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Tantrums Aren’t Personal, But They Sure Do Feel Like It
It was one of those mornings where the universe clearly had other plans. After a long weekend road trip with my spouse and our two kids, I should have known we were all a bit worn out. My toddler, Lily, decided to express her displeasure by launching her breakfast plate across the table. Meanwhile, my son, Ethan, moved slower than molasses as I urged him to get ready for preschool. Every request of mine was met with either whining or foot stomping. By the time I dropped Ethan off at school, I was relieved and clinging to the hope that I could get Lily down for a nap. I hadn’t even finished my toast, and I was already counting down the hours until bedtime.
These are the days when you send a mental SOS to the universe, and it feels like the universe is wearing earbuds and ignoring you. Of course, Lily didn’t nap. Instead, she spent the morning wailing and crying while I frantically tried to guess what she needed but couldn’t articulate. My hopes for a little quiet time evaporated, and the clock seemed to move like molasses.
When I picked Ethan up from preschool, his teacher greeted me with tales of his tumultuous day filled with tears and yelling. I could see the distress on his face, and I racked my brain for ideas to lift his spirits. Maybe a movie? A special snack? Perhaps pizza for dinner? I was in no mood to whip up a gourmet meal.
As soon as we stepped through the door, I got a taste of what his teacher had dealt with. Every suggestion I made was met with whining and resistance, leading to full-blown stomping and screaming. My attempts to cheer him up quickly turned into a meltdown of my own. I had tried everything! Why was he determined to make this afternoon as miserable as the morning had been?
I snapped. I shouted. I was less than kind. Regret washed over me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was oblivious to my fatigue. I had poured my heart into trying to make him feel better, and yet here we were, both spiraling.
Then it hit me: I was exhausted. I was irritable. I was trying to adjust back to normal life after being out of my routine. Of course, I was in a foul mood. And guess what? So was he.
Tantrums feel intensely personal, especially for parents who bear the brunt of their children’s emotional outbursts. It’s hard not to take it personally when every scream feels like a critique. Emotions can swell to overwhelming levels for little ones, just as they can for adults. When I struggle to manage my feelings, I sometimes lash out at those closest to me for minor inconveniences. And afterward, I often feel embarrassed for reacting that way.
That’s precisely what tantrums are — emotions spilling over because a young child doesn’t yet have the toolkit to handle them appropriately. It’s a loss of control we all experience at some point, so why should we expect kids to do any better?
When I pause and view my children’s actions as a reflection of their inability to manage big feelings, I find it easier to respond with compassion rather than defensiveness. Instead of putting Ethan in timeout out of frustration, I can encourage him to take a moment in his room to cool down, doing so with love.
Learning not to take tantrums personally is an ongoing practice. But it’s a practice that helps me avoid absorbing my son’s emotions and having my own meltdown. Rather than waiting until I’ve calmed down to apologize, I can maintain my composure and help him navigate his feelings.
And even on the longest days, bedtime will eventually arrive.
For more insights on parenting and emotional management, check out this excellent resource on family building options.
Summary
Tantrums often feel personal for parents, but they’re just children struggling with overwhelming emotions. Recognizing this allows us to respond with compassion rather than frustration. By maintaining our composure, we can help our kids navigate their feelings better, ensuring a smoother transition to bedtime, no matter how long the day feels.