Stop Fighting the Child and Start Fighting the Trauma

Stop Fighting the Child and Start Fighting the Trauma

There are some parenting challenges that people can imagine.

Then there are the ones they simply cannot understand until they've lived them. Most parents can picture a tantrum.

Few can picture being punched before breakfast every morning for years. Yet that was my reality.

In Chapter 2 of Parenting Beyond The Breaking Point, I share one of the hardest seasons of my life and one of the most important lessons I have ever learned about trauma, fear, violence, and healing.

The lesson was simple, but it changed everything:

My child was not my enemy.

The trauma was.

The Season That Forced Me To See Things Differently

When a seven-year-old girl named Sarah came into our home, I quickly learned that mornings were going to be difficult.

What I didn't know was just how difficult.

Almost every morning began the same way.

I would wake her for school.

Her eyes would open.

Her fists would start flying.

One morning I counted.

By eight o'clock she had punched me fifty times.

Then I stopped counting.

For four years, violence became part of our daily routine.

Some days it lasted only a few minutes.

Other days it lasted nearly an hour.

Sometimes much longer.

As Sarah grew bigger, the violence grew stronger.

The bruises became harder to hide.

I remember a pastor pulling me aside because he thought my husband was hurting me. Instead, I had to explain that the bruises came from a child.

Nothing prepares you for a conversation like that.

Nothing prepares you for the confusion, exhaustion, anger, and heartbreak that come from being hurt by a child you love.

The Realization That Changed Everything

For a long time, I thought I could fix it.

If I stayed calm enough.

If I said the right words.

If I found the perfect strategy.

If I became a better parent.

Surely I could stop the violence.

But eventually I had to face a difficult truth.

You cannot parent the trauma out of a child.

That realization didn't solve the problem.

But it transformed how I viewed it.

I stopped seeing the violence as personal.

I stopped viewing it as defiance.

I stopped believing my child was trying to hurt me.

Instead, I began to understand what was really happening.

Fear was wearing the mask of rage.

Sarah wasn't fighting me.

She was fighting a threat her nervous system believed was real.

Her body had learned survival long before it learned safety.

And once I understood that, I could stop fighting her and start helping her.

Why Violence Is Different From a Tantrum

One of the biggest misconceptions people have is assuming all difficult behavior is the same.

It isn't.

A tantrum and trauma-driven violence may look similar from the outside, but they come from very different places.

A trauma response is rooted in survival.

The child's brain becomes convinced they are in danger.

Fight, flight, or freeze takes over.

Rational thought disappears.

Logic becomes inaccessible.

Comfort often feels threatening.

In those moments, they are not making decisions.

Their nervous system is reacting.

That understanding helped me stop asking:

"How do I make this stop?"

And start asking:

"How do I help everyone stay safe until this passes?"

That shift changed the entire way I parented.

The Mindset That Helped Me Survive

One idea became a lifeline during those years.

It's you and your child against the trauma.

Not you against your child.

That may sound simple, but when someone is hitting, kicking, screaming, or throwing things, it's incredibly difficult to remember.

Everything inside you wants to fight back.

Not physically.

But emotionally.

You want to control the situation.

You want to make it stop.

You want someone to explain why this is happening.

But trauma doesn't respond to control.

It responds to safety.

And safety begins with connection.

That doesn't mean allowing dangerous behavior.

It means recognizing that underneath the behavior is a hurting child who desperately needs help.

Learning To Focus on Safety First

One of the most practical lessons I learned was that safety must come before everything else.

Before teaching.

Before consequences.

Before conversations.

Before problem-solving.

Safety comes first.

Our family eventually adopted what I call line-of-sight parenting.

If Sarah was awake, one of us knew exactly where she was.

At all times.

For years.

It was exhausting.

My husband and I took shifts.

We tagged each other in and out.

Some days it felt like running a twenty-four-hour crisis response team instead of a household.

But it reduced risk.

