How to Train Your Dragon and the Art of Accessible Play Therapy

When adaptation becomes relationship

December 3 marks the International Day of Persons with Disabilities, a reminder that accessibility isn’t an afterthought but the foundation of ethical and effective care.

In play therapy, accessibility means more than meeting physical needs. It means designing spaces where all children, including those with disabilities and/or neurodivergent profiles, are valued as whole and complete, and can play, communicate, move through the space and connect authentically and freely without the need to mask or facing any explicit or implicit messaging that their differences are a deficit and something to 'fix'.

Few stories capture that truth as beautifully as How to Train Your Dragon.

When Toothless loses his tail fin, Hiccup doesn’t try to “fix” him. He learns to adapt with him. Their flight depends on collaboration, trust, and mutual regulation - the same cornerstones of accessible therapy. Because accessibility in therapy isn’t charity. It’s co-creation.

Tools that work with, not for

Accessible play therapy tools are like Hiccup’s inventions - flexible offerings that are open-ended and adaptable in their uses with people that come into contact with us.

That might look like:

• Adaptive materials: toys and manipulatives with varied textures, sizes, and grips

• Communication supports: AAC devices, visual schedules, or emotion cards

• Sensory-friendly tools: weighted plushies, soft lighting, and visual timers

• Flexible environments: multiple seating options, quiet corners, and reachable shelves

These adaptations communicate belonging. They say, “You don’t have to earn your place here.”

When our playrooms adapt alongside the people in them, therapy shifts from “making a child fit”, to building something that meets both of our authentic needs.

Rethinking “normal flight”

At first, the people of Berk saw dragons as dangerous and uncontrollable. Then they learned to work with them. Eventually, they built an entirely new world together.

That’s the arc accessibility takes too when we do the work to check in with our own internalized ableist norms and really listen and learn from the disabled and neurodiverse communities and individuals we seek to support.

This allows us to move beyond perceiving differences as problems to manage, and beyond perhaps clunky beginnings of adapting, until we understand and come to embrace on a deep level that difference is the foundation of creativity and connection.

This way, rather than perceiving them as limitations, we can come to value stimming, a prothetic, tics, or communication device as all part of unique flight patterns to be honored.

When the builder needs his own adaptation

Late in the film, Hiccup loses his leg. The boy who built an adaptive fin for his dragon now must adapt himself. His prosthetic doesn’t make him less - it expands who he is.

That’s the full circle of accessibility: it’s never “for them.” It’s for all of us.

Every clinician, educator, or caregiver will likely, at some point, need the very accommodations we design for others - whether physical, sensory, or emotional.

Hiccup’s story reminds us that accessibility is not an act of generosity but of shared humanity. We build accessible tools today so that everyone, including ourselves, can keep flying tomorrow.

Building a Berk of our own

At A New Hope Academy, accessibility isn’t a checkbox exercise. It’s part of how we design trainings, develop supervision programs, and reimagine play therapy education.

On this International Day of Persons with Disabilities, consider:

• Where in my clinical or educational spaces is accessibility still reactive, not proactive?

• Do my play tools and interventions assume certain abilities, or invite a range of them?

• What would it mean to build a “Berk” - a community that expects adaptation, not perfection?

  
  

When we design with flexibility and respect for difference, everyone in the room can exhale.

Final Reflection

Hiccup’s greatest innovation wasn’t the tail fin or even the prosthetic that followed. It was his realization that there is no “normal” way to fly.

When play therapy becomes accessible, we stop pretending inclusion is extra work - it’s simply the foundation of good practice. Every adjustment, every new tool, every act of listening builds a world where every child, clinician, and dragon can soar safely.

Because healing, like flight, is always a team effort.

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A self-proclaimed geek, Maria Laquerre Diego, LMFT, RPT-S, is an internationally recognized expert and leading voice in integrating play and pop culture into clinical practice, to make therapy more culturally-responsive and enhance connection in the therapy room. As the founder and President of A New Hope Academy, a nonprofit dedicated to providing innovative professional development for mental health providers, Maria has developed groundbreaking workshops and conferences including the Geek Play Therapy Summit and the Play Therapy: Disney Bound Conference, which draw clinicians from across the country and beyond.

A published author and sought-after speaker, Maria’s innovative work invites clinicians to embrace playfulness, fandom, and the Force as tools for healing. She is author of the book chapters published in 2025, “Embracing Geek Play Therapy: A Creative Approach for LGBTQIA+ Individuals” and “Are Villains Even Villains”. When she’s not teaching or traveling for trainings, Maria can be found spending time with her family, building cosplay armor, or talking about why Star Wars belongs in every clinical supervision meeting.