‘Attachment research gave some indication where we could start in trying to parent our seriously unwell daughter’

Robbie Duschinsky (University of Cambridge) reflects on parenting a profoundly unwell and disabled child whilst undertaking research and writing about attachment.

01 August 2025


Ibegan conducting research addressing child-caregiver attachment relationships in 2012. A few years later, things settled down for my wife Sophie and I in our jobs, and we felt it was time to start a family. I felt positive about becoming a dad, and reassured by what I had learnt from attachment theory and research. I understood about the importance of being available to offer support for a child when they wanted to explore (a 'secure base'); and to offer them help and comfort when they were distressed (a 'safe haven'). This is what attachment researchers called a 'secure attachment'. I doubted I'd be anything like a perfect parent, but that did not seem to be especially the point. Someone my child could trust – I thought that sounded possible.

The next few years were hard. Sophie and I celebrated the start of three pregnancies, only for each to end in miscarriage. Miscarriage is not so uncommon, and I remained hopeful, though these losses weighed on both of us.

In 2019, following a fourth pregnancy, our daughter A was born. However, it soon became clear that she was seriously unwell. We received news of our daughter's diagnosis of a very rare and serious genetic condition over the phone the day that lockdown began. The severity of the condition can vary. For A it has meant profound intellectual disability, long-term struggles with nutrition, and impairments in communication and mobility. Most immediately, she was in pain 16-20 hours a day for her first few years. Coinciding with the pandemic, lockdowns and huge healthcare backlogs, Sophie and I were largely on our own with our sick daughter, with limited access to help.

In 2021, A began having seizures, which did not respond well to medication, and since that time she has needed continuous monitoring day and night. At that time, she lost the ability to vocalise, eat, drink, walk, play with toys, smile, or even routinely recognise us. Now, heading towards her sixth birthday, some of these skills have returned, such as her smile and increasingly her ability to recognise us. Many skills remain partially or wholly lost.

Through A's early years, and still today to an extent, I faced a daily battle with feelings of hopelessness and heartbreak. In this context, something that made a profound difference was my work on attachment theory and research. Thinking about, researching and writing about attachment helped me retain a sense that whilst the situation could feel impossible, it did not mean that it actually was impossible. Sophie and I couldn't stop A being ill. But attachment research gave some indications of where we could start in trying to parent our daughter.

A lot of well-meaning nonsense and hazy generalities are circulated about attachment. Inaccurate information is so much easier to come by than accurate information – it's wild. But attachment theory and research has also generated some recommendations for parents, supported by researcher consensus as well as experimental evidence from attachment-based interventions. My experiences have given me an urgent sense of the value of some of these key messages. I have tried to make these accessible in my books, and especially in one for students and general readers called The Psychology of Attachment, written with my friends and colleagues Pehr Granqvist and Tommie Forslund.

The challenges A faced were extreme and rare. But the recommendations of attachment theory and research still had bearing for Sophie and I, maybe even more so given our daughter's suffering and need for comfort. The focus of this article is on the ideas I found helpful in giving some sense of how to proceed with A's care. I close by bringing the reader up to the present, thinking about what I have learnt from these experiences, and how these lessons have shaped me as a parent to A's little sister, as a co-parent with my wife Sophie, and also as a researcher.
Providing a safe haven

An early and important source of help for Sophie and I as parents was the idea of the caregiver as a 'safe haven'. By this attachment researchers mean that when a child is distressed, they are disposed to seek a familiar caregiver with the expectation of help and protection. Touch and comfort from a familiar adult, these basic things, help an infant to re-find equilibrium. Older children can get the same reassurance by other indications of the caregiver's availability. Even as adults we are still disposed to look for comfort when we are distressed, unless we have learnt that this will backfire.

In being available when a child is distressed, a caregiver gradually helps the child learn to trust, and to cope with difficult feelings (Ainsworth, 1985). The extent of security of each close relationship makes an additional contribution to a child's development in these regards, highlighting the importance of caregivers supporting one another in their provision of safe haven availability to a child (Dagan et al., 2021).

Sophie and I could not protect our daughter from pain. However, we could remain with her through it, holding her, and walking her up and down our little flat for unending hours. We could reassure her that she was not alone. We could try to teach her the expectation that when she was distressed, her mum or I would be completely there with her, even if, to our sorrow, we didn't know how to make things better. We could try to support one another with the grief we were feeling.

Attachment theory suggests that caregivers are most readily able to offer a safe haven to their child when they feel themselves supported by their family, community and society (Supkoff et al., 2013). Due to the pandemic and the severity of A's illness, at times we have felt quite abandoned by community and society, with exceptions. We have found it tremendously difficult to access support from health and social care services, who have often been hell-bent on reducing costs or trying to pass responsibility to other services regardless of what this means for A's safety or our family's ability to cope. Some professionals have gone above and beyond to help us. There's been almost no middle ground. Likewise many friends from before we became parents ran in horror at A's suffering and what our lives looked like. But some friends really stepped up to try to look after us, acting towards A like extended family. And since 2024 A has started attending a specialist primary school, which she absolutely loves, and which has reduced pressure on us too.
Attending to our child's signals

Attachment research has a premise that a lot goes on at the level of behaviour that mostly does not get noticed. On this basis, a second recommendation made by the attachment literature was the idea that caregivers can consider their child's actions as having 'signal value' for their experiences and needs (Ainsworth, 1977). The caregiver can be on the look-out for behaviours and vocalisations that might give relevant clues. This will allow the caregiver to accurately identify the child's motivations, and respond to them appropriately and in a timely way. For instance, being able to distinguish signals of tiredness from hunger or pain can be helpful in ensuring that the caregiver is available as a safe haven when needed.

It was very hard to discern A's experiences and needs. For her first years, other signals were often drowned out by pain. Then, with the seizures, she lost much of what capacity she had to communicate her experiences and needs. At times it felt that A was inaccessible to us, for all that she was physically present and required care.

Yet the idea of the child's actions as having 'signal value' suggested that signal might still be found, even if most of A's means of communicating her experiences and needs had been overloaded, blocked or damaged. We began keeping a moment-to-moment diary of everything we thought might have signal value, day and night: what A seemed to pay attention to, when she was capable of attention; bowel movements; coughs; when she fell asleep and woke up; changes in her breathing. Sophie and I worked together to try to interpret these signals.

This level of attention was, and remains, costly. It is exhausting, and comes at the expense of other things. But over time it has helped build our understanding of A's experiences and needs, allowing us to respond to them. We searched for A in these small signals, and in this way, over time, began to identify critical factors for her care, including triggers for pain and for seizures, and other indicators associated with better days for her. We discovered, for instance, that she loved cheesy '90s pop music (e.g. Spice Girls, Aqua), and given the lack of access to medical care, this was what we had available as pain relief for A for her early years.

Sophie and I feel that A acts like someone who believes that we are trying to interpret her signals and to help. On her better days she reaches out for contact, she smiles, and she rarely resists her medical care; she readily forms new relationships with people who are responsive to her cues. A knows we are listening out for her signals; and Sophie and I know that A's signals can be found and trusted. Despite all that we have to bridge in order to achieve this understanding, this sense of mutual trust makes a huge practical and emotional difference to every day of interaction and care.
Avoidance and Emotional Defence

A third point raised by attachment theory and research is that a child's signals of their experiences and needs can be obstructed by the caregiver's own defences (Main & Hesse, 1992), or when a caregiver feels chronically overwhelmed (Cyr et al., 2010). So when a child signals to us, our defences or feelings of overwhelm can hinder us from recognising or responding to these signals.

Attachment theory is sometimes perceived as about categories, putting people into boxes. That's a stereotype and simplification. In reality, we all have tendencies towards particular kinds of defence or dysregulation, tendencies that will be elicited particularly when we are under stress, and shaped and reshaped by the training our life continues to give us in how to cope. Parents, including those of children with additional needs, have our own histories. For me, A's additional needs have confronted me with the limits of my defences, not least from watching them buckle at times from the pressure placed on them.

A's quality of life is frequently not good. But with the passing years it has been generally getting better, and when she is not in pain or dazed by seizures she is a remarkably happy and resilient little person. Even so, perhaps the hardest challenge for me as a parent, my most pervasive defence, has been to bear to try to see things from A's point of view. Whilst able to cognitively attend minutely to signals of her experience and needs, I nonetheless find it aversive to imagine what A's life might be like for her. To go beyond A's signals and what they mean for what I need to do, and try to fully imagine her mind behind those signals.

Attachment theory and research teaches that avoidance is a strategy, one that can be protective when the alternative would be getting overwhelmed and dysregulated. It isn't bad. But avoidant behaviour by carers is penalised by the contemporary health and social care system: our experience has been that unless you are telling professionals repeatedly that you are not coping, help gets stripped away, even when this is manifestly unsafe. Additionally, attachment research regards avoidance as emotionally impoverishing when it is stuck in place. When we barricade ourselves off from the experience of others, this can help us cope, but also risks leaving us feeling empty (Slade et al., 2023).

