Today’s newsletter may be the nearest and dearest to my heart yet. It speaks to a parenting phenomenon that I have personally struggled with, and continue to work on 30+ years into my parenting journey.
It all crystallized for me when, a few months ago, a mom of a very sensitive, reactive child who gets triggered into discomfort easily, and is thus prone to frequent and intense meltdowns, described herself as her child’s “emotional support animal” and it took my breath away. This so perfectly captured my experience and that of so many of the parents (most often a mom) I work with who have an HSC (highly sensitive child).
This mom is her child’s primary and most desired (demanded) source of comfort. She is the person who is highly tuned in to her child, keenly focused on anticipating anything that might cause him stress, and tirelessly working to head it off.
We are often called “Helicopter Parents” which has become the catch-all nomer (slur) for any parent who is perceived to be overprotecting their child. It is shaming and judgmental. It is damaging, and not helpful. And it does not capture or take into consideration the more complex and nuanced dynamic that evolves when you have a very committed, loving, sensitive parent with a child who is not wired to be as adaptable as other kids; who gets triggered easily by the unexpected, and by sensations that are registered at a higher decibel and cause discomfort; and, whose big feelings are hard to manage, especially at such an early age. These parents are acting out of necessity, really survival. They are doing their best and working to the point of physical and emotional exhaustion to provide comfort to their children who are hard to comfort, and to preserve some semblance of family peace and harmony—no small feat—when you’ve got a big reactor in your home.
Just telling parents to stop hovering, to stop “overprotecting” and rescuing, to set limits and not give in to tantrums, is too simplistic and doesn’t acknowledge the very complex systems that evolve in families with big reactors just to cope day to day.
I hope that these insights from my own parenting experience and my work with hundreds of kindred ESPs (“emotional support parents”) will be validating, and will also help you find that important, but often hard-to-find, sweet spot of supporting versus enabling your child. In other words, how to nurture that special closeness you have with your child while also setting the important limits that are essential for children’s individuation and healthy, independent functioning far into the future.
We Are Not Helicopter Parents, We Are Emotional Support Parents
“My son is desperate for me. He sticks to me like Velcro. I am his person. He only wants me to do everything for him. But I am also the fuel for his fire. When he is upset, because something has gone wrong, that I have absolutely nothing to do with—like his banana breaking in half—I am the target of his anger and am to blame.”
I hear stories like this weekly from families who seek my consultation. They almost always have a highly sensitive child (HSC) who registers their experiences and sensations more deeply than other children. They are amazing kids who are feisty, clever, empathetic, creative, and insightful beyond their years.
They also are often big reactors, getting triggered into discomfort more easily because their systems can’t effectively process the intensity of the input they experience. This often makes them more irritable and moody, and thus prone to more frequent and major meltdowns, often in response to seemingly benign events, such as:
The chicken is too close to the rice on their plate.
Their block tower doesn’t look exactly like the one they saw in the store.
You took a different route home from school.
Dad didn't sing the song using the exact words from the previous rendition.
Mom parked the car in the “wrong” (unexpected) space in the preschool lot.
A common phenomenon in many families with an HSC is that one parent becomes what one mom so aptly described as her child’s “emotional support animal.” This ESP (“Emotional Support Parent”) is very tuned into their child and shares an especially close, wonderful, fortifying bond with them.
Because their child gets triggered into discomfort/stress so quickly, the ESP often becomes keenly focused on trying to keep their child as calm and happy as possible. If you are an ESP, you know the drill: you are constantly trying to anticipate what may cause your child discomfort and then are working hard to figure out how to reduce—or even better—prevent it. I feel you. I am a recovering ESP.
