When a Tantrum Isn’t a Tantrum: Responding to Childhood Meltdowns with Grace
I didn’t have a child abuse accusation on my bingo card that morning, but it showed up anyway.
I’d dropped my kindergartner off at school. Her younger sister, a toddler, was quiet in the back seat. I had errands to run, and there was a big-box store on the way home. One quick stop would knock that item off my to-do list.
What I didn’t factor into my decision was how exhausted we all were. Kindergarten was a rough year: our brilliant six-year-old’s psycho-educational evaluation had all of us tied in knots. Our then-two-year-old was exceptionally verbal and highly sensitive, waking every few hours during the night. But I still loaded her into the cart, and she kept up a steady stream of observations as we wound our way through the aisles.
“Mommy. I want that doggy purse.”
It was pink and sparkly, shaped like a poodle with pom-pom ears. I declined. My sweet cherub lost her mind, cries echoing through the early morning quiet and bouncing off the store’s acoustic tiles. Nothing I did could soothe her, so I booked it through the store, figuring if I could just get the things I needed and get out, she’d settle. Except a woman appeared from the paper product aisle, demanding to know what I was doing to my child.
“Nothing,” I said. “She’s just having a tantrum. I wouldn’t get her a purse.” The woman disagreed, following us through the store and declaring that I must be pinching my daughter. Her children, she said, had never had tantrums like that.
My hands shook all the way through checkout and into the parking lot. I didn’t know it then, but my daughter was having a meltdown, not a tantrum. Her nervous system was in overload from her anxiety, our family stress, and her fatigue. While my accuser was in the wrong, the passage of time and parenting experience have helped me understand her perspective. Her children never did have tantrums like that because that was not a tantrum. Most likely, the lady didn’t raise neurodivergent kids.
Over the last two decades of parenting neurodivergent children, I’ve learned what a tantrum is and is not. I’ve also learned what self-regulation is and what it means for the neurodivergent: individuals whose brains receive, process, and interpret information differently. Tantrums are developmentally appropriate in young children, an expression of frustration that:
- Runs its course in ten minutes
- Allows retention of speech and motor skills
- Can be redirected through distraction
A meltdown is not the same. They last three times as long; they strip control from the child. They occur long past a tantrum’s developmentally appropriate end. They are physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausting for children and their parents. Your heart hurts for your child, and your thoughts alternate between get this kid in line and I’m an awful parent.
Meltdowns press the panic button in parents, too.
Fortunately, you can respond to your child’s meltdown with hope, humility, and grace. You can teach your child emotional regulation skills, too, so they learn to cope with big sensations, emotions, and fears.
When a meltdown begins, it helps to remember it is not defiance, disrespect, or a moral failure. Your child is having a hard time, and it is a time for your peace, your presence, and your comfort, not discipline. Take a deep breath in; exhale. Let your shoulders go loose.
Once you are steady, check the area for safety concerns. Is anyone in danger of being hurt? Are there items in the room that could cause harm? Take any steps you might need to ensure the area is as safe as possible. This may mean moving your child to another room.
Because a child experiencing a meltdown cannot reason, regulation must happen before you can teach any skills. Self-regulation is the goal, but co-regulation is often needed during a meltdown. In self-regulation, a child is in tune with sensations, thoughts, and emotions and can take steps to calm down. In co-regulation, you provide those calming steps based on what the child best responds to. Slow movements, soft tones, and respectful proximity are some of the most basic co-regulation techniques. Calming phrases are helpful, too, specifically those that highlight the child’s physical and emotional safety:
- “You’re safe”
- “I’m here”
- “You’re not in trouble”
- “We’ll figure this out together”
You can now move to both co- and self-regulation efforts through sensory support and proximity. Retreat to a dark, quiet space. Offer deep pressure with a hug or a weighted object. Model and practice deep breathing (blowing bubbles is great for this). Offer water or a snack; try some dynamic movement. Walking, swinging, climbing, and jumping are great regulation tools.
Once you have deployed co-regulation measures, the hardest part—the waiting—arrives. I pray silently to pass the time, reciting the rosary or Jesus, I trust in You. I watch my child, too, waiting for breathing to slow, for the body to relax, for crying to cease, and for a return of calm speech and eye contact. When my child is finally calm, I offer words of support and validation:
- “That was really hard.”
- “What do you think your body needed?”
- “What can we try next time?”
- “I’m proud of you for getting through that.”
The best time to teach regulation skills is when a child is content. During calm moments throughout your day, help your child learn to recognize and name triggers, focusing on the way emotions and experiences feel. Asking questions like, “What does your heart do when you’re nervous?” or “How does your mouth feel when you’re angry?” can help. You can also use books, movies, role-play, and even social stories to help identify emotions and learn techniques for processing them.
Beyond teaching regulation skills, you may discover that certain expectations and boundaries must be revisited to help prevent dysregulation. Children who do not respond well to demands may find more success when offered choices: “How would you like to help?” Remove sensory triggers, whatever those may be for your child. Increased physical activity goes a long way toward maintaining regulation, especially time outside.
That day in the aisles of the big-box store will be burned forever into my mind. But where it once filled me with shame and defeat, I now see it for what it was: a turning point. God used it to help me see my children’s minds more clearly, the unique ways He created them. He used it to grow me into a more patient mom and a stronger advocate for my children. God makes all things new. Through His wisdom and grace, even our hardest moments can become places of growth for us, and for our quirky Catholic kids.
Author’s Note: For more advice, insight, and encouragement in the vocation of raising neurodivergent children, you might enjoy my new book: Quirky Catholic Kids: Navigating Neurodivergence with Faith and Joy. Drawing from scientific research, psychology, and my own personal faith and parenting journeys, Quirky Catholic Kids shows you how to turn common neurodivergent hurdles into stepping stones of hope.