Over the years I've given this challenge a lot of thought; I've talked about it with Sophie; I've had counselling through our local children's hospice. Though it is hard, I am learning how to use avoidance more flexibly, and try, where I can, to feel out what A's experience might be. The more I do, the more pleasure and pain I receive in being A's parent. As I do, the more A seems to respond to me and engage, even if her forms of engagement remain limited. This would be in line with the idea from attachment theory that exploration is facilitated when a child feels their caregiver's engagement with their experiences (Fonagy & Target, 1997).
The present

In 2022, Sophie and I had another little girl, L, who has been healthy and hilarious. The weight of past experience and day-to-day pressures of A's care has certainly affected me as a parent. As someone who generally thought of himself as quite silly, I can at times barely recognise myself in my parenting behaviour, which can sometimes be flat and exhausted, lacking playfulness.

I struggle especially with the rough play L enjoys, and requests most days: even faced with our firework of a toddler, my hands expect A's vulnerability, and it requires intense concentration to adjust. But Sophie and I also have an intensified sense of the preciousness of L's communications, and confidence in our capacity for teamwork as parents.

I continue to try to learn from attachment theory and research to inform me as a parent. Indeed, I sometimes talk in my head to the attachment researchers I have read or know about my caregiving responsibilities for A; I find this can help with making sense of it all.

In turn, my experiences as a parent have shaped how I have interpreted and undertaken attachment theory and research, and informed my writing about the topic. This has included a sense of wonder at the power of some of the levers available to caregivers: touch, noticing signals, provision of a secure base. I've also gained greater tenderness in considering the challenges caregivers may face in thinking about the mind of their child.

Experiences as A's parent have also given me additional questions. For instance, whereas attachment researchers generally treat 'safe haven availability' as a single thing, I've been brought to think about its different aspects, such as a caregiver's response to indications of pain, distress, fear and incomprehension. I have also become more critical of the limited way that attachment theory and research have addressed the wider context of family life, even when the data was available to do so. I cannot unlearn what I have learnt as a parent about the power of social isolation and failures of health and social care systems, and this has left a decisive mark on me as a researcher.

In Cornerstones of Attachment Research, written before A was born, I wrote of a sense of affection for attachment theory and its 'genuine insights into the strange, drunk-dialling human heart'. For all that I am more critical of attachment theory and research now, I couldn't have possibly known then how precious some of those insights would prove to me when I became a parent.Dr Robbie Duschinsky is Professor of Social Science and Health and Head of the Applied Social Science Group within the Primary Care Unit.
See also our 'parenting' collection.
Key sources and further reading

Ainsworth, M.D.S. (1977) Social development in the first year of life: Maternal influences on infant-mother attachment. In: J. M. Tanner (Ed.) Developments in Psychiatric Research (pp.1-20). London: Hodder & Stoughton

Ainsworth, M. D. (1985). Attachments across the life span. Bulletin of the New York Academy of Medicine, 61(9), 792-812; Goldberg, S. (2000) Attachment and Development, London: Routledge.

Bakermans-Kranenburg, M. J., & van IJzendoorn, M. H. (2025). Attachment in pediatrics: No such thing as a child. In M. H. Bornstein & P. E. Shah (Eds.), APA Handbook of Pediatric Psychology, Developmental-Behavioral Pediatrics, and Developmental Science (pp. 205–226). American Psychological Association.

Cyr, C., Euser, E. M., Bakermans-Kranenburg, M. J., & Van IJzendoorn, M. H. (2010). Attachment security and disorganization in maltreating and high-risk families: A series of meta-analyses. Development & Psychopathology, 22(1), 87-108.

Dagan, O., Schuengel, C., Verhage, M. L., et al. (2021). Configurations of mother‐child and father‐child attachment as predictors of internalizing and externalizing behavioral problems: An individual participant data (IPD) meta‐analysis. New Directions for Child and Adolescent Development, 2021(180), 67-94.

Doodeman, T. W., Schuengel, C., & Sterkenburg, P. S. (2023). Effects of the Attune & Stimulate‐checklist for caregivers of people with severe and profound intellectual disabilities: A randomised controlled trial. Journal of Applied Research in Intellectual Disabilities, 36(5), 1136-1149

Dozier, M., & Bernard, K. (2019). Coaching Parents of Vulnerable Infants: The attachment and biobehavioral catch-up approach. New York: Guilford Publications

Duschinsky, R. (2020) Cornerstones of Attachment Research, Oxford: Oxford University Press – free to download from the Oxford University Press website

Duschinsky, R., Granqvist, P., & Forslund, T. (2023). The Psychology of Attachment. London: Routledge.

Duschinsky, R. (2025) Developments in Attachment Research, Oxford: Oxford University Press – free to download from the Oxford University Press website

Fonagy, P. & Target, M. (1997). Attachment and reflective function: Their role in self-organization. Development and psychopathology, 9(4), 679-700

Foster, S.L., Schofield, G., Geoghegan, L., Hood, R., Sagi-Schwartz, A … Duschinsky, R. (2025) Attachment theory and research: What should be on the core curriculum for child and family social workers?. Social Work Education, forthcoming.

Main, M. & Hesse, E. ([1992] 2021). Disorganized/disoriented infant behaviour in the Strange Situation, lapses in the monitoring of reasoning and discourse during the parent's Adult Attachment Interview, and dissociative states. In Tommie Forslund & Robbie Duschinsky (Eds.) Attachment Theory and Research: A Reader (pp.108-132), NY: Wiley.

Mucha, L. (2025). Please Find Attached: How Attachment Theory Explains Our Relationships, London: Bloomsbury

Schuengel, C., & Oosterman, M. (2019). Parenting self-efficacy. In Bornstein M. H. (Ed.), Handbook of parenting: Being and becoming a parent (654–680). London: Routledge

Slade, A (2009). Mentalizing the unmentalizable: Parenting children on the spectrum. Journal of Infant, Child, and Adolescent Psychotherapy, 8(1), 7-21.

Slade, A, Sadler, L. S., Eaves, T., & Webb, D. L. (2023). Enhancing attachment and reflective parenting in clinical practice. Guilford Publications.

Supkoff, L., Puig, J., & Sroufe, L.A (2013). Situating resilience in developmental context. In M. Ungar, The Social Ecology of Resilience. (pp. 127-142). New York: Springer

Berástegui, A, & Pitillas, C. (2024). The family keyworker as a critical element for attachment resilience in the face of adversity. Journal of Family Theory & Review, 16(1), 106-123.

Vandesande, S., Bosmans, G., & Maes, B. (2019). Can I be your safe haven and secure base? A parental perspective on parent-child attachment in young children with a severe or profound intellectual disability. Research in developmental disabilities, 93, 103452.

SOURCE:

https://www.bps.org.uk/psychologist/attachment-research-gave-some-indication-where-we-could-start-trying-parent-our(accessed 11.8.25)

New study aims to capture the reality of life with chronic illness

The newly-developed Traumatic Chronic Illness Survival model leans away from traditional ‘transformation’ narratives, illustrating the complex experiences of chronic illness.

28 July 2025

By Emily Reynolds

Inflammatory bowel disease (IBD) is a chronic condition affecting millions of people worldwide, including over half a million in the UK. While, as the name implies, it primarily affects the gut, its impact reaches far beyond the digestive system. Growing evidence shows that IBD can be traumatic, impacting the identity, wellbeing, and everyday life of those with the condition.

Writing in the British Journal of Health Psychology, the University of Nottingham's Rachel Murphy and Belinda Harris look at the experiences of women living with IBD, looking closely at the impact of the condition on their sense of self. They develop a new model of the psychological impacts of chronic, fluctuating illnesses that, rather than focusing on a linear journey of 'growth' due to illness (as previous models have tended to do), attempts to more fully acknowledge the "multitude of ways people survive in the face of such devastating conditions."

The study used an Interpretive Phenomenological Approach (IPA) to explore the experiences of women in the UK diagnosed with IBD. Semi-structured interviews were conducted with 21 women with a diagnosis of IBD, using flexible questions to encourage deep reflection on identity, gender, healthcare, and emotion. From here, the team pulled out four themes: 'wearing the straitjacket of illness', 'psychologically difficult emotions', 'flexibility of self', and 'navigating a way through'.

Firstly, participants described living with IBD as wearing a metaphorical straitjacket: a constraint that tightened or loosened depending on the severity of symptoms. Trauma was compounded by ongoing physical limitations, feelings of difference, and societal misunderstanding, and the participants reported a profound sense of loss, isolation, and shame in relation to stigmatised symptoms, such as incontinence, fatigue, and the presence of a stoma. These challenges continually affected their sense of identity, sexuality, and ability to be spontaneous.

The next theme looked at psychologically difficult emotions, many of which mirrored the symptoms of post-traumatic stress: denial, defensiveness, and emotional concealment, leading to a painful sense of disconnection between how they felt and how they presented to the world. Several core emotions emerged: shame, despair, self-doubt, and anger. Shame was the most pervasive, while anger, though not often openly expressed, surfaced as frustration over a loss of identity and control.

Next, participants highlighted the importance of developing a flexible sense of self: not always easy to achieve, but possible through drawing on existing traits and developing coping mechanisms over time. Here, resilience was not about thriving, but surviving: pragmatically adjusting to their new normal and learning to accept unpredictability. Acceptance of IBD as part of one's identity, rather than something separate or shameful, also emerged as a cornerstone of wellbeing.

Finally, some found ways to navigate life with IBD by embracing creativity and self-care. This looked like reframing illness, developing routines to avoid flare-ups, and finding pride in things which assist them on their health journeys, such as stoma bags. However, this wasn't universal — only half of participants saw change in this area across their journey with the illness. Others saw less change, and continued to struggle with comparison, guilt, unmanaged symptoms, and a profound lack of psychological support. This left some feeling stuck.