And when you're parenting a child whose trauma shows up through violence, reducing risk matters.

A lot.

The Small Clues That Helped Us Prepare

One thing trauma taught me is that behavior rarely appears out of nowhere. There are often clues.

Tiny signals.

Patterns.

Warning signs.

Sarah became overwhelmed by decisions.

Even choosing clothes could trigger an outburst.

So we simplified everything.

Outfits were chosen ahead of time.

Potential triggers were reduced.

We also created tools that helped her communicate distress before reaching crisis. One of those tools was a code word.

Her word was "mangoes."

If she said it, I knew she was overwhelmed.

No explanations required.

No lengthy conversation.

Just immediate support.

Those small tools didn't eliminate every crisis.

But they reduced some of them.

And sometimes that's the progress you're looking for.

What Helped During the Worst Moments

When violence begins, most parents instinctively try to regain control. I did too.

But eventually I learned something important.

Control often escalates.

Calm often de-escalates.

My focus became simple:

Protect everyone.

Lower the emotional temperature.

Stay grounded.

Keep an exit path available.

Avoid trapping the child.

Keep my voice low.

Slow my breathing.

Repeat calming phrases.

Sometimes that was all I could do.

Sometimes that was enough.

And sometimes I simply had to wait for the storm to pass.

Not because I was powerless.

But because healing doesn't happen in the middle of survival mode.

The Small Win That Meant More Than People Realized

One of the moments I treasure most isn't dramatic.

It's what happened afterward.

After the violence.

After the chaos.

After everyone was safe.

The moment when connection returned.

Sometimes Sarah would sit down beside me.

Sometimes she'd accept a snack.

Sometimes we'd talk.

Sometimes we'd simply exist in the same room together. Those moments mattered because they represented something powerful. Trust.

The fact that after everything, she still came back.

And I did too.

That became our victory.

Not perfection.

Not immediate transformation.

Connection.

Again and again.

If You've Ever Felt Completely Alone

If you're living through something similar, I want you to know something. The loneliness is real.

Many people won't understand.

They'll offer advice that sounds simple but doesn't fit your reality. They'll assume discipline is the answer.

They'll assume you're exaggerating.

They'll assume they're seeing the whole picture.

They're not.

You know what happens behind closed doors.

You know the emotional cost.

You know the exhaustion.

You know what it feels like to keep showing up even when your heart is breaking. And if nobody has told you lately, let me say it now:

You're stronger than you think.

Not because you're perfect.

Because you keep showing up.

A Five-Minute Exercise To Create More Safety

Here's a simple exercise inspired by what helped our family.

Step 1: Identify One Trigger

Write down one situation that regularly leads to conflict or escalation.

Step 2: Look for Patterns

Ask yourself:

What happens immediately before this?

What signs appear beforehand?

Step 3: Create One Safety Tool

Choose one support strategy.

Examples:

● A code word

● A calming activity

● A sensory tool

● A transition warning

Step 4: Create a Calm Script

Write down one or two phrases you'll use consistently.

Examples:

● "You're safe."

● "I'm here."

● "We'll get through this together."

Step 5: Build Your Support List

Write down one person you can call, text, or reach out to after a difficult day. Support isn't weakness.

It's wisdom.

What I Believe Now

After everything we've lived through, there are a few truths I hold onto deeply. Violence is often fear that has nowhere else to go.

Connection is more powerful than control.

Safety creates space for healing.

And no child is beyond love.

Most of all, I've learned that healing rarely happens all at once. It happens through thousands of small moments.

A calmer response.

A shorter outburst.

A repaired relationship.

A child learning they are safe.

A parent choosing hope again.

If there's one thing I hope you take from Chapter 2 of Parenting Beyond The Breaking Point, it's this:

You don't have to win every battle.

You don't have to fix everything today.

You simply have to keep choosing safety, connection, and love one moment at a time.

Because when a child learns that they are safe, even in the middle of their fear, healing finally has room to begin.