I strive to avoid raising my voice. The act of yelling can be quite triggering for me. Throughout my life, I have experienced loud, aggressive outbursts both as a child and an adult. Recently, I have become increasingly aware of how my body and emotions react to harsh tones. However, it wasn’t until I began my parenting journey that I realized how my own voice could also evoke those same feelings.
My son, Leo, will turn 5 this autumn, and overall, he is a joyful and well-behaved child. Like many kids his age, he’s gone through phases of biting, hitting, and throwing tantrums. To address these behaviors, I’ve implemented “time-ins” — a gentler alternative to timeouts that doesn’t involve isolation or shame. I’ve learned to redirect his energy and tap into a well of patience I didn’t know existed. It’s a gift Leo has given me, though he also has a knack for testing it!
I want to clarify that I do not hit, strike, or restrain Leo because I firmly oppose any form of violence against children. I believe in respecting personal boundaries, which is why I never force him to hug me or anyone else.
Yet, there are instances where I find myself raising my voice, and I genuinely dislike it. Often, this happens when safety is at stake or when Leo repeatedly engages in behavior he knows is unacceptable. For example, when we’re playing outside, he understands he must stay on the grass and not wander onto the driveway or road. When he veers toward the pavement, I gently guide him back. After several reminders, I sometimes resort to a louder tone. It’s effective — he often looks surprised, retreats to safety, and apologizes. I wish my calm voice could achieve the same result, but it frequently falls flat.
What truly unsettled me was the day Leo looked up at me, yelled “No!” and struck my arm. I understand that young children often act out, and I don’t interpret Leo’s actions as abusive. However, being reminded of past experiences can be overwhelming. Grabbing his hand to prevent another hit and raising my voice to firmly state, “We do not hit ever. No hitting!” was a little traumatizing for me.
In those moments, I could feel my throat constrict, my heart race, and my hands tremble. Even when I softened my tone to explain, “Hitting hurts people, and it’s never okay to hurt others,” I felt like I was pleading for understanding, reminiscent of past experiences of being overwhelmed by anger. Walking away from a four-year-old is simply not an option.
Experiences of abuse create lasting impacts that can trap our nervous systems in a state of fight, flight, or freeze, even after the immediate threat has subsided. Trauma responses can be intense, and we may react to perceived threats as if they were real. Dr. Bessel Van der Kolk, a leading trauma psychiatrist, highlights this in his book The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. His work has been enlightening for me, as it emphasizes that trauma can manifest in our bodies as anxiety, panic attacks, and other reactions.
Understanding that my trauma-related anxiety is encoded in my brain has been empowering. Dr. Van der Kolk suggests that since trauma is a “body thing,” we can learn to change our responses. Just like we can improve our physical fitness, we can also unlearn anxiety rooted in trauma.
When I find myself losing patience amidst yelling, I remind myself that this is not the same as fearing someone. I have to acknowledge that my child and I have moved past our immediate dangers, and I’m here to teach Leo about kindness and respect, not to battle against him. He’s testing boundaries as a child, not challenging me as someone who has faced repeated threats.
I also recognize that my voice can unintentionally cause harm, so I practice sensory grounding techniques to stay present and manage my triggers. This includes focusing on what I can see, hear, touch, smell, and taste in my environment. Additionally, certain yoga poses help me regain balance, and deep-breathing exercises assist in releasing negativity.
Healing from trauma can be a lengthy and isolating process, which is why I often turn to blogs for support. In a guest post titled “Parenting with Trauma” on The Belle Jar, author Emma Lane discusses her struggles with her daughter’s anger mirroring past abusive relationships. She poignantly expresses the fear that arises when confronted with her child’s vulnerabilities, feeling as if she is the one who is vulnerable in those moments.
Similarly, in her piece “Anxious All Over” on Stigma Fighters, writer and mother Sarah Collins shares her battle against the impulse to react violently, emphasizing the importance of never treating her child with the same aggression she has experienced. I am grateful to these writers for addressing such complex feelings, as the challenges of parenting while managing trauma are rarely discussed.
Many believe that identifying triggers involves avoiding certain situations. However, I focus on not raising my voice to prevent fostering a power dynamic between Leo and me. I want to avoid any parallels to my most intense trigger responses, as I don’t want my child to witness my anxiety or distress. That said, I’m also open to raising my voice when necessary for safety.
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In summary, the journey of parenting while managing past trauma presents unique challenges, particularly when it comes to discipline. By understanding my triggers and employing grounding techniques, I aim to create a nurturing environment for Leo that encourages his growth while also allowing me to heal.