Drawing on their findings, the authors critique traditional healthcare models for failing to capture the complex, ongoing, bodily trauma experienced by women with IBD. Instead, they propose a more nuanced framework: Traumatic Chronic Illness Survival (TCIS), which better captures the layered, often traumatic realities of living with the condition..

In order for clinicians and allies to provide true support, the team argues, our ideas about living with IBD need to recognise the complexity of the experience, and reject more simplistic or linear expectations of growth and transformation. As such, TCIS centres survival, not transformation, as the primary achievement in chronic illness, and reflects the toll taken by the recurring nature of illness-related trauma. As the team writes, TCIS does not align "with the view that suffering is a necessary path to growth; pain and anguish are the unfortunate effects of a devastating illness."

The team hopes that this work will help clinicians and allies see survival itself as an end of its own, meeting those with IBD (and indeed other chronic, fluctuating illnesses) with compassion, flexibility, and care, with no expectations of what 'recovery' looks like or what psychological experiences might emerge from someone's pain.

Read the paper in full:
Murphy, R., & Harris, B. (2025). Can current post‐traumatic growth models capture the lived experience of life with a fluctuating chronic illness? Towards a new model. British Journal of Health Psychology, 30(3). https://doi.org/10.1111/bjhp.70003

SOURCE:

https://www.bps.org.uk/research-digest/new-study-aims-capture-reality-life-chronic-illness(accessed 8.8.25)

«Η επιστολή που θα ήθελα να διαβάσει ο γιος μου, που μεγαλώνει πολύ γρήγορα»

by Childit.gr
5 Αυγούστου 2025



Ιδιαίτερα οι «αγορομάνες» μπορεί να ταυτιστείτε με το κείμενο της Αμερικανίδας αρθρογράφου Christine Organ.


Δεν ξέρω πότε συνέβη, αλλά έγινε. Ήταν εύκολο να μου διαφύγει, γιατί δεν συνέβη απότομα, αλλά σιγά σιγά. Κάποιες φορές, όταν σε κοιτάω, μπορώ ακόμα να διακρίνω εκείνο το μικρό αγόρι με τα αμυγδαλωτά μάτια και πασαλειμμένη σοκολάτα στο πρόσωπό του, τόσο καθαρά που σοκάρομαι να ακούω τη σχεδόν αντρική, πλέον, φωνή που βγαίνει από το στόμα σου. Ποιος είναι αυτός ο άνθρωπος; Πού πήγε το μικρό μου αγόρι; Υποθέτω ότι είναι κάπου εδώ.


Μεγαλώνεις και απομακρύνεσαι από εμένα εδώ και πολλά χρόνια. Από τότε που γεννήθηκες, υποθέτω. Οι αλλαγές ήταν ανέκαθεν τόσο λεπτές, που πέρασαν απαρατήρητες για μεγάλο χρονικό διάστημα μέχρι που μια μέρα, με χτύπησε κατάμουτρα η συνειδητοποίηση ότι το μικρό μου αγόρι δεν είναι πλέον ένα μικρό αγόρι. Γίνεται άντρας. Έτσι θα έπρεπε να συμβεί, φυσικά, αλλά αυτό δεν κάνει τα πράγματα περισσότερο εύκολα για μένα.

Μεγαλώνοντας αποκτάς κάποια αυτοπεποίθηση και αυταρέσκεια, αλλά ελπίζω να καταλαβαίνεις ότι δεν πειράζει πού και πού να μην έχεις ιδέα τι πρέπει να κάνεις. Γιατί σε αυτό το ταξίδι, όλοι προχωράμε ψηλαφώντας. Έχω ζήσει πολλές δεκαετίες σε αυτό τον πλανήτη, παρ’ όλα αυτά κάποιες φορές εξακολουθώ να νιώθω σαν μικρό, τρομαγμένο κοριτσάκι ή αμήχανη έφηβη. Δεν πειράζει. Ζήτησε βοήθεια, εμπιστεύσου το ένστικτό σου και θα τη βρεις την άκρη.


Αλλά υπάρχουν και κάποια άλλα πράγματα που ελπίζω να ξέρεις μέχρι τώρα…

Ελπίζω να καταφέραμε με τον μπαμπά σου ότι η φράση «να είσαι άντρας» δεν έχει νόημα. Αγνόησέ την. Δεν υπάρχει κανένα πρόβλημα όταν κλαις και δεν πρέπει να φοβάσαι να ζητήσεις συγγνώμη. Μπορείς να είσαι ευαίσθητος και δυνατός μαζί, θαρραλέος και ταυτόχρονα ευγενικός.

Άνοιξε τις πόρτες για να περάσει πρώτη μια γυναίκα –ή ένας άντρας– και περίμενε να μπουν πρώτα οι άλλοι στο ασανσέρ. Όχι για να είσαι τζέντλεμαν με την παραδοσιακή έννοια, αλλά για να είσαι ευγενικός και γενναιόδωρος. Να έχεις, απλά, καλούς τρόπους. Για τον ίδιο λόγο, σπρώξε την καρέκλα σου κάτω από το γραφείο όταν φεύγεις, κατέβασε το καπάκι της τουαλέτας, βάλε τις κάλτσες σου στα άπλυτα.

Άφησε πάντα ένα μέρος σε καλύτερη κατάσταση από ό,τι το βρήκες.


Όταν βρεις κάποιον να αγαπήσεις, μην παίζεις παιχνίδια μαζί του. Να είσαι ανοιχτός και ειλικρινής. Να είσαι ο εαυτός σου. Άφησε εκείνο το πρόσωπο να μπει στην καρδιά σου, ακόμα και αν αυτό σημαίνει ότι ρισκάρεις να πληγωθείς.

Μην κάνεις σεξ αν δεν είσαι προετοιμασμένος να αντιμετωπίσεις ό,τι θα ακολουθήσει μετά. Γιατί υπάρχει πάντα το «μετά». Και τώρα που μιλάμε για σεξ, το «όχι» σημαίνει «όχι». Η σιωπή επίσης σημαίνει «όχι». Ακόμα και το «ίσως» σημαίνει «όχι». Μόνο το «ναι» σημαίνει «ναι» (και σταμάτα να με κοιτάς με αυτό το βλέμμα. Ναι, η μαμά σού μιλάει για το σεξ).

Ο κόσμος είναι γεμάτος με καθοίκια. Όπως και με πολλούς υπέροχος και εκπληκτικούς ανθρώπους, αλλά δυστυχώς και με ένα πλήθος από καθοίκια. Δεν αρκεί εσύ να μην είσαι καθοίκι. Πρέπει να είσαι αρκετά θαρραλέος και ευγενικός για να τους αντισταθείς. Να υπερασπιστείς τον εαυτό σου και τους άλλους, ακόμα και ο σκοπός για τον οποίο αγωνίζεσαι δεν σε επηρεάζει άμεσα. Να αγωνιστείς ούτως ή άλλως, γιατί αυτό είναι το σωστό πράγμα που πρέπει να κάνεις, και η σιωπή ωφελεί μόνο τα καθοίκια.

Να αφήσεις να σε περιβάλλουν άνθρωποι που σε εμπνέουν να είσαι ο καλύτερος εαυτός σου.

Ακόμα και αν ο κόσμος προσπαθήσει να σου πει ότι οι άντρες δεν είναι σε θέση να κάνουν τα ψώνια του σπιτιού, να στρώσουν το κρεβάτι και να φροντίσουν ένα μωρό, όλα αυτά δεν ισχύουν. Είσαι έξυπνος. Είσαι ικανός. Τακτοποίησε τα του σπιτιού σου (κυριολεκτικά και μεταφορικά).




Μην ντρέπεσαι για αυτό που είσαι, ταυτόχρονα όμως μην πάρεις ούτε για ένα δευτερόλεπτο ως δεδομένα τα προνόμια που σου έχουν δοθεί λόγω του φύλου, της εκπαίδευσης, της φυλής, της κουλτούρας ή της κοινωνικοοικονομικής θέσης σου. Χρησιμοποίησε τα προνόμιά σου για να βοηθήσεις εκείνους που τα έχουν στερηθεί.

Ο αδερφός σου είναι ο καλύτερός σου φίλος, ανήκετε στην ίδια ομάδα. Ακόμα και αν έχετε διαφορές μεταξύ σας και αν συνεχίζετε να σπάτε ο ένας τα νεύρα του άλλου κάθε τόσο, είστε οι δύο όψεις του ίδιου νομίσματος. Είστε ένα. Εξάλλου, ποιος άλλος θα σε καταλάβει όταν θέλεις να παραπονεθείς για τους τρελούς γονείς σου;

Και όταν όλα τα άλλα αποτύχουν, κάνε μαγικά. Χάρισε χαμόγελα στους άλλους. Κάνε τον κόσμο ένα καλύτερο μέρος.

Με αγάπη,

Η μαμά σου

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What if they were ours?

Aneeza Pervez on moral failure and the lives of Palestinian children.

25 July 2025


For the past seven years, my research has focused on how children learn to care for others, build friendships, and make sense of fairness in school. I've spent hours listening to children talk about what it means to help someone, what kindness feels like, and why it matters to include others. In classrooms across the UK, I've seen how belonging is fostered through ordinary acts of noticing, sharing, apologising, and defending peers. These are the spaces where childhood is meant to be protected.

