Every parent has that one behavior from their kids that pushes them to their limits. It could be anything from nose-picking to lying, or even the failure to promptly tidy up after meals. For me, it’s screaming.
Now, I’m not referring to the joyful squeals that come when children are having fun—I’m not heartless! I’m talking about the visceral, bone-chilling screams that seem to have no purpose other than to rattle my nerves. That high-pitched, ear-piercing sound sends my heart racing and makes my instincts kick in, as if I need to call for help immediately. It’s a literal physical response for me; hence, my kids understand that they can only scream if they’re in a genuine crisis—like being chased by a wild animal or having fallen into a well.
As a child, I was also discouraged from screaming, and I recognize how that shaped my parenting style. Growing up in a secluded area, I learned to reserve my screams for true emergencies. Although I never had to use that pent-up scream for real danger, it was reassuring to know I had it in case I needed to call for help.
Now, raising two children in a forested area filled with bears, mountain lions, and the occasional aggressive squirrel, I find myself in a similar situation. They often play outside while I work from home, and while I can keep an eye on them, I can’t always predict when danger might strike. For this reason, I’ve made it clear: if they scream, I’ll be there in a flash. They better have a valid reason, or I won’t be happy.
What astonishes me is how many parents seem unfazed by their kids’ screaming. Recently, at a park, a little girl was wailing at the top of her lungs while her mother chatted nonchalantly with her friends. My heart raced, worried that the child might be in trouble. How could the mother not notice?
To those parents who remain unbothered by their kids’ screams, I have so many questions. Do you let your children scream simply because it’s part of being a kid? Do you feel it would be wrong to stifle that expression? Do you eventually tune it out? Perhaps meditation is involved? Because I can’t help but feel my eardrums are bleeding!
Maybe I should chill out—I recognize that. But the association I have with screaming runs deep, and unraveling it might require some serious therapy. Yet, I’m not sure I want to change. My children don’t need to scream, and I don’t believe I’m robbing them of their childhood. I think I’m simply ensuring they have a way to alert me in case of danger, especially while they’re frolicking around in nature.
I’m confident I’m not suppressing anything in them, aside from the fact that they may grow up to dislike screaming as much as I do. And you know what? I’m okay with that.
They can howl at the moon, belt out their favorite songs, and even play their musical instruments until I have a headache. They can scream into a pillow if they need to release some pent-up energy. But when it comes to real danger, I want those screams to be saved for emergencies. I just need to maintain a sense of calm in my life without that constant adrenaline rush.
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Summary
In our home, screaming is strictly reserved for emergencies, a rule shaped by my own upbringing and a visceral reaction to that sound. While I understand other parents may embrace their children’s screams as part of childhood, I prefer to keep that primal call for help reserved for true danger. My kids know they can express themselves freely in other ways, but when it comes to screaming, it’s all about safety.