ESPs find themselves working 24/7 to head off the tantrums that can be fierce and very distressing, to the whole family system: making sure the one pair of pants they will wear are clean every morning; preparing their food to ensure there is nothing foreign they aren't expecting (like a stray poppy seed that found its way onto the child's plain bagel); going through the plan for the next day six times before lights-out, and ensuring there is no divergence from it. ESPs often feel like they are the only one who truly understands and knows how to comfort their child and get them through the myriad difficult moments they encounter as they navigate daily life.
Being the ESP can feel very fortifying and rewarding. They share a special closeness with their child and know the important role they are playing as their child’s primary source of comfort. But being the ESP also takes enormous patience, and physical and emotional energy. And it is exhausting.
That’s not all...
“My daughter drops pizza on the floor, I’m responsible. I get a drip of water from her toothbrush on her shirt—I did it on purpose. She falls off her scooter, I made it happen. And, according to her, I should never have bought the scooter—that she had begged for!!—in the first place. Don’t I know that she HATES scooters???” It turns out that the ESP is not just the most desired (demanded) source of comfort, you are also to blame when anything goes wrong. You are their person—the one they trust to have their back, to keep them safe and secure. You are always there for them, and they know it. This also means that you should be able to solve all their problems and prevent all pain. So, when something unexpected or unwanted happens, you are not just the cause, you are responsible for making it all better.
“I want you to feel how bad I feel.” (5 yo to his ESP once calm after an epic meltdown)
As another mom so perfectly put it: "He's hitting me with one hand and pulling me with the other! 'Feel as bad as I do… AND make me feel better.’”
It is a basic human need to feel understood and not alone. For HSCs, this need is particularly strong. They want someone else to feel their pain, and that someone is you, the ESP.
In fact, ESPs often describe that they do, indeed, feel their children’s pain. When their child is sad, the ESP feels very down. When their child is anxious, the ESP absorbs their anxiety. ESPs have a hard time separating their child’s feelings and experiences from their own, which can make it hard to be the rock our kids need us to be when they are distressed and dysregulated.
“I am so tired of my family and friends judging me, and my kid. They think I’m too permissive and that I’m raising a spoiled brat. They just don’t get it. All kids are not the same. It doesn’t help that my brother’s child is chill and compliant. I have come to dread family get-togethers and feel so sad about that.”
As if being the ESP is not stressful enough, they often feel judged by family, friends, caregivers and teachers for being too "permissive"—coddling, rescuing, spoiling them. Not only do they feel their child is misunderstood, the ESP feels misunderstood and alone. The comparisons that are constantly made to other, more adaptable kids, even if not voiced aloud, are palpable. One client explained: “My siblings’ kids eagerly run into family gatherings and jump right into play, while my little guy just wants to do Legos on his own, which I let him do. He finds big groups overwhelming. They all think I baby and spoil him and that’s why he won’t join the group. My mom is constantly telling me he’s going to be a ‘momma’s boy’ if I don’t make him ‘act his age’.” When what ESPs need most are empathy and support, what they get is criticism (as if they weren't already hard enough on themselves) and made to feel they have a bad kid and are bad parents who don't know how to discipline their child.
“I love the deep closeness we share. But I also feel suffocated, overwhelmed, and exhausted. When I am being honest with myself, I feel resentful and angry toward my child which feels horrible. I don’t know how to give her what she needs and not feel like the life is being sucked out of me. I am not a bottomless pit of empathy.”
Being a child’s ESP is complicated. They thrive on the deep connection with their children, and are often the preferred parent, which can be a double-edged sword. On the one hand it feels great to be so needed—to know that your child trusts you so completely and that you are their person. At the same time, many ESPs struggle with feelings of resentment. They feel suffocated and depleted, being the only one who can take their child to the bathroom, cut their sandwich, put them to bed at night.