As the war in Gaza unfolds, that belief becomes harder to hold. The same children I study in one part of the world, navigating friendship groups and classroom rules, are, in another, being pulled from the rubble. School buildings have become mass graves. Homes, hospitals, and playgrounds have been flattened. Gaza's children are not being protected. They are facing 'unimaginable horrors' (UNICEF, 2025; WHO, 2024).

This contrast is not only unbearable, but also professionally and ethically indefensible. Safeguarding is central to both psychology and education (British Psychological Society [BPS], 2018; United Nations, 1989). But what happens when our institutions fall silent in the face of mass child death? What does it reveal about whose lives are valued, whose grief is legitimised, and whose suffering is too politically inconvenient to name?

This article is not only about Gaza. It is about us. I ask what it means for psychologists to claim a commitment to children's welfare while avoiding the realities of a crisis that has already killed or injured more than 50,000 children. If safeguarding is more than a slogan, we must act like it. The loss of childhood in Gaza is not just a humanitarian tragedy. It is a test of our professional integrity.
Who counts as a child? The ethics of selective empathy

The idea that childhood is a protected and universal category underpins much of psychological theory, safeguarding practice, and international law. Yet the destruction in Gaza reveals just how conditional that notion can be. Over 14,000 Palestinian children have been killed in less than a year, many in their homes, schools, or hospital beds (UNICEF, 2025). Some died clutching siblings. Others were found buried beneath collapsed buildings. Thousands have been orphaned or wounded with no surviving relatives. So common is this reality that medical teams in Gaza have introduced a new designation: WCNSF, wounded child, no surviving family (UNICEF, 2025b; WHO, 2024).

These are not collateral tragedies of war. They are the result of deliberate attacks on the conditions required for childhood to exist. According to Save the Children (2024), more than 90 per cent of Gaza's school buildings have been damaged or destroyed. Clean water, food, shelter, and medical care have been systematically targeted. The World Health Organization confirmed that every paediatric hospital in northern Gaza has been rendered non-functional (WHO, 2024). Children are dying not only from airstrikes, but from sepsis, dehydration, and starvation.

None of this is hidden. UN agencies, humanitarian organisations, and medical professionals have documented the scale of harm in real time. Yet professional communities within psychology and education have largely failed to respond. The question is not whether psychologists have seen the images or read the reports. The question is: what constructions of childhood have allowed us to witness this scale of destruction and still do nothing?

As scholars like Burman (2020) and Nsamenang and Lo-Oh (2010) have shown, developmental psychology often universalises Euro-American norms and sidelines the social, political, and racialised conditions in which childhood unfolds. These omissions are not minor. They shape who is seen as a child, whose suffering is recognised, and whose death is rendered intelligible. Butler's (2009) notion of 'ungrievable lives' is helpful here: public grief is not neutral, but politically organised. In Gaza, we are witnessing what happens when an entire population of children is denied not only protection, but recognition.

Children themselves are often attuned to these inequalities. In my own research, children talked about moral dilemmas with surprising nuance, questioning who gets left out, who gets blamed, and what it means to help someone even when it's risky (Pervez & Galea, 2024). Their accounts of empathy were relational and ethical, not sentimental. That clarity throws adult frameworks into sharp relief. If we claim to understand children, then the lives of Palestinian children must matter to us, not in theory, not eventually, but now, while they are being erased.
When frameworks fracture: The silence of Psychology

What does it mean when a profession built on the principles of safeguarding, trauma-informed care, and developmental protection meets the mass death of children with ambiguity or silence?

The psychological consequences of war on children are well established. Chronic exposure to violence is linked to post-traumatic stress, disrupted attachment, and long-term cognitive, emotional, and relational harm (Barber, 2009; Qouta et al., 2008). Gaza is no exception. But unlike previous conflicts, this war has unfolded in full view of the international community. First-hand accounts from UN agencies, paediatricians, and humanitarian workers have been published in real time. Ignorance is not the problem. Inaction is.

The British Psychological Society's public statements have been cautious, generalised, and politically neutral, calling for 'peace' and 'mental health support' while avoiding any reference to the conditions driving mass child death (BPS, 2023). The American Psychological Association issued a formal call for ceasefire only after sustained pressure from members, and even then, its statement was criticised for its vagueness and lack of moral clarity (APA, 2024; Eidelson, 2024).

This is not merely an issue of delay. It is a crisis of ethical coherence. Psychological bodies routinely affirm that children's welfare is paramount, that safeguarding is non-negotiable, and that professionals must attend to the structural conditions that perpetuate trauma and exclusion. These commitments are embedded in clinical guidelines, professional standards, and training frameworks across the field. Why, then, are they applied so inconsistently, mobilised for some crises, yet absent in others, such as Gaza?

In recent history, children have faced devastating violence in Sudan, Haiti, Yemen, Congo, Afghanistan, Israel, and beyond, often amid institutional collapse, armed conflict, or international neglect. No child's life is more grievable than another. This is not about taking sides. Gaza stands apart, not only because of the staggering scale of harm, but because speaking plainly about that harm has become so difficult. The fear of being seen as taking sides has silenced even the most basic truth: children are being killed and need protection. And that is what sets this crisis apart. When safeguarding depends on the political acceptability of the victim, it ceases to be a framework for protection. It becomes a tool of moral evasion: reliable when safe, withheld when contested.

Part of the answer lies in what I have described elsewhere as institutional complicity through epistemic omission (Pervez, 2025). When psychology as a profession fails to respond to mass atrocities, it does not remain neutral. It tacitly affirms which forms of harm are deemed legitimate, which crises disrupt professional practice, and which do not. It teaches us, implicitly and explicitly, that some suffering is too political to name.

This has consequences. If our safeguarding frameworks are only operational when harm is deemed non-political, then they are not safeguarding frameworks at all. They are tools of moral selectivity that erode public trust and hollow out our credibility. As psychologists, we cannot credibly champion trauma-informed practice while excusing institutional silence in the face of mass trauma.

Silence is also pedagogical. It teaches students, supervisees, and clients that some lives fall outside the boundaries of care. It models a form of moral risk-aversion that rewards neutrality over responsibility. And it undermines the ethical codes we claim to uphold, not because we disagree with them, but because we apply them selectively, in ways shaped by political convenience rather than moral urgency.

We all know that psychology cannot be apolitical. But when the stakes involve the systematic destruction of a civilian population, nearly half of whom are children, professional neutrality is not only inadequate. It is complicit.
The cost of selective morality: What are we teaching the next generation?

When educational and psychological frameworks respond selectively to harm, that selectivity does not go unnoticed by children and young people. They see which injustices are named in classrooms and which are ignored. They observe which victims are centred in teaching, mental health campaigns, and safeguarding policies, and which are omitted entirely. This is not a peripheral issue. It is a formative lesson in moral development.

Psychological research consistently shows that children's moral reasoning is shaped not just by abstract rules, but by their observations of adult behaviour and institutional values (Carlo et al., 2018; Wainryb & Recchia, 2012). In my own work, children spoke about fairness as intervening when someone is excluded, and kindness as helping others even when it is difficult. They described defending others as an ethical action, especially when power dynamics made it risky (Pervez & Galea, 2024). These are not simplistic accounts. They reveal a nuanced moral agency grounded in relational justice, responsibility, and emotional courage.

Yet the messages children receive from adults often contradict these values. In schools and psychological settings, we encourage young people to challenge bullying, stand against discrimination, and practise empathy. At the same time, they witness the silence surrounding Gaza, the obliteration of schools, hospitals, and homes; the deaths of thousands of children; the absence of grief or outrage in the institutions that claim to protect young lives. They hear adults speak of trauma-informed care while watching tens of thousands of traumatised children left unacknowledged.

The result is not just silence. It is a distortion of what empathy means. It becomes what Spivak (1988) called epistemic violence: the erasure not only of knowledge, but of who is permitted to be known, mourned, or protected. When we avoid naming atrocities, we do not shield children from harm, we distort their understanding of justice and reinforce the idea that some lives are less worthy of care.

A recent study exploring children's views on global inequality found that many young participants questioned why certain kinds of suffering prompted collective action, while other forms were ignored (Cowell et al., 2016). Their responses reflected what many adults may be unwilling to confront: institutional morality is not universal. It is shaped by race, geopolitics, and the discomfort of complicity.

The implications are serious. Avoiding Gaza in our classrooms, therapy spaces, and research does not neutralise the issue, it reinforces the disposability of some children. When empathy is taught without accountability, and values are proclaimed without application, we risk producing a form of professional ethics that is emotionally compelling but morally hollow.

If we ask children to show courage, compassion, and fairness, then we must be prepared to do the same. Our silence does not protect them. It teaches them who matters, and who does not.
From grief to accountability: What can Psychologists do?

Grief without accountability is not enough. It is possible to mourn injustice, even to name it, without disrupting the systems and silences that allow it to continue. For psychology, and for child-centred professions more broadly, the question now is not whether we care. It is whether we are willing to act.

The conditions in Gaza have obliterated the basic structures that child development depends on. A joint report by Save the Children (2024) describes Gaza's education system as having 'completely collapsed'. More than 625,000 children are now out of school, and entire generations face the long-term consequences of trauma, displacement, malnutrition, and injury. These outcomes are not natural consequences of conflict. They are the avoidable result of sustained and targeted state violence, and they demand a coordinated response from those who claim to protect children's wellbeing.

