Understanding Behavior

A mom came to me feeling overwhelmed by her young son’s meltdowns.   Like all children, he got angry sometimes. But when he became upset, things escalated quickly. His anger was often triggered by not getting his way, getting hurt, or conflicts with his siblings. When he entered meltdown mode, he would scream, yell every curse word he knew, reject comfort, and throw things. If the conflict involved his siblings, he might hit, kick, or bite them.   It could feel frightening for everyone involved. This is a pattern I see often in my work with young children.   His mother felt lost. She understood that connection comes before correction, but he refused comfort when he was upset. Nothing seemed to calm him down. The situation would often escalate until he was soothed with a tablet or a treat, and everyone would be exhausted afterward.   Underneath it all, everyone’s nervous systems were overwhelmed.   So we began by observing.   We paid attention to what set him off, what early signs showed he was becoming dysregulated, and what he seemed to be communicating through his behavior. ​ When he didn’t get his way, the feeling was almost unbearable for him. He did not yet have the internal skills to tolerate frustration, disappointment, or pain. Instead, he externalized those feelings through aggression and explosive behavior. Transitions, cooperation, and physical discomfort were especially hard for him to handle.   This wasn’t a failure of parenting. This was a child with an underdeveloped self-regulatory system who needed help learning how to tolerate big emotions. The goal was not to eliminate his feelings. The goal was to teach him that feelings can be survived.   Young children cannot learn this through explanation alone. They learn through experience. So the first step was helping the parent regulate herself.   When a child is overwhelmed, the adult’s nervous system becomes the anchor. Before responding to the child, we practiced noticing her own state and doing what she needed to do to stay calm and steady. Then, instead of trying to reason with him or stop the emotions, she stayed with him while he was upset.   If he tried to hit or throw, she would gently hold his hands and say, “I’m going to help your body stay safe.”   She wasn’t punishing him or negotiating with him. She was helping him borrow her calm while the emotional storm passed.And like all emotional storms, it did pass.   Once he had settled and was capable of listening again, she would acknowledge what happened. “You wanted to keep playing, and I told you it was time for dinner. That made you very mad.” Being understood helped him feel calmer and less alone in his feelings.   Then came the correction. “We don’t hit, kick, bite, or scream when we are angry.”   Instead, he was given alternatives such as:   • Stomping his feet • Punching a pillow • Running outside • Clenching his fists   Over time, he began to learn that anger could be expressed safely.   Finally, the boundary stayed in place. “It is still dinner time. Do you want to hop to the table or march like a soldier?” Keeping things light helped restore connection while still maintaining structure.   Today, meltdowns still happen from time to time, which is normal for a developing child. But they are less intense and much less frequent. Most importantly, the family now understands what is happening and feels confident responding to it.   Many children with intense emotions are not “out of control.” They are learning skills they haven’t developed yet.   When we understand behavior, things begin to change. ​

We were sitting at the kitchen table when a two year old boy I was working with, I’ll call him Finn, was talking and said, “He’s so dumb.” His mom heard it right away and said, “We don’t say that. That’s not kind.” And almost immediately, I watched the shift. Finn laughed. Not because it was funny. It wasn’t. But you could feel what just happened. He got corrected, and instead of sitting in that feeling, he moved away from it. “But he is dumb! Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb.” His siblings started laughing. Then they joined in. Now it wasn’t just a word, it was a whole moment. Loud, chaotic, feeding off each other. I could tell mom was overwhelmed. She didn’t know how to stop it, and I could also feel that underlying guilt. Like, why can’t I control this? So I stepped in. “That’s enough.” Firm. Clear. Not angry, but grounded. They stopped. I told them we were done using that word. If they couldn’t change their language, they would go to their room. I couldn’t let them be unkind to each other or to me. And in that moment, it worked. Everything settled and we moved on. But what stayed with me wasn’t that it stopped. It was why it escalated so fast. At first, I tried to approach it like a behavior problem. I even used a stoplight system. Green, yellow, red. Warnings, then consequences. And honestly, I could feel pretty quickly that it wasn’t right. I felt like I was constantly watching, correcting, threatening the next step. It felt heavy. And it didn’t actually change what was happening. Because every time they were corrected, I saw the same thing. They would laugh. Then they would double down. Not because they didn’t understand. And not because they were trying to be bad. It was almost like they were protecting themselves. That moment of being corrected brought up something uncomfortable, and instead of staying there, they pushed it away. They turned it into a game. They made it bigger. That actually felt better in their body than sitting in that feeling. And I also knew they didn’t fully believe mom would make them stop. So doubling down worked for them. That’s when it clicked for me. This wasn’t really about the word. So I shifted. Instead of focusing on stopping it, I started modeling what they could say. Giving them the right language. Keeping my response steady, not emotionally charged. And I kept the boundary simple and consistent. “You can use kind words, or you can go to your room. I won’t let you be unkind.” Sometimes they fixed it right away. Sometimes they tested it. And when they tested it, I followed through. Calmly. Every time. And over time, it changed. They started catching themselves before saying it. Sometimes they would stop mid-sentence. Sometimes they were proud of themselves for choosing something different. The word lost its energy. Not because it was punished out of them, but because they didn’t need it in the same way anymore. What looked like “bad words” was really a moment about shame, regulation, and feeling in control. And what changed it wasn’t just understanding. It was understanding paired with clear, consistent boundaries that made the environment feel safe enough for them to choose differently.

A family came to me recently feeling really overwhelmed by what was happening with their child. It was the kind of thing where the same moments kept repeating. Transitions were especially hard. Leaving the house, being told no, switching activities. It could go from zero to very intense quickly. Sometimes it turned into hitting or really big reactions, and it just felt like a lot for everyone. They were trying. They cared. They were paying attention and doing their best to stay calm and consistent, but nothing they were trying seemed to be changing the pattern. From the outside, it looked like defiance. But when we slowed things down and really looked at what was happening, it didn’t feel that way anymore. It became clear that their child was getting overwhelmed in those moments and didn’t yet have the ability to regulate himself. His reactions weren’t about being difficult, they were about his body going into overload. Once that clicked, everything started to shift a little. Not in a dramatic, overnight way, but in a steady, noticeable way. They started approaching those moments differently. More connection first. Helping him feel understood before moving into boundaries. And then still holding those boundaries, but in a way that felt calmer and more grounded. The same situations didn’t escalate the way they had before. There was more steadiness. More confidence in what to do in the moment. It just felt different. After that initial consultation, they didn’t feel like they needed more sessions. They had what they needed. Not more strategies, just a clearer understanding of what was actually going on and how to respond to it. A lot of the time, what looks like defiance is really overwhelm. And when that shifts for a parent, everything else can start to shift too. Sometimes it really does start with just understanding.