Just last week I met with a couple: two moms, Celia and Dori, with a 3-year-old, Addie. Celia, the ESP, shared that she is having very negative feelings about Addie which is causing her horrible guilt. Addie insists Celia does everything for her. She can’t get a break. She is annoyed now all the time with Addie and she knows Addie is picking up on it, asking her over and over: "Is mommy sad? Mad?" At this point Celia’s wife, Dori, chimed in with a story of how differently she and Celia are at the playground with Addie. Celia is always within arm’s reach of Addie, constantly scaffolding her experience and instantaneously solving whatever problem may arise. Dori has a very different relationship with Addie. She hangs back more and gives Addie space to figure things out on her own. Addie functions more independently with Dori.
Celia appreciated this insight and could see that she has set up certain expectations with Addie that is resulting in her being much more dependent on Celia. Celia then shared that she is a highly sensitive person and did not get her emotional needs met as a child. There was no acknowledgment of feelings and she felt very alone. She identifies strongly with Addie as an HSC and is very committed to Addie knowing she is loved and that ALL of her feelings matter. She misinterprets Addie's struggling when she faces a challenge or doesn't like a limit as harmful to her. This makes it hard for Celia to resist jumping in to rescue Addie when she faces a challenge, and to set the limits because of the major meltdowns that ensue when Addie doesn't get what she wants and are very triggering to Celia.
This describes a very common dynamic in families I see. Often the parent who is not the ESP reports that when the ESP isn’t present, the child is much more regulated, cooperative, and resilient. When the ESP is around, the child acts more helpless and needy, and less competent than they are.
Why? Children are constantly trying to figure out what the expectations are in any given situation and then adapt to those expectations—be it with parents, teachers, grandparents, nannies and other caregivers—which is why the same child can behave so differently depending on who is in charge.
Children know their ESP is always there to trouble-shoot, so they come to expect it and rely on it. With other adults, who give them wider berth, they don’t expect that level of support so they rise to a higher level of functioning/independence.
Kids know their ESP is very focused on and tuned into their feelings; that the ESP is the person who goes deep with them, who makes space for all of their feelings, which is essential and beautiful. Kids, clever and strategic as they are, also become masters at pulling at ESP heartstrings to get what they want, saying things like: "But mommy, that makes me so sad when you won't lie down with me longer. I haven't had enough time with you today." They know there is no way their ESP would say “no” to talking about feelings, and that maybe that will lead to extending bedtime, delay leaving for school, avoid putting away toys—or any of the many tasks or transitions kids are not keen on and will try to put off, if possible.
On the other hand, kids tend to put up less of a fight and are more cooperative with the parent who is more clear and consistent with limit-setting. This doesn't mean these parents are cold or harsh or punitive, and that their child is cooperating out of fear. They are being authoritative, not authoritarian. If at the end of their loving bedtime routine their child says they have one more thing to talk about, this parent is comfortable saying: “I know you have so much to share, and I can’t wait to hear about it in the morning. Now it’s time for sleep. I love you and can’t wait to see you when your wake-up light comes on.”
These kids are not being manipulative. There is nothing wrong with: wanting more time with a parent, hoping to derail the implementation of an unwanted limit, or trying to avoid discomfort. That is human nature, and kids will rely on whatever works to get what they want or to fend off what they don’t want.
The question is whether what they want is what they need—what is best for them—in that moment, and what response would be supportive versus enabling. In other words, how do you nurture that special closeness you have with your child while also setting the important limits that are essential for children’s individuation, growing sense of competence, and healthy, independent functioning?
The insight and guidance I offer below is based on both my professional experience and my lived experience, having worked very hard over many years to recalibrate my relationship with my kids to be the parent they need me to be.
Note that I also go deep into each of these mind and strategy shifts, and many more, in articles on my blog on HSCs, and on loving limit-setting. Here I am honing in on those I find specifically relevant and helpful to ESPs.
Key Mindshifts
Your child needs you to be empathetic to, but not take on, their feelings. This is easier said than done for us ESPs. Our kid gets rejected by a group at the playground and we feel sick to our stomachs and want to tell those little s*its how mean and exclusive they are being and somehow force them to include our child so they feel accepted. When our child loses it because their block tower keeps falling down, we kinesthetically experience their frustration and need to make it go away by rebuilding the structure for them.