So what might that response look like?

1. Align professional ethics with political reality
Psychologists must insist that safeguarding principles and trauma-informed care apply universally, even, and especially, when the source of harm is politically charged. The BPS Code of Ethics commits us to social justice, respect, and integrity (BPS, 2021), yet those values risk being diluted when applied unevenly across global contexts.

The BPS's October 2023 statement rightly expressed concern for the psychological toll of the Israel-Gaza conflict and offered resources to support members working with those affected. These efforts are not insignificant. But the statement's neutral framing, guided by Charity Commission constraints, fails to convey the scale, structure, and enduring nature of the harm experienced by Palestinian children.

This is not about taking sides. It is about taking seriously the profession's commitment to child welfare, especially when children are unprotected, ungrieved, and structurally abandoned by the very systems meant to defend their rights. Our concern for all children must be credible. That means being willing to speak clearly about those who are being failed most severely. That is not a departure from psychological ethics, it is their most necessary expression.

2. Centre war-affected children in research and practice
Psychological research on war-affected children too often treats trauma as an isolated outcome, detached from the political and structural conditions that produce and sustain it. While frameworks of resilience and recovery are valuable, they risk glossing over the lived realities of children surviving occupation, siege, or forced displacement. Scholars such as Veronese and Castiglioni (2013) have long argued for approaches that situate these experiences within broader histories of dispossession, resistance, and survival.

This lens is not only relevant to Gaza. In Sudan, Haiti, Yemen, Afghanistan, and other contexts, children continue to face catastrophic violence amid institutional collapse and international neglect. Yet Gaza stands apart in its combination of real-time visibility, record-level child death tolls, and the absence of coordinated protection. Nowhere else have so many children died so quickly, with so little professional outcry from disciplines that claim to prioritise child wellbeing.

To centre war-affected children in research and practice demands more than clinical assessment. It requires ethical, community-embedded work that resists sanitised narratives and addresses the political conditions shaping children's lives. This is not about weighing one tragedy against another. It is about ensuring that complexity does not become an excuse for silence or neutrality.

3. Create space for critical dialogue in education and training
Avoiding Gaza in teaching and supervision does not protect students, it silences them. Psychologists working in academic and educational settings can incorporate critical pedagogy, support student-led discussion, and challenge the institutional discomfort that treats Palestine as unspeakable. As Tuck and Gorlewski (2015) argue, 'neutrality is not possible in the presence of injustice'.

4. Use your platform and networks
Not every psychologist works in international policy, but all of us can support campaigns for ceasefire, humanitarian access, and child protection. We can donate to trusted organisations such as Medical Aid for Palestinians (MAP), the Palestine Children's Relief Fund (PCRF), and UNRWA. We can advocate for displaced Palestinian students to access temporary placements or remote learning. These are small actions, but they signal that children's lives matter, and that our ethics are not performative.

Psychology cannot end a war. But it can refuse to be complicit.
What will be remembered

In recent months, I've been called brave for speaking out, for naming what is happening to children in Gaza, and for challenging the silence of our professional communities. But telling the truth about child death and state violence should not require bravery. It should be the norm. The fact that it carries reputational risk, professional discomfort, or institutional unease tells us everything about how fragile our ethics have become.

Standing up for children should never feel like a career gamble. And yet, for many psychologists, educators, and researchers, it does. The moral cost of that silence is not only borne by those of us who feel it; it is borne by the children who are erased, the students who notice our omissions, and the next generation of professionals who will learn from our example. Our silence is not neutral. It is pedagogical. It teaches by omission.

But the burden of moral courage is not equally distributed. For those of us who are racialised, visibly Muslim, early-career, or precariously employed, the risks of speaking out are sharper and more enduring. Solidarity cannot mean expecting the most vulnerable to carry the heaviest load.

These are not abstract questions for me. They surface in day-to-day professional life: in students' whispered questions about whether they're allowed to speak; in meetings where Palestine is avoided; in the quiet discomfort of ethics review boards that pretend it isn't happening. For those of us who teach dignity, justice, and care as core values, the silence becomes unbearable. And morally incoherent.

In interviews with children, I've listened to young people describe what it means to be fair: to stand up for others, even when it's difficult. They didn't need ethical training to understand what solidarity looks like. They already knew. The question is: do we?

Psychology cannot claim to protect children if it is only willing to do so selectively. This is not about slogans. It is about the daily, often unseen ways we model our values: in what we publish, what we teach, and what we refuse to name. Palestinian children are not collateral. They are not too complex or too controversial to grieve. They are children, entitled to safety, dignity, and care.

When the war ends, and it will, the children will remember who saw them, who spoke for them, and who turned away. So will history. Our journals, our classrooms, and our professional statements will remain as evidence of what we chose to confront, and what we chose to ignore.

This is not a call to heroism. It is a call to integrity.Dr Aneeza Pervez is a socio-developmental psychologist whose research focuses on prosociality, belonging, and moral reasoning in childhood. Her work explores the intersection of psychology, morality, education, and social justice. She is a Teaching Associate in Psychology, University of Nottingham, and Betty Behrens Research Fellow Elect, Clare Hall, University of Cambridge. aneeza.pervez@nottingham.ac.uk
References

American Psychological Association. (2024). APA calls for immediate and permanent ceasefire in Gaza and Israel.

Barber, B. K. (Ed.). (2009). Adolescents and war: How youth deal with political violence. Oxford University Press.

British Psychological Society. (2018). Safeguarding children and young people: Roles and competencies for psychologists.

British Psychological Society. (2021). Code of Ethics and Conduct.

British Psychological Society. (2023). Psychological support during conflict: BPS statement.

Burman, E. (2020). Developments: Child, image, nation (2nd ed.). Routledge.

Butler, J. (2009). Frames of war: When is life grievable? Verso.

Carlo, G., White, R. M. B., Streit, C., Knight, G. P., & Zeiders, K. H. (2018). Longitudinal relations among parenting styles, prosocial behaviors, and academic outcomes in U.S. Mexican adolescents. Child Development, 89(2), 577–592.

Cowell, J. M., Lee, K., Malcolm-Smith, S., Selcuk, B., Zhou, X., & Decety, J. (2016). The development of generosity and moral cognition across five cultures. Developmental Science, 20(4), e12403.

Eidelson, R. (2024, October 23). The American Psychological Association is abandoning its commitment to human rights by refusing to speak out on Palestine. Mondoweiss. Retrieved from [Mondoweiss].

Nsamenang, A. B., & Lo-Oh, J. L. (2010). Afrique Noire. In M. H. Bornstein (Ed.), Handbook of cultural developmental science (pp. 383–407). Psychology Press.

Pervez, A. (2025). Witnessing silence: the Palestinian genocide, institutional complicity, and the politics of knowledge. Globalisation, Societies and Education, 1–18.

Pervez, A., & Galea., E. (2024). Primary Schools: Spaces for children's social and emotional learning. Psychology of Education Review, 48(1), 68-76.

Qouta, S., Punamäki, R.-L., & El Sarraj, E. (2008). Child development and family mental health in war and military violence: The Palestinian experience. International Journal of Behavioral Development, 32(4), 310–321.

Save the Children. (2024, 16 April). Education under attack in Gaza, with nearly 90% of school buildings damaged or destroyed.

Spivak, G. C. (1988). Can the subaltern speak? In C. Nelson & L. Grossberg (Eds.), Marxism and the interpretation of culture (pp. 271–313). University of Illinois Press.

Tuck, E., & Gorlewski, J. (2015). Racist ordering, settler colonialism, and edTPA: A participatory policy analysis. Educational Policy, 30(1), 197–217.

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UNICEF. (2025, January 15). Statement by UNICEF Executive Director Catherine Russell on the announcement of a ceasefire in the Gaza Strip.

UNICEF. (2025b, May 27). 'Unimaginable horrors': More than 50,000 children reportedly killed or injured in the Gaza Strip [Statement by UNICEF Regional Director for the Middle East and North Africa, Edouard Beigbeder].

Veronese, G., & Castiglioni, M. (2013). 'When the doors of Hell close': Dimensions of well-being and positive adjustment in a group of Palestinian children living amidst military and political violence. Childhood, 22(1).

Wainryb, C., & Recchia, H. E. (2012). Moral development in culture: Diversity, tolerance, and justice. In M. Killen & J. Smetana (Eds.), Handbook of moral development (2nd ed., pp. 433–458). Psychology Press.

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SOURCE:

https://www.bps.org.uk/psychologist/what-if-they-were-ours(accessed 1.8.25)

Gender creative parenting: a conversation with Kyl Myers

Gender creative parenting: a conversation with Kyl Myers

Podcast:

https://www.alexiantaffi.com/podcast

SOURCE:

https://www.alexiantaffi.com/podcast(accessed 29.07.25)

Is there a psychological vaccine against untruths?

Psychologist Greta Arancia Sanna asks what keeps us clinging to misinformation and if psychology can help us to loosen our grip.

17 July 2025


The other day, I was in the back of a cab on my way to King's Cross, staring out at the quiet hum of London in the early morning light. To keep myself awake, I struck up a conversation with the driver, commenting on the Senegalese election updates playing softly on the radio. He immediately lit up, eager to talk about his home country, which he had left seven years ago to study pharmacology. We chatted about the highs and lows of integrating into a new country, the challenges of being away from home, and eventually, the conversation turned to the pandemic. And then he said it.

