Understanding Preschool Students’ Conflicts as a Spiderweb

One morning, children were choosing markers to write their names with. Like many preschool classrooms, we work with a shared set of materials. Mateo asked for the red marker. I told him, “I do not have red right now, but I do have green. You could also ask a friend if they would like to switch.”

Before he could respond, another child said, “What you get is what you get.” Within seconds the moment escalated. Mateo began yelling, threw his green marker to the floor, and pushed a stack of books off the table. When I approached, he shouted, “You’re mean. Leave me alone. You’re not the boss!”

In the past, I might have focused only on stopping the behavior, but the red marker was not really the problem. When we respond only to what we see on the surface, the same conflicts often happen again, but when we look for the thread underneath, we can respond more intentionally. To address the core of conflict, I use a six-step approach I think of as the Spiderweb framework.

6 Steps to Managing preschool conflict

Conflict in preschool classrooms often feels like a spiderweb. Behaviors we see such as yelling, throwing, or refusing to follow directions are only the center of the web. Around those behaviors are many threads. A child may feel frustrated about not getting the red marker. A comment from a friend may add to the moment. The child may be tired or still learning skills like waiting or asking for help. A child may not have slept well the night before. The classroom may feel loud and busy. There may even be a change in routine like a substitute teacher or a different lesson plan. When one of these threads is pulled, the whole web moves.

1. Freeze the web. The first step is to pause the moment. When the books hit the floor, I used brief, neutral language. “Hands safe.” The goal is not to shame the child or take control of the situation. It is to slow things down so we can help the child find another way to express what they need. Once the moment settles, we can begin to problem-solve together.

2. Check the child’s brain state. When Mateo said, “You’re mean. Leave me alone,” I noticed his body language. His shoulders were tight and his voice was sharp. He was clearly upset. At that moment, he wasn’t ready to problem-solve. Young children move between survival, emotional, and thinking brain states throughout the day. When a child is overwhelmed, reasoning doesn’t work. First they need help settling their bodies. Instead of correcting his words right away, I gave him a little space. I stepped back slightly and gave him a moment to settle while staying nearby and emotionally present.

3. Pull one thread. Conflict usually has several pieces, but teachers do not need to solve everything at once. The key is noticing the most important thread in that moment. For example, I once noticed a similar moment when a group of children were waiting for me to make paper airplanes. One child crumpled his paper and said, “Waiting is boring,” then began throwing tape and paper materials around the table. I began thinking about how to support the skill of patience. I started inviting that child into small group games that naturally practice waiting and self-control, like simple card games; Red Light, Green Light; or Doggy, Doggy, Where’s Your Bone?

In the red marker moment, the visible behavior was throwing books. But the deeper thread was frustration about not getting the marker he wanted and hearing another child’s comment. Once I recognized that thread, I knew regulation needed to come first.

4. Regulate first, teach later. As Mateo stood there, I looked at his paper. “I see someone worked really hard on this. Look at the straight line here.” I intentionally paid attention to the effort in his writing instead of the conflict. He looked up. The shift was almost immediate. His breathing slowed and he returned to the table. Then he said, “Can I teach you?” I smiled and said, “Sure. But first, can we talk for a moment?” He nodded. When I asked about the books that had fallen, he quietly picked them up and put them back on the table. Once our learning space was restored, he continued writing and began showing me how he had made the letters in his name. At that point, the color of the marker didn’t matter anymore. He kept writing with the green marker he already had.

Later, when he was calm, we practiced what he could say the next time he wanted something another child had. Instead of yelling or throwing materials, he could say, “Can I use it when you’re finished?” or “Can I have a turn next?” We also talked about how comments from other children can sometimes make a moment feel bigger, like when someone says, “You get what you get.” We practiced ways he could respond, such as saying, “That’s not very kind,” or walking away and choosing something else for the moment.

5. Repair and reenter play. Conflict doesn’t end just because the voices get quieter. Repair is what restores responsibility and relationships. In this moment, I didn’t require an apology. As Mateo’s body settled, I brought his attention back to the books that had fallen, and he began picking them up. The repair happened naturally once he was calm. I also make sure the child knows they still belong in our classroom community. I might say, “I’m proud of you for fixing that,” or “Thank you for helping our classroom.” When children repair and then return to play, they learn that mistakes do not remove them from the community.

6. Seeing the threads beneath the behavior. Another day, during our transition to morning message, Mateo was chasing a friend, clearly not ready to stop playing. I first asked Mateo to come join us, but he kept running. I then asked his friend to stop and wait with me. When Mateo saw that, he suddenly stopped running, looked at me, and said, “You don’t love me anymore. You love my buddy.” Underneath the running was a need for connection and reassurance. Young children sometimes experience limits as a loss of relationship.

I knelt down and reassured him, saying, “I care about both of you. I am glad you are here.” At the same time, I still held the boundary by reminding him that our bodies need to stay safe when it’s time to move to the carpet. Once he settled, Mateo asked if he could sit next to me during morning message, as if making sure the connection between us was still there.