When we internalize our children’s feelings and act on them, they sense it. This tends to amplify, not reduce, their distress and ultimately their ability to learn to manage those emotions. Our agitation increases theirs. When my daughter, Jess, was seven, she went through a period when she woke up really cranky and out-of-sorts and begged not to go to school. I went straight to catastrophizing (as we ESPs are known to do): Was she depressed? Would she become a school-refuser? Not to minimize or dismiss these problems, it’s just that we ESPs tend to get overwhelmed by our children’s distress and go immediately to the darkest place, even when there is no evidence that a serious problem exists. This results in our responding in ways that are not useful to them (or us!)
In this case, with Jess, I exuded all sorts of angst, about how concerned I was about her negative feelings, and tried to get her to talk to me about what was lurking beneath, which only resulted in her getting more irritable and defensive, and pushing me away.
Then I talked to a very wise colleague about it and she, in so many words, said that what Jess needed from me was to: empathize with how hard mornings can be, that feeling cranky is fine—we all have those moments—and that going to school is also a ‘have-to’. Then I should focus on helping her move through the difficult morning to show her I believed she could both be in a bad mood and manage school.
The morning I started to take this approach, I watched Jess walk down the street, despondent, shoulders slumped. My heart was in my stomach. I was an emotional wreck all day expecting a call from the school nurse or that Jess would come home in tears. But at 3:05, there she was, sauntering down the street, skipping along with a neighborhood friend, all smiles. She had had a great day. Lesson learned.
What our kids need is for us to tune in to and empathize with their experience, tolerate their distress (as hard as that is), set a limit that helps them move forward, and when they are open to it, talk about their feelings and experiences and help them think through how they are going to solve their problems.
Which takes us to…
Avoid being the fixer and focus instead on helping your child become a good problem-solver. ESPs often have a knee-jerk reaction to jump in and fix whatever problem our child is struggling with, especially when they are acting as if it’s a five-alarm fire. We worry that their level of distress must be harmful for them and thus must be alleviated. And, when their distress becomes our distress, we also need relief. This results in mom-to-the-rescue, unintentionally sending the message that we don’t think our child is capable of mastering the challenges they face and that only we can solve their problems. This is how the expectation that we, the ESPs, are the ones who should be able to prevent all pain and solve all problems, evolves over time, which keeps this dynamic going.
Instead, position yourself as your child’s problem-solving partner. Let them know that you have confidence in their ability to learn to solve the challenges they encounter; that they can do hard things. You will always help them think the issue through and will help them come up with solutions. But you won’t solve their problems for them, because that is their job.
What feels “mean” is sometimes loving, and what feels loving is sometimes not what your child needs.
Discomfort is uncomfortable. The natural human reaction is to avoid it. But it is working through the stress/discomfort of not getting what we want when we want it, of adapting to a new experience, or of learning a new skill, that leads to self-confidence land growth.
The challenge for us ESPs is that our kids are triggered into discomfort more frequently, quickly and intensely. It takes nothing short of superhuman self-control not to run to the rescue to provide immediate relief, for fear that the discomfort is somehow harmful to them, and/or because the meltdowns are just so unpleasant and unbearable. It is generally a lot easier to build resilience in kids who don’t react so fiercely and recover more quickly.
But getting out of their comfort zone, as fiercely as they try to stay glued to it, is critically important for HSCs. Otherwise, their worlds can become very small, limiting their opportunities for growth.
What HSCs may not want, but what they need, is exposure, done sensitively. This means parents creating opportunities for children to face and work through the discomfort, not to enable the avoidance. The only way kids learn to work through a fear is to live through it and see that they survived and can handle it. That's how resilience and grit are developed.