He told me he didn't believe in the Covid-19 vaccine. That it had catastrophic side effects, that people were dying from it, that the government was covering it up. He insisted the vaccine hadn't been tested long enough, that it caused autism, and that he would never take it.

I was caught off guard. Here was someone educated in pharmacology, a field deeply rooted in scientific evidence, and yet he was repeating widely debunked claims. I wanted to counter with data, peer-reviewed studies, reports from medical institutions. But before I could, King's Cross came into view.

As I boarded the Eurostar, I couldn't stop thinking about that conversation. Was he simply irrational? Or was something else at play?
Can we really believe what we want?

Beliefs have fascinated researchers for years, especially when they appear to be resistant to change. We often assume people believe what is convenient for them and refuse to update their views when faced with valid evidence. But can we choose what to believe? If I asked you to close your eyes and convince yourself that the Earth is flat, you'd probably find it impossible. Even if you repeated it over and over, you couldn't truly believe something you know to be false.

And yet, in other domains, particularly those tied to politics, health, or identity, beliefs can seem remarkably entrenched. Climate change deniers, for example, are often accused of ignoring overwhelming scientific evidence. But misinformation isn't limited to extreme cases. Many of us have, at some point, unknowingly believed false claims; like the myth that sugar makes kids hyperactive or that we only use 10% of our brains. These ideas persist, not because people deliberately choose to ignore the facts, but because repetition and familiarity can make falsehoods feel intuitively true (Lewandowsky et al., 2017).

The Continued Influence Effect (CIE) suggests that people continue to rely on misinformation even after it has been corrected because once misinformation fills a gap in our mental model, it's hard to erase. If we accept that a widely publicised claim is false, we are left without a satisfying alternative explanation, and the original, even if incorrect, remains cognitively comfortable (Rich & Zaragoza, 2016).
The role of source credibility in belief updating

As part of my PhD research at University College London (UCL), published in Cognition (Sanna & Lagnado, 2025), I investigated how the perceived reliability of a source affects belief revision. What if people don't reject misinformation because they are incapable of updating their beliefs, but because they don't trust the correction?

In my study, participants were presented with a vignette about a fictional political candidate named Henry Light. Initially well-regarded, Henry is later accused of taking a bribe. Eventually, this accusation is corrected by one of six possible sources: three seen as reliable, including a prosecutor and a government report, and three viewed as unreliable, including a political satire news channel and a celebrity.

Participants were more likely to dismiss the bribery claim when the correction came from a trusted source. When the retraction came from a less reliable one, they held onto the original accusation. In other words, rejecting a correction from a dubious source can be a reasonable judgment, not an irrational one.

In a second version of the study, all sources were identified as prosecutors, but some were described as experienced and reputable, while others had no experience and professional misconduct records. Again, participants only altered their beliefs when the correction came from the more credible source. Moreover, when the initial misinformation came from a highly trusted prosecutor and the correction from a less reliable one, participants continued to rely on the original claim to inform their judgement.

These findings challenge the assumption that people cling to misinformation because they're biased or irrational. Instead, they seem to apply a consistent logic to belief updating, weighing new information based on who delivers it and on previous evidence collected about the claim. In this vein, while people might increase their belief that the bribery occurred if a reliable prosecutor makes and accusation, they also might decrease their perception of the reliability of the prosecutor if she makes a statement, they find unlikely based on what they already know; for example, if they had every reason to believe the politician would not take a bribe.

This rational approach to belief updating is echoed by recent studies using computational models. For example, Connor Desai and colleagues (2020) used Bayesian network models to show that individuals update their beliefs in a way that reflects the perceived diagnosticity of the evidence, rather than simply rejecting inconvenient truths. This was found to be the case even in highly politicised settings (Ecker et al., 2021).
How we can we tackle misinformation?

If we want to tackle misinformation, we need to move beyond simply providing factual corrections. Instead, we should focus on making corrections persuasive by considering:Source credibility – Are corrections coming from sources people already trust?
Worldview – Is the message aligned with individuals' pre-existing beliefs?
Alternative explanations – If misinformation is filling a knowledge gap, what better explanation can we offer?

Recent studies on AI-driven belief correction show that when people engage in personalised, evidence-based dialogue, even with a machine, they are willing to revise entrenched views (Costello et al., 2024). This suggests that the format and tone of a correction matter as much as the facts themselves.

Interventions could also focus on building long-term trust in institutions. A global survey found that 83% of respondents believe scientists should communicate their work to the public, and 52% favour greater involvement in policymaking (Cologna et al., 2025). This points to a strong public appetite for science engagement. Efforts like community science events, transparent policymaking, and accessible communication can help bridge the credibility gap.
Is there a psychological vaccine against untruths?

One promising strategy is 'prebunking': pre-emptively exposing people to the techniques used to spread misinformation. Much like a vaccine, these interventions help people build mental defences before they encounter false claims. For example, Lewandowsky and Van Der Linden (2021) developed short videos that warn viewers about misleading tactics like emotional manipulation or false consensus. These videos have been shown to reduce susceptibility to misinformation.

Researchers have also designed interactive tools like the Go Viral! game, where players take on the role of a misinformer to learn how fake news spreads. By actively participating in the creation of misinformation in a controlled setting, players become better at spotting deceptive tactics in real life. This 'active inoculation' approach has been shown to significantly reduce belief in false claims. That said, one key limitation of these findings is that, while the techniques might reduce individuals' susceptibility to fake news, they don't necessarily improve true versus fake news discernment, which might lead to scepticism towards all news, independent of their veracity. These initiatives not only need to reduce our belief in fake news, but they should also avoid reducing our beliefs in true news.

When it comes to misinformed beliefs, it is crucial not to be persuaded by overly simplistic initiatives that view information as uniquely beneficial or harmful. Beliefs are not independent entities but constellations of complex networks and no one-size-fits-all solution will solve all our problems. Which brings us to our final point.
Critical thinking and epistemic humility

Beyond prebunking, we should support broader efforts to foster critical thinking and what psychologists call epistemic humility: the ability to recognise our own limits and remain open to the possibility that we might be wrong (Karabegovic & Mercier, 2024).

One effective method is early education in media literacy. Programmes like the Stanford Civic Online Reasoning curriculum teaches students to evaluate online information by checking other sources and reading laterally (McGrew et al., 2019). Brief interventions, as short as one hour, have been shown to improve students' ability to resist misinformation.

These skills are not just about identifying errors. They build a mindset of curiosity, reflection, and self-correction; key traits in an age of information overload. Cultivating these habits early could help create a generation better equipped to navigate a complex and often misleading digital world (Lewandowsky et al., 2017).

Thinking back to my conversation with the cab driver, I doubt anything I said in that moment would have convinced him to get vaccinated. But I also don't believe his mind is beyond changing. His scepticism was coming not from blind denial, but from a lack of trust in the sources promoting vaccination. If he were presented with persuasive, credible evidence from someone he trusted, I believe he could change his mind.

And if that's the case, perhaps the way we fight misinformation needs to change too.

Greta Sanna is a PhD student in Experimental Psychology working with the Psychology and Language Sciences department (PALS) at UCL.


Further ReadingCologna, V., Mede, N. G., Berger, S., Besley, J., Brick, C., Joubert, M., ... & Metag, J. (2025). Trust in scientists and their role in society across 68 countries. Nature Human Behaviour, 1-18.
Connor Desai, S. A., Pilditch, T. D., & Madsen, J. K. (2020). The rational continued influence of misinformation. Cognition, 205, 104453. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cognition.2020.104453
Costello, T. H., Pennycook, G., & Rand, D. G. (2024). Durably reducing conspiracy beliefs through dialogues with AI. Science, 385(6714), eadq1814. https://doi.org/10.1126/science.adq1814
Festinger, L. (1957). A Theory of Cognitive Dissonance. Stanford University Press.
Guillory, J. J., & Geraci, L. (2010). The persistence of inferences in memory for younger and older adults: Remembering facts and believing inferences. Psychonomic Bulletin & Review, 17(1), 73–81. https://doi.org/10.3758/PBR.17.1.73
Harris, A. J. L., Hahn, U., Madsen, J. K., & Hsu, A. S. (2016). The Appeal to Expert Opinion: Quantitative Support for a Bayesian Network Approach. Cognitive Science, 40(6), 1496–1533. https://doi.org/10.1111/cogs.12276
Johnson, H. M., & Seifert, C. M. (1994). Sources of the continued influence effect: When misinformation in memory affects later inferences. Journal of Experimental Psychology: Learning, Memory, and Cognition, 20(6), 1420–1436.
Johnson, M. K., Hashtroudi, S., & Lindsay, D. S. (1993). Source monitoring. Psychological Bulletin, 114(1), 3–28.
Karabegovic, M., & Mercier, H. (2024). The reputational benefits of intellectual humility. Review of Philosophy and Psychology, 15(2), 483-498.
Kunda, Z. (1990). The case for motivated reasoning. Psychological Bulletin, 108(3), 480–498.
Lewandowsky, S., & Van Der Linden, S. (2021). Countering misinformation and fake news through inoculation and prebunking. European review of social psychology, 32(2), 348-384.
Lewandowsky, S., Ecker, U. K. H., & Cook, J. (2017). Beyond Misinformation: Understanding and Coping with the "Post-Truth" Era. Journal of Applied Research in Memory and Cognition, 6(4), 353–369.
Lewandowsky, S., Stritzke, W. G. K., Oberauer, K., & Morales, M. (2005). Memory for fact, fiction, and misinformation. Psychological Science, 16(3), 190–195. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.0956-7976.2005.00802.x
Madsen, J. (2016). Trump supported it?! A Bayesian source credibility model applied to appeals to specific American presidential candidates' opinions. Cognitive Science. https://www.semanticscholar.org/paper/Trump-supportedit!-A-Bayesian-source-credibilityMadsen/ccdbba50f93e81fdcb88b94828d68a760568d367
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Merdes, C., von Sydow, M., & Hahn, U. (2021). Formal models of source reliability. Synthese, 198(23), 5773– 5801. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11229-020-02595-2 Nyhan, B., & Reifler, J. (2010). When corrections fail: The persistence of political misperceptions. Political Behavior, 32(3), 303–330. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11109-010-9112- 2
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Sanna, G. A., & Lagnado, D. (2025). Belief updating in the face of misinformation: The role of source reliability. Cognition, 258, 106090. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cognition.2024.106090
Sommer, J., Musolino, J., & Hemmer, P. (2024). Updating, evidence evaluation, and operator availability: A theoretical framework for understanding belief. Psychological Review, 131(2), 373.

