The Tendril Theory: Why Your Child Can't Just Switch Off the TV

Your child is halfway through a jigsaw puzzle. It's 8:10am. School starts at 8:25am. You say it's time to go. They don't move. You say it again, a little louder. Still nothing. By the third, fourth, fifth time, you're both getting stressed, and they still don’t move. Another messy start to the day.

Or maybe it's the television. You turn it off — not even mid-programme, just off — and what follows isn't a grumble, it's a full meltdown, as though something has actually been taken from them, not just switched off.

If this sounds familiar, chances are you're not dealing with a naughty child, or a child who "just needs firmer boundaries." You may be living with a mind that works on “tendrils” — and understanding that idea can change how you respond, and how much stress everyone carries through the day.

 What is the Tendril Theory?

The Tendril Theory was created by Erin Human, an autistic, ADHD illustrator and writer, as a way of explaining executive function difficulties to people who don't experience them. The image she drew shows a person with swirling, snake-like tendrils extending out from their head into whatever they're doing — a task, an interest, an activity.

The more absorbed the person becomes, the more tendrils grow and the deeper they root. Before that person can move to something new, every single tendril has to be gently disconnected and drawn back in. That takes time. And if it happens abruptly — if the tendrils are ripped out rather than withdrawn — it doesn't just feel inconvenient. It feels like something has actually been pulled away.

That's the puzzle your child won't leave unfinished. That's the show that can't just be switched off. It isn't stubbornness. It is tendrils being severed before they were ready to come home. And it feels as violent as it sounds.

The research behind the idea

Tendril Theory is a lived-experience concept rather than a clinical term, but it maps closely onto a respected academic theory of autism called monotropism.

Monotropism was developed by Dinah Murray, Mike Lesser and Wenn Lawson, and set out formally in their 2005 paper in the journal Autism. The theory proposes that attention itself works differently in many autistic and neurodivergent minds: rather than spreading attention thinly across many things at once ("polytropism"), attention pulls together into a small number of deep, intense channels — what the researchers call "attention tunnels."

Crucially, the researchers frame this as a difference, not a deficit. A monotropic mind isn't broken — it's wired to go deep rather than wide. That depth is exactly what produces sustained focus, absorption, and the rich special interests so many neurodivergent children have. The flip side is that unplanned interruption or sudden task-switching doesn't register as a minor request. It registers as a real disruption to a system that was doing exactly what it's built to do.

The same researchers noted something else important for parents: connection and predictability help. Building on a child's existing interests, giving warning before a transition, and making changes feel more "meaningful and less complex" all reduce how ripped-out the tendrils feel when a change has to happen.

What this looks like at home

The puzzle that must be completed.*Your child isn't ignoring the clock — they may not be able to process it as more important than the tendrils they're still holding. A five-minute warning (let’s face it, multiple warnings, a "let's finish this one row and then we'll pause it right here for after school," helping them to complete it or a visual timer can let those tendrils retract gradually instead of being torn. You either spend the time helping a distraught child, or helping a calm child finish the puzzle -either way you spend the time, but one doesn’t leave you feeling like the worst parent in the world.

The screentime meltdown. The sudden black screen is the abrupt severing of every tendril at once. A countdown ("two more minutes, then it's off"), or better still, waiting for a natural pause — the end of an episode, a scene change — gives the same tendrils time to disengage on their own. In our house, we always pause the TV rather than turn it off., then once they have disengaged, I go back and turn it off. Same result, one more step, much less upset.

None of this means never asking a child to stop what they're doing. It means building in the retraction time the tendrils actually need, rather than expecting an instant switch that isn't how their attention works.

You don't have to figure this out alone

Understanding why your child reacts this way is the first step. Building the routines, transition strategies, and calm responses that actually work for your child, in your home, is the next one — and that's where a bit of outside support can make all the difference.

If mealtimes, mornings, or "just turn it off" moments are wearing you both down, I'm here to talk. Get in touch and let's find an approach that works for your child, and gives you a bit more peace back too.

Sources: Erin Human, "Tendril Theory," eisforerin.com. Murray, D., Lesser, M., & Lawson, W. (2005). Attention, monotropism and the diagnostic criteria for autism. Autism, 9, 139–156.