Here are two stories from families in my practice who have very big reactors and were really struggling with how to support versus enable:
Ruth and Ethan are the parents of Owen, who is a very sensitive, tuned in and cautious three-year-old. He is wild about Daniel Tiger, so they buy tickets to the live show. While Owen is ecstatic about seeing his beloved friend, on the way to the event he gets increasingly anxious, asking all sorts of questions about what is going to happen at the show. By the time they arrive, Ruth and Ethan are getting worried that Owen might not make it; that based on past experience, when faced with a novel situation, his anxiety will be overwhelming and he will melt down and demand they go home.
Then a lightbulb goes off in Ruth’s head: she gets down on Owen’s eye level, notices and empathizes with his discomfort, and asks if there is something that would make him feel more comfortable. He says he is afraid of what is behind the curtain and wants to know exactly what will happen. Ruth locates an usher who explains to Owen, play-by-play, what to expect. With this information, Owen becomes calm and proceeds to fully enjoy the show. (Ethan, who recounted this story to me, described this move on his wife’s part as no less monumental than splitting the atom.)
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Wendy takes her daughter, Maggie (5), to a birthday party. When they arrive, Maggie clings to Wendy and refuses to participate. Wendy is concerned about what this means for Maggie—what she's missing out on because she is resistant to join experiences that are not completely familiar and comfortable for her, which happens often. And, she is worried about Maggie’s dependence on Wendy to always be a buffer. Wendy is frustrated and embarrassed, and suggests they leave the party if Maggie isn't going to play with the other kids. But Maggie insists they stay, even as she continues to cling. Wendy is about to pick Maggie up and take her home when the mother of the birthday boy approaches and suggests that Wendy leave and have Maggie stay. Wendy is dubious. She is worried that Maggie might experience this as abandonment and that it will be harmful to their relationship and Maggie’s trust in her. At a cellular level, it also feels mean to leave Maggie when she is in distress.
At the same time, Wendy knows that if she stays, she is signaling to Maggie that she doesn’t think Maggie can handle it, and that she’s only safe if Wendy is present. This will greatly limit her experiences in the world, and learning to feel capable and confident on her own—something Wendy wants very badly for her daughter.
With the support of this other mom, Wendy decides that she needs to take what feels like a risk and give Maggie this opportunity to work through the discomfort—to see that she can survive the seemingly unsurvivable. Accordingly, Wendy acknowledges Maggie’s fear and hesitance, validates that learning to be at a party without her feels uncomfortable because it is new, and communicates that she has total confidence in Maggie’s ability to manage it.
Then she leaves, even as Maggie is clinging to her and begging her not to leave. When Wendy returns 90 minutes later, Maggie is all smiles and begs to stay.
Of course, there are times parents take the same steps and their child is crying when they return. Or, maybe they have just watched but not participated in the activity. These are not failures. For many kids, it takes a lot of exposure/repetition to get comfortable in new situations. Providing the opportunity for them to experience, over and over, that they can work through and survive the discomfort is what ultimately leads to adaptation. If you always stay with them, and provide that buffer, it is much less likely your child will come to see themselves as someone who can tolerate and grow from muscling through discomfort.
Don’t apologize or get defensive when you haven’t done anything wrong. I hear stories from parents every week about accusations their kids make when faced with a limit they don’t like:
“It’s not appropriate to interrupt someone when they are building,” Child’s response when her dad tells her it’s time to clean up to get ready to go to camp.
“You’re a mean mommy. You don’t care about my feelings.” Child’s declaration when her mom was holding the limit on cuddle time (which was a solid 15 mins) when she had more to say.
These are very tough moments for the ESP. When our kids accuse us of not loving them or treating them unkindly or unfairly, we worry that they really feel this way and that we have done something wrong and so we apologize, “I am so sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt you." Or,we feel the need to set the record straight because their accusation is so untrue and we get defensive, “Of course I care about your feelings. You know how much I always want to hear what you have to say.” Both reactions convey that these proclamations kids make to fend off an unwanted limit have some validity and reinforces their power—not good for you or your child.