SOURCE:

https://www.bps.org.uk/psychologist/there-psychological-vaccine-against-untruths(accessed 28.07.25)

TikTok science is making you overconfident

Easy-to-understand shortform science videos can lead people to overestimate their scientific abilities, according to a new study.

14 July 2025

By Emily Reynolds



Presenting complex material clearly is a key part of good science communications: a way for the general public, who may lack the high-level knowledge of experts, to understand and engage with important (or even just interesting) scientific information. With TikTok, Instagram Reels, YouTube, and other platforms, scientists and science communicators have ready-made audiences with whom to share their knowledge.

Simplifying scientific material too much in order to fit the short video format, however, may have unintended consequences. That's according to a new study in Frontiers Psychology, led by the University of Cologne's Sara Salzmann. Her team looks at short, entertaining online science videos, finding that the most easily understood video summaries can lead people to feel more confident in their own ability to evaluate the study themselves, even if they had no specialist knowledge.

Participants were 179 university students, mostly in their mid-20s and from non-psychology disciplines, to avoid specialist knowledge of the topics covered in the study. They were randomly assigned to watch one of two types of animated videos based on real psychology studies: either plain language summaries using everyday language, or scientific abstracts using academic terminology. Half of the participants in each group also watched a short educational video beforehand which explained the 'easiness effect', a common bias where people are more likely to trust information that's easier to understand, as well as overestimate their understanding of the study.

Each participant viewed four videos from their assigned condition, then rated how credible they found the research, how confident they felt in judging its accuracy, and how likely they were to seek more information, comment, or share the video online. By comparing responses between the groups, the researchers aimed to understand whether simplified videos disproportionately inflated people's confidence, and whether the de-biasing video would help to reduce that effect by giving participants context for their self-belief.

The results found that the plain language summaries did lead to a better understanding of scientific content, and were also seen as more credible. There was also evidence of the 'easiness effect', with participants also having greater confidence in their ability to evaluate the study themselves after watching these plain language summaries — regardless of whether or not they had been made aware of the bias beforehand.

Interestingly, however, participants were not more likely to make decisions like sharing content based on plain language summaries. This, the team says, suggests a more general caution about actually acting on scientific information without further input: "making decisions involves a certain level of commitment, which participants might have been hesitant to express," they write.

The study had a few limitations, the first of which is that intentions were self-reported and may not actually reflect real world behaviour. The sample was also undiverse, made up of highly educated young people, and other variables were also unaccounted for: political orientation or prior trust in science and social media weren't explored but may have influenced results. Future research could explore these factors.

Overall, however, the study's results do suggest that short, plain language animated videos may be an incredibly useful tool for disseminating scientific content and enhancing the engagement of the general public. We may need to be cautious too, though: while making science easier to understand can boost trust and accessibility, it may also lead people to overestimate their ability to critically evaluate research, potentially fuelling the spread of misinformation. Going forward, researchers may want to explore what shapes how people respond to scientific content — and to ensure that efforts to make science more accessible don't come at the cost of genuine understanding.

Read the paper in full:
Salzmann, S., Walther, C., & Kaspar, K. (2025). A new dimension of simplified science communication: the easiness effect of science popularization in animated video abstracts. Frontiers in Psychology, 16. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2025.1584695

SOURCE:

https://www.bps.org.uk/research-digest/tiktok-science-making-you-overconfident(accessed 18.7.25)

Students’ personalities change over the course of semesters

A new study finds students become less conscientious, open, and agreeable as term time wears on.

10 July 2025

By Emily Reynolds



Those that go to university or college often feel like they rapidly grow into new versions of themselves in this new and challenging environment. As such, the extent to which being in a fresh educational landscape causes shifts in our personality, and how, is the subject of some research interest.

Proponents of the Personality Stability Perspective believe that personality doesn't change all that much, with shifts only really perceivable when we observe traits over years. On the flip side, the Situational Perspective posits that there's variation in our personalities day-to-day, and even hour-to-hour, depending on the situational context we find ourselves in. Those who look at personality from a developmental standpoint also point to evidence that personality traits shift as we mature — especially as we adapt to social role changes when we reach adulthood and navigate transitional periods.

Writing in Frontiers in Psychology, Stephanie M. Anglin and colleagues put these perspectives head to head, investigating a particularly relevant period for potential personality change: the first semester of the school year. They discover that student personality does shift as they transition to college life, along with changes in wellbeing, social support, and health behaviours — insights that could prove useful for educators and universities seeking to better support student mental health.

Participants were 282 U.S. college students, recruited during the autumn term of 2023, who completed surveys at two points: early (weeks 2–3) and two-thirds through the semester (weeks 8–9). At each point, they completed the Big Five Inventory (a measure of five core aspects of personality), as well as reported on various aspects of their wellbeing and social life, health behaviours, academic engagement, and extracurricular activities.

In a finding which may not shock many students, participants' wellbeing seemed to decline across the semester, with students reporting feeling less happy and satisfied, and more stressed as time wore on. Their sleep and exercise routines also suffered, though the health of their diets remained the same across both timepoints.

Perhaps surprisingly, though, students didn't report spending any more time studying as the term progressed (though they were more likely to be absent from class). In general, they also spent less time with friends, their social support suffered, and relationship conflict rose. Personality traits were consistently related to these changes: more neurotic students were more stressed and less happy, while the more extraverted and conscientious had better wellbeing and healthier habits.

When comparing data from early and late semester, the team observed some changes in participants' Big Five personality scores. The dimensions of neuroticism and extraversion largely stayed the same, but students showed meaningful decreases in conscientiousness (as the Situational Perspective would predict, with students getting increasingly comfortable with their new situation), openness, and agreeableness. These changes to openness and agreeableness, the authors share, were unpredicted by all three existing theories of short term personality change.

While it's difficult to pinpoint exactly what might lead to such a shift, the authors suggest that it could be down to students starting the term with greater openness to new environments and relationships, and this enthusiasm may gradually taper off over time. Or, they suggest, it could be that the increasing social and academic demands of college life start to undermine these traits.

Interestingly, there was significant variability between participants: though overall trends did point to specific shifts, students differed in the degree to which their personalities actually changed, suggesting that some may be more reactive to situational pressures than others. Future research could explore what individual, social, and structural factors help explain these differences.

Despite being interesting, the findings should be interpreted carefully, the team warns. Participants were asked to reflect on their personality "over the past week", meaning their responses may have been shaped by extremely short-term changes in mood or memory. The study also had some selection bias: students who dropped out after the first survey tended to report much more negative experiences, meaning the final sample may not be fully representative.

Still, the research offers valuable insights into the pressures students face at a key transitional moment: while short-term declines in some traits may reflect temporary disruptions, they don't necessarily signal longer-term problems. Recognising these patterns may help educators, mental health professionals, and institutions better support students through the ebb and flow of academic life.

Read the paper in full:
Anglin, S. M., Rubinstein, R. S., Haraden, D. A., Otten, C. D., Mangracina, B., & Shaw, K. M. (2025). Personality stability and change across the academic semester. Frontiers in Psychology, 16. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2025.1531794

SOURCE:

https://www.bps.org.uk/research-digest/students-personalities-change-over-course-semesters(accessed 18.07.25)

When you love someone with a mental illness or history of trauma

Daughter/mother, clinical psychologist/advocate-educator team Michelle D Sherman (PhD LP ABPP; pictured, left) and DeAnne M Sherman (right), with a new resource.

11 June 2025


Loving someone with a mental illness or history of trauma can be challenging and demanding. When your loved one is doing well, you may feel calm and hopeful; however, watching them struggle can be immensely painful. You may dedicate a lot of time and energy to supporting your loved one, and it can be easy to neglect your own feelings and needs. Further, many families suffer in silence which can magnify confusion, isolation, and pain.

We, a daughter/mother, clinical psychologist/advocate-educator team in Minnesota (USA), have been creating resources for families for 20 years. Our new release, Loving someone with a mental illness or history of trauma: Skills, hope, and strength for your journey (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2025) aims to educate, comfort, validate, and empower families.

