When Tantrums Are Actually Survival
When Tantrums Are Actually Survival
There are moments in parenting that leave you questioning everything.
Moments when you're exhausted, overwhelmed, and wondering whether you're helping at all.
For me, some of those moments came while fostering two young sisters whose trauma showed up in ways I never expected.
Like many parents, I thought difficult behavior could be managed with consistency, consequences, and patience. But I quickly discovered that trauma changes everything.
In Chapter 1 of Parenting Beyond The Breaking Point, I share one of the hardest lessons I have ever learned:
"The goal with tantrums, screaming, and name-calling isn't to stop them completely."
That realization changed the way I viewed children, behavior, healing, and my role as a parent.
When the Storms Became Part of Everyday Life
When we welcomed two sisters into our home, I quickly realized we weren't dealing with ordinary childhood tantrums.
My oldest foster daughter, Kayla, carried wounds no five-year-old should ever have to carry.
At school she held herself together.
At home she released everything.
Sometimes several times a day.
One afternoon she was playing outside while I worked nearby. She liked having the back door open so she could see me. It helped her feel safe.
Without thinking, I closed the door a few inches.
That tiny change triggered a violent outburst.
She ran inside, grabbed a heavy wooden dining chair, and began swinging it at me and my children.
In that moment, I wasn't thinking about parenting techniques.
I was thinking about safety.
I gathered the younger children and locked ourselves in the bathroom while a frightened and overwhelmed five-year-old slammed a chair against the door.
As I sat on the floor with my children beside me, I kept repeating the same words: "You are safe."
"I'm here."
Those moments became part of our daily reality.
By the end of some days, my entire body shook from exhaustion.
When my husband came home, I often collapsed into tears.
That season changed me.
It forced me to rethink everything I believed about behavior.
The Big Idea That Changed Everything
Most people see tantrums as defiance.
I don't anymore.
What I learned is that many trauma-driven outbursts are not acts of rebellion. They're acts of survival.
A child who has experienced deep trauma often lacks the ability to explain what they're feeling. Their emotions overwhelm their nervous system long before they can find words.
The screaming.
The name-calling.
The rage.
The destruction.
None of it starts with a desire to hurt you.
It starts with pain.
Once I understood that, my goal shifted.
Instead of trying to stop every storm, I focused on helping my child move through it safely.
That difference changed everything.
Why Confrontation Often Makes Things Worse
Many of us were raised to believe authority solves emotional problems. If a child is acting out, we correct them.
If they resist, we become firmer.
If they continue, we escalate.
I call this perpendicular parenting.
It's authority pushing directly against resistance.
But trauma rarely responds well to confrontation.
What helped our family far more was what I call parallel parenting. Instead of standing opposite my child, I learned to come alongside her.
Instead of saying, "Stop this right now," I learned to communicate, "Let's work through this together."
That simple shift lowered fear.
It lowered perceived threat.
And often, it reduced escalation before the storm fully arrived.
Not always.
But often enough to matter.
Learning To Spot the Storm Before It Hits
One of the most valuable skills I developed was learning to recognize early warning signs.
Every child has them.
Sometimes it's a facial expression.
Sometimes it's withdrawal.
Sometimes it's restlessness or agitation.
With my daughter, I could see it in her eyes.
I could see the storm gathering.
One simple technique became incredibly helpful.
I would ask a basic question:
"What's three plus three?"
It sounds almost too simple.
But the answer told me whether she was still using her thinking brain or whether her emotional brain had already taken over.
If she could answer, we still had room to redirect.
If she couldn't, I knew we were entering survival mode.
That small tool helped me respond more effectively and with greater compassion.
What To Do During the Chaos
When a child enters full fight, flight, or freeze mode, logic stops working. Reasoning doesn't work.
Lecturing doesn't work.
Explaining doesn't work.
Their nervous system has taken control.
This is where many parents become exhausted because they keep trying strategies that simply aren't available to the child in that moment.
The most important thing I learned was this:
Be the calm.
Not because it's easy.
Not because you're unaffected.
But because your child needs an anchor.
Before entering a difficult moment, I would ground myself.
I would breathe.
I would notice what I could see, hear, touch, and smell.
Then I would simplify everything.
My script became:
"I'm here."
"You're safe."
"You're loved."
Nothing more.
Those words became familiar and predictable.
And predictability creates safety.
The Small Victories That Meant Everything
Healing rarely arrives in dramatic breakthroughs.
It usually arrives quietly.
For me, one of the most meaningful moments happened after the storms. After the screaming.
After the destruction.
After the rage finally burned itself out.
My daughter would often crawl into my lap.
The anger would disappear.
The tears would come.
And we would simply sit together.
Those moments mattered because they showed me something important. Connection was still there.
Trust was still growing.
Healing was still happening.
The storm wasn't the whole story.
What happened afterward mattered just as much.
Maybe more.
Those quiet moments became evidence that progress was taking place one storm at a time.
If You've Ever Felt Like You're Failing
If you've ever sat in your car and cried before going inside your house, I understand.
If you've ever felt exhausted beyond words, I understand.
If you've ever questioned whether you're helping your child at all, I understand. Parenting a child with significant trauma can feel incredibly lonely. Many people won't understand what you're facing.
They'll offer simple solutions to incredibly complex situations. But trauma recovery isn't simple.
It's messy.
It's exhausting.
And it's deeply human.
You are not failing because your child still struggles.
Progress isn't measured by the absence of tantrums.
It's measured by shorter storms.
Safer storms.
Stronger connections.
And growing trust.
A Simple Five-Minute Exercise To Try Today
Here's a practice inspired by what helped me most.
Step 1: Identify One Pattern
Take one minute to think about a recurring trigger or difficult moment.
Step 2: Observe Without Judgment
Ask yourself:
"What might my child be feeling underneath this behavior?"
Write down the first answer that comes to mind.
Step 3: Create One Safety Tool
Choose one simple strategy you can use before the next difficult moment. Examples:
● A transition warning
● A calming activity
● A sensory tool
● A simple reassurance phrase
Step 4: Practice Your Script
Write down three grounding phrases you can repeat during a meltdown. Keep them short.
Keep them simple.
Step 5: Care for Yourself
Choose one recovery activity for afterward.
A walk.
A journal entry.
A phone call.
A prayer.
A cup of coffee in silence.
Whatever helps you reconnect with yourself.
What I Know for Sure Now
After years of riding these storms, there are a few things I believe deeply. Pain often speaks through behavior.
Connection is more powerful than confrontation.
Your calm is medicine.
And healing happens one storm at a time.
If there's one thing I hope you take away from this chapter, it's this: Your child is not their worst moment.
And neither are you.
Stay present.
Stay grounded.
Keep showing up.
Be the anchor.
Because even when the storm feels endless, healing is often happening beneath the surface long before anyone can see it.
And sometimes, the greatest victory is simply staying long enough to witness it.
