Why does everything happen to me?

My son hurts himself a lot. Not intentionally, of course, but by accident. Thankfully, none of these have been serious injuries, but the small ones? We’ve had plenty. Cuts, scrapes, stubbed toes, splinters, bruises—you name it. Lately, he’s started to notice too. After each one, he’ll cry and ask:

“Why does everything happen to me?”

And each time, I wish I had an easy answer. I could give him a hundred reasons, because there are so many contributing factors, but the truth is, I’m not even sure how to explain it all to him—at least, not until he’s a bit older.

So what are the contributing factors…..for one, my son requires a lot of sensory input. Movement helps him feel calm, and he moves fast—always. He’s a sensory seeker, which means he’s constantly touching, exploring, and engaging with his surroundings.

When we walk anywhere, his hands trail along every surface: walls, benches, fences. At school, there’s a big ramp leading up to the classroom, and while most children walk up without touching it, my son runs his hand all the way along. One day, that ended with the biggest splinter I’ve ever seen. A few weeks later, on holiday, it happened again—three splinters from a small wooden pool fence. And the very next day, there he was, doing it again.

I used to believe in letting children learn from their mistakes. I never baby-proofed cupboards, thinking that once a child trapped their fingers, they’d remember not to do it again. That worked for most kids—but not my son. He’d trap his fingers, cry, and then do it again. Over and over. Eventually, I gave in and bought the locks, because the injuries just kept happening.

Now I understand why: he struggles with executive function and impulsivity. Executive function skills are the brain’s “control centre”—the part that plans ahead, remembers consequences, and stops you before doing something risky. Impulsivity is when the “act now” part of the brain leaps in before the “think first” part can catch up. When these two collide—slower executive function and strong impulsive urges—past experiences don’t automatically guide present choices. And if you add sensory needs and excitement into the mix, the pull to act can completely outweigh the memory of being hurt.

His occupational therapy assessment also highlighted his coordination. And this is where things get confusing. Put a football at his feet, and he’s a different child—running, dribbling, and controlling the ball like a professional. The OT called it “a gift,” a splinter skill—an ability that stands out far above his other skills in the same area. Because in everyday life, he can trip over his own feet just walking down the street. The contrast is striking and, if I’m honest, still baffles me sometimes.

He’ll walk into the kitchen and ask, “Is the kettle hot?” But before I can even answer, he’ll touch it with the back of his hand. He’s done it more than once. I used to wonder, Why does he need to check? Why not just assume it’s hot and avoid it? Now, I pre-empt him—telling him before he asks, or avoiding boiling the kettle when he’s nearby. It’s the same with pans and the hob. Honestly, I get palpitations just cooking while he’s in the room.

And then there’s his speed. He runs everywhere. On holiday, it didn’t matter how many times I told him to slow down around the pool or explained the dangers—he kept running. He didn’t slip, thankfully, but he stubbed his toes over and over. Every single time, it made me want to cry.

By the time your child is seven, you’d think the amount of “just in case” equipment you carry around would have decreased. But with my son, I’m adding to it again. I now carry plasters, wipes, and even ice packs—after a particularly bad fall at a park when a nursery on a day trip kindly came to our rescue with theirs. It’s my way of meeting the world and my son exactly where they’re at: prepared for the scrapes, but also ready to celebrate the adventures that cause them.

So why does everything happen to him? Because he experiences the world fully—more vividly, more quickly, and more fearlessly than most. He notices, touches, moves, and explores in ways that make life both thrilling and a little bumpier. And while that means he’ll have scrapes along the way, it’s also what makes him uniquely him.

He often asks, “Why does everything happen to me?” And I want him to know — it doesn’t. Yes, the falls, the bruises, the cuts happen to him. But so do the goals, the victories, the little moments of joy that leave him beaming. Life is a mix, and just as much as the bumps will come, so will the good things. I want him to see them both. And maybe that is what my answer should be….remind him of all the good things that happen to him.