What your child needs is for you to validate their upset but not to say sorry or to justify yourself if you have done nothing wrong, as this conveys an unhelpful and false message that you have actually harmed them and perpetuates an unhealthy dynamic. (If you have done something you regret or see as wrong, like yelled, then it is indeed very important to apologize.)
Instead, think:
Child: "It's not appropriate to interrupt someone when they're building."
Parent: "I know it's hard to stop doing a fun activity. It's time to get ready for bath. Do you want to get to the bathroom on your own or should I be a helper?"
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Child:"You're a mean mommy. You don't care about my feelings."
Parent:"I know it’s so hard to end cuddle time. We both love it so much. But it’s time for lights-out. I can’t wait to cuddle with you in the morning.”
Some other typical scenarios:
Your child is screaming that you made their banana break and you have to get them a new one: "I know you don't like it when the banana breaks. Is there something I can do to help you?" vs. (in angsty tone) "I'm so sorry. Let's get you a new banana."
Your child is scootering and falls. They start yelling that you made them fall (even though you were feet away.) "You don't like that you fell. It feels uncomfortable. I totally understand. How can I help you?"
While what your child WANTs may be for you to make it all better, what they NEED is for you to be a calm presence as they weather the storm; to show them that they can, in fact, tolerate life's frustrations and disappointments, and manage their own big feelings.
There is no gentle parenting without limits. Limits are loving, even when your child doesn’t like them and melts down in the face of them. It is the lack of limits that makes it hard to be the loving parent you want to be. Limits create opportunities for learning to adapt to life's frustrations and disappointments, and ultimately leads to fewer meltdowns, more flexibility and the development of critical coping mechanisms that help kids work through difficult situations.
Limits show children you believe in them and thus have expectations for them, which builds confidence, cooperation and peace in families. Absent limits, children tend to spiral out of control, redouble their demands, and draw you into painful power struggles. These are all dynamics that increase stress, make parents feel angry and resentful at their child and makes it harder to be the loving, empathetic parent your child needs you to be. (Recall Celia and those very negative feelings she was having towards Addie that she was acting out on and that Addie was picking up on—largely due to the lack of limits.)
For ESPs who are the preferred parent, getting comfortable with setting limits is especially important. It will be very hard to be gentle and calm when you never get a moment’s rest and are doing everything. This article goes in deep on parental preferences. But in short, recalibrating the system so both you and your partner can be the primary caregivers your children need you to be looks something like this, and requires both parents' participation:
Child is demanding mom read to her every night. Mom and dad make a plan to alternate nights and stick to it.
Dad: “I know you want mommy to read tonight, but it is a daddy book night. I love you and can’t wait to read a book with you in the morning.” (As mommy resists the urge to take over and gives them space to work it out.)
Child keeps interrupting mom and dad, demanding mom listen to her.
Mom: "I know it's hard to wait. I will finish my discussion with daddy and am eager to hear what your question is when we are done."
Also accept that it will never be enough. Kids are bottomless pits. It’s in their DNA. It will never feel like sufficient: sweets, bedtime books, screen time, cuddle time, playground time, etc.
That’s where limits come in; and why, just because kids don’t love them, they are indeed loving.
Kids who are more easy-going tend to accept limits more readily and without a fierce fight. Big reactors, on the other hand, act like you are a mean, heartless monster who is starving them, abandoning them, or clearly favoring another sibling whom you love more.
ESPs tend to buy into their child’s narrative that they are being deprived or harmed by the limit and start to question it, and themselves. This makes it very hard to set the loving limits your child needs. Further, your child puts two-and-two together—that these (outrageous) proclamations result in getting what they want which reinforces this behavior.