It's a book for family members and friends who care about an adult who has a mental illness or has experienced trauma. We specifically address major depression, bipolar disorder, anxiety, schizophrenia, and posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
Why did we write this book?

We ground this book in both our personal lived experiences and in Michelle's 30+ years of clinical experience working with individuals, couples, and families who live with a variety of mental illnesses.

In my (Michelle)'s work across diverse settings, including as the director of the Family Mental Health Program in a VA Medical Center, I have been repeatedly struck by how many family members/friends feel invisible. They frequently work tirelessly to support their loved one, but their experience and efforts are often ignored.

Inspired by this awareness and desiring to help, in the late 1990s I created family education programs regarding mental illness/PTSD. In facilitating these group sessions, I was in awe of what transpired among these families, including the power of connection, the ability to be understood, and the knowledge that they are not alone. Group participants were often hungry to learn new skills and to both give and receive support from other families.

For a wide variety of reasons, many caregivers never access a support group or therapist. Stigma, schedules, access, insurance coverage, waiting lists, and lack of awareness are but a few of the barriers that keep people from getting support.

I wanted to try to emulate and translate some of the in-person experiences into a book format, hoping to broaden access to the skills, information, and sense of feeling seen. So, I approached my mother (an advocate and educator) and asked her to join me in the writing process… and she said yes! Loving someone with a mental illness or history of trauma is the result of our collaboration and reflects our commitment to seeing and supporting caregivers. We hope readers experience it as a 'support group in a book', as it is filled with not only research-based skills, but passages from families with lived experience who generously allowed us to share their stories in their own words.

Equally importantly in our writing process, we drew upon our own lived experiences as we journey with family members and friends who have a mental illness or have experienced trauma. Our lived experiences inform every angle of our work; they highlight the considerable gap in the available resources, ignite and sustain our passion, motivate us to produce the best possible work, and make our writing especially meaningful.
How is our book different?

Although many valuable books explain various aspects of mental illness, we wrote this book specifically for family members/friends… providing hope and strength for their journey. It's important for caregivers to be seen and to have their experience validated.

We offer opportunities to reflect on thoughts and feelings, including open-ended questions, interactive activities, and checklists. Writing can provide a chance to name, organise, and process experiences. Research has found many benefits of writing about deeply personal emotions and thoughts, such as decreasing blood pressure, strengthening your immune system, decreasing depression and anxiety, and improving sleep and overall well-being. Writing can also provide the opportunity to find deeper meaning in the challenges and perhaps understand the situation from a new perspective.
No easy solutions

We do not strive to provide all the answers; easy solutions simply don't exist for complicated situations. However, we do offer a great deal of information, empowering and practical skills, up-to-date resources, and optional interactive activities to guide you in reflecting on your feelings and experiences. The information and recommendations are grounded in research, in principles of self-compassion, and in the evidence-based therapy models of cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT) and Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT).

Specifically, readers can:Learn tools to cope with difficult emotions
Reflect on strategies to empower your loved one
Acquire skills for strengthening your relationship with your loved one, including communication and limit-setting skills
Consider how stigma and discrimination around mental illness have affected you and your loved one
Learn strategies to support your children and help them cope effectively
Explore ways of managing common challenges, such as when your loved one declines professional help or misuses alcohol or drugs
Understand how your loved one's traumatic experiences can impact you and your relationship, and how the two of you can work together as a team
Find ways to build your personal resilience and be compassionate with yourself

In summary, we balance straightforward, research-based information and recommendations with an empathic voice to attempt to connect with both minds and hearts. We strive to create a space in which readers can move beyond simply learning facts to courageously and honestly looking at their experience. In addition to presenting strategies grounded in science, we offer recommendations and tools that have helped other families.
What about the kids?

We have also been writing books for 20 years for teens whose parent manages a mental illness or history of trauma. These young people are at increased risk of developing mental health problems themselves, but are sadly often invisible. Our most recent book, I'm not alone: A teen's guide to living with a parent who has a mental illness or history of trauma (2nd edition, 2024), helps to fill the significant gap in resources for these youth. To learn more, see sample pages, and check out other resources we have developed, see our website.







What follows is an extract from Loving Someone with a Mental Illness or History of Trauma by Michelle D. Sherman, PhD, ABPP, and DeAnne M. Sherman. Copyright 2025. Published with permission of Johns Hopkins University Press.


Eight ways to support your kids and help them cope



Figuring out how care for your partner, your kids, and yourself can be a lot to juggle, especially during rocky times. The good news is that kids are pretty resilient! The majority of children raised in families managing a mental illness do well. Research has found that resilient children tend to have strong social support, a sense of purpose, hope and optimism, active coping skills, a sense of belonging, good problem-solving skills, and the ability to regulate their emotions. So, although having a parent with a mental illness can be a bumpy road, most children cope effectively.

However, we know that these youth are at higher risk for developing emotional problems themselves. It's impossible to predict if any particular child will develop a mental illness because so many different factors come into play. Importantly, parents can take specific steps to help their kids, including teaching them how to understand and cope with feelings, recognizing early signs of more serious problems, and seeking treatment early. All of these steps can help children's long-term well-being.

Although an in-depth exploration of how to support children is beyond the scope of this book, we offer eight suggestions to help you as parents and to foster resilience in your kids.Take care of yourself. The single best thing you can do as a parent is to take care of your own well-being. Being good to yourself helps you be present for your kids. You are being a good parent when you are intentional about self-care. Not only are you improving yourself, but you are also being a good role model for your child. So, instead of feeling guilty for doing that yoga class after work, remember that committing this time for yourself is actually good for everyone!
Spend time alone with your child regularly. It can be helpful to schedule one on one time with your child on a regular basis. Your child can look forward to that quality time together. Although you may occasionally have serious conversations, dedicating this time to playing, having fun, and hanging out can strengthen your relationship. Of course, what you do together and the frequency of the shared time depend on their developmental level. (Some teenagers are most ready to talk at midnight!) You know your child and can suggest activities they will enjoy doing with you.
Talk openly about the mental illness and offer information in bite-size chunks, using language your kids can understand. Children are perceptive. Although they may not fully understand what they see and feel, they usually sense when someone is struggling. As children fear what they don't understand and often blame themselves, it's important for them to know what is going on. We believe it's important to be open and honest, using developmentally appropriate language. By naming and openly talking about the situation, you also have the opportunity to discuss how it's impacting them.

Because these conversations can be awkward, you may want to ask for help from a professional, a family member, or a friend. Resources listed at the end of this chapter can help you with these discussions.Listen and encourage your kids to share their feelings and questions. When you name the mental illness as the elephant in the living room, you open the door for children to share their feelings and ask questions. Although you may plan topics to address in specific conversations, your child may also raise the subject at random times, perhaps on the way to school or at bedtime. Be open to ongoing dialogue, and let them know you want to hear what they're thinking and feeling. The questions kids have and their reactions to mental illness change over time, so your explanations need to shift accordingly.

As a parent, you may not know all the answers or what to say, and that's OK! You may consult with a professional or family member to think through how to respond. As children discuss and begin to understand their parent's illness, they may develop greater compassion and empathy for others, and may begin to appreciate that life can be uncertain at times.Offer reassurance. In addition to being honest about the fact that your family is dealing with some challenges, it's important to offer reassurance. Although you decide what is appropriate for your unique situation, some helpful messages include

You're not alone. Over 1 in 20 American adults has a mental illness like your mom or dad. Many families are affected.

You didn't cause your parent's illness, and it's not your fault.

We see you. We realize this situation affects you. We want to support you.Create a support team for your children, possibly including their own therapist. Your partner's mental illness can consume a lot of time and energy, which can result in your having less to give to your kids. Encourage your children to spend time with other kids and to explore their interests outside the home.

You may also be intentional about creating a support team which may include their own individual therapist. Many other people can also help your children, such as family members, friends, faith leaders/elders, and community members such as coaches, teachers, and neighbors. These adults might create a regular ritual with your child (such as shooting hoops or getting ice cream together) or they may make themselves available when times are especially rough.

Are there adults in your kids' lives who are especially supportive? If so, who?
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

If not, who in your support network might be able to be there for your kids? Might
you consider reaching out and asking them to be part of your team?
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________________________________When a crisis arises, ask for help.

What's helpful for you and your children when things are especially rough at home?_____________________________________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Remember, you don't have to go through hard times alone. Asking for help takes courage. People often want to support you but just don't know how. Be specific about what they can do to be helpful, such as picking up groceries, dropping the kids off at school, or spending time with your loved one so you can have some time alone.Empower your kids and instill hope. It's important to approach conversations in an honest yet positive manner. Instill confidence in your children that they can manage this difficult situation and have coping tools for the tough times. As a parent, you know that sticking to daily schedules and routines can build resilience, but take breaks and be flexible when needed. Help your children focus on what they have control over.

Children can be comforted by optimistic messages such as

We have doctors, counselors, relatives and friends who are helping us during this
difficult time.

Mental illness is treatable. There are many medications and therapies that can help your parent to feel better. Although we don't have a cure right now, scientists and doctors are developing new treatments all the time.

We've been through hard times as a family before—we can handle this!

Although you can't cure your parent, there are ways you can help and support them. Your parent loves it when you_______________________________ (fill in the blank with small things your child can do, such as give hugs, pick up their room, or send a loving text message).

SOURCE:

https://www.bps.org.uk/psychologist/when-you-love-someone-mental-illness-or-history-trauma(accessed 14.07.25)