
Distance when it is needed.
Healing may mean that the child once again dares to live in the body.
Not as an object others assess or use.
But as a living human being with the right to move closer and the right to move away.
“I Will Stop”
Perhaps one sentence contains much of this:
“I will stop.”
The child pulls the hand away.
“I will stop.”
The child turns the face aside.
“I will stop.”
The child says that a pause is needed.
“I will stop.”
Not always because the whole action can be ended.
But because the adult stops long enough to see the child, explain, and find the least intrusive way forward.
For a child who once experienced that no one stopped, these words may carry great meaning.
They say:
I see your boundary.
It changes what I do.
You are not powerless here.
The Right to Decide What Happens to One’s Own Body
The right to one’s own body does not begin only when the child becomes an adult.
It begins in how the child is lifted.
Washed.
Comforted.
Examined.
Photographed.
Hugged.
Held.
And in how the adult responds when the child moves away.
The child needs care.
But care must not teach the child that the body once again belongs to the stronger person.
It must teach something else:
That adults can come close and still respect distance.
That protection can be given without taking away dignity.
That the child can be dependent without becoming someone’s property.
That a no does not destroy the relationship.
And that love, when it is safe, does not grasp.
It opens the hand.
Waits.
And allows the child to decide whether to come closer.
And that love, when it is safe, does not grasp.
It opens the hand.
Waits.
And allows the child to decide whether to come closer.
This essay was developed from years of professional practice with children in difficult situations in life, and my lectures for students on this subject. OpenAI/ChatGPT made the illustration.
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