What your big reactor needs is for you to validate their desire and stick to the limit, versus trying to get them to accept or agree that they should be satisfied with what they are getting:
“I know, it will never be enough cuddle time (books, screen time, cuddles, treats.) I love it too. But it’s time for lights-out. I can’t wait to see you in the morning and give you a big hug.”
Less is more when kids are melting down. Parents send me lots of audio/video of meltdown-moments with their kids, which often shows the ESP making repeated supportive statements, along the lines of, "This is a tough moment. I'm here with you," “This is so tricky. I see you’re so sad. I am sorry you are so unhappy,” to show empathy and acceptance of their child's emotions. They have gotten the message about the importance of tuning into and validating their child’s feelings in order to help them learn to manage their emotions.
What has been lost in translation is that often these parents believe that staying present and showing empathy means they need to keep telling their child how much they understand and care about their feelings throughout the entire period their child is upset, or else their child may think that their feelings don't matter and feel abandoned by you.
In reality, what I see in these encounters is that in the heat of the moment, this approach backfires, causing more, not less, stress. The child’s brain is flooded with cortisol (a stress hormone) and they can’t process what you are saying. All that input feels overwhelming and increases their dysregulation. The more the parent makes these statements, especially when they are naming specific emotions that they imagine their child is feeling, "I know, you're really angry", the more they escalate: "I AM NOT ANGRY!!"
When children are in this "red zone," less is more. Repeating an empathic statement does not make you more empathetic. Acknowledging your child's distress one time and then being a quiet, calm presence until the storm passes is often what is most loving. This lets your child know that you: understand and accept their feelings; are not judging them; are not angry or frustrated; and, that you have confidence that they can work through this difficult moment and that they don't need you to try to make it all better. They just need you to be their rock.
Last week an ESP, whose endless empathy approach was backfiring, told me that she landed on a brilliant plan with her four-year-old HSC. When he is in the throes of a major meltdown, she guides him into his room and puts on classical music that they listen to silently. This is what calms him and then he is ready to move on.
Another story from the trenches:
It is a nightmare picking Willa up from preschool. She melts down every single day. She complains about everything: I brought the wrong snack, I made the car seat too tight and it is 'squeezing' her. She screams and hurls venom (and sometimes her shoe) at me.
Here is what Melanie had been doing to try to calm Willa in these moments:
Melanie: "What's wrong, Willa? Why are you so upset? Mommy brought the snack you asked for. Please stop screaming. Those words make mommy sad." Willa: Escalates
Melanie: "I know, it's hard to go from school to home. I'm here for you. This is a tricky moment." (Willa continues to wail and thrash.} "I understand, You're not alone. I'm here. This feels so hard, I know." Melanie continues to express empathetic phrases. Willa: Escalates.
Then Melanie made a shift:
Melanie: "I know, it's hard sometimes to go from school to home. I am going to take your shoes off to help you be safe.” Melanie removes Willa’s shoes and then is just quiet. She puts on Willa's favorite music and hums along.
Willa: Screams for 3 more minutes and then calms. They move on with a much more pleasant afternoon than usual.
If your child is open to it, once they are calm you can reflect on the experience, communicating how deeply you understand their distress, listen to their thoughts and feelings, and let them know how you are going to help them cope in these difficult moments.
Responding in this way has been a game-changer for many ESPs in my practice.
Claire Lerner, LCSW-C is a licensed clinical social worker and child development specialist. I served as the Director of Parenting Resources at ZERO TO THREE for 20+ years, where I oversaw the development of all parenting educational content. I have been a practicing clinician for over thirty years, partnering with parents to decode their children’s behavior and solve their most vexing childrearing challenges. I also provide training to local preschools and pediatric residents. I am the author of numerous parenting publications, curricula and articles in addition to a podcast and video series for parents and professionals. I write a column for PBSkids.org and have also written columns for Parents Magazine. I have been a source on early childhood development for NPR and numerous national daily newspapers such as The New York Times, the Wall Street Journal and USA Today.
