For anyone whose child sometimes hurts them

It's normal to feel fear (and shame, alas), but things can be even harder when they stop us from seeing our whole child

I often plan to write about something, but then something else comes along, catches my attention and derails the plan entirely. And so it was this week. On Monday, I came across an article from last year about parents whose children get aggressive and violent towards them. It spoke of how this is far more common than people realise, as most parents feel too much shame to talk about it. And it also cited some statistics from charities who help parents, showing that the only effective interventions are those based on strengthening the child/parent relationship. I also happened to chat with two parents this week who are going through this right now with their children.

Then, on Wednesday morning, I listened through the latest podcast episode before I published it. In this episode, my guest, Holly, talks about how her children reacted to a difficult period of their family life. Her daughter became shut down and withdrew from life, whilst one of her sons became explosive with frequent violent outbursts directed towards her. Holly describes how hard it was to be with this, not only because of the physical and emotional toll it took on her, but also because it induced so much fear in others about the future. She managed to resist the well-meaning voices who told her to be stricter, and intentionally refused to engage with anxious thoughts about the teenage years when her son would be bigger and stronger. Incredibly difficult though it was, she stuck to her intuition, which was to stay compassionate to her son and to keep holding onto, and trusting, the loving child she knew he also was.

After I finished listening, I went downstairs. Two of my children were in the kitchen. One was engrossed in something, but the other asked if I would like a cup of tea, popped the kettle on and then gave me a big gentle hug. We had been working on something together earlier and I think this was a sweet gesture of appreciation. In the embrace of this now-six-foot-something young adult, I felt tears coming as I breathed in the deep truth of not letting the fear of the future cloud our present relationships.

We went through a similar, though much longer, experience to Holly when this wonderful person was younger. The only input I got from anyone beyond the family were raised eyebrows, comments about boundaries and recommendations of psychologists. I didn’t know a single person who had or was going through this themselves, and so, it felt lonely and shameful and I was filled with fear for the future. None of which was helpful in any way.

The turning point for me was when I realised how my shame and fear exacerbated everything. They ramped up my nervous system, made my child feel even worse, and stopped me from connecting with compassion for myself and my child. All of which is totally understandable—there is very little space for compassion and curiosity when we are locked in a fear and shame-induced adrenaline spiral.

Like Holly, the meltdowns in our house were violent and would generally end in broken objects, bruises, exhausted tears and huge remorse. I’m sure they were even more distressful for our child than they were for us. It must be terrible for a child to not only feel the overwhelming enormity of their own emotions, but to also feel like they are scary to the person who loves them most and that that person fears for their future. To be held, at the height of their dysregulation and distress in a panicked gaze that seems to hold no hope for them must feel truly awful.

And so, I learned to stop projecting onto my child a version of themselves that was hopeless, scary and confined to this difficult moment. Like Holly, instead of allowing fears of the future to flood my mind, I intentionally held instead an image of my child at their most calm and loving. I tried to make sure that however bad things were, they would not doubt that they were loved, safe and valued, and that I trusted that they would acquire the capacity to hold whatever emotional overwhelm was happening. Things didn’t change overnight (though I immediately felt less hopeless) but over time, the outbursts became less intense and eventually ended, whilst our understanding of each other deepened. They trusted that I was on their side and together we became far better at communicating in difficult moments and navigating them together. I’ll just add here that I frequently got things “wrong” but I tried to be kind to myself when I did.

There was a time when I would flinch when this child made a sudden move as my nervous system was so accustomed to fearing the worst. I imagine if only there had been a fairy godmother back then who could have waved her magic wand and shown me a hazy glimpse of this kitchen scene with the tea and the big hug. I think I would have cried with relief and happiness. I would definitely have shouted, “I told you so!” at all the people talking nonsense about stricter boundaries. And, I would have held my child through the hard times with all the confidence in the world.

Just like with unschooling, in the absence of knowing, all we can ever do is trust. And, just like in unschooling, the more we trust, the more likely it is that things will unfold in a way that feels good. It’s a virtuous circle. And, we have the time and the space to invest in this most foundational piece of all—our relationship. I am not suggesting that this is all there is to it, that it’s a quick fix or that it’s easy. But, it is a good place to start.

So, if you are going through this right now with your child, know that you are not alone and that it is normal to feel fear (shame, I believe, has more to do a society that lacks understanding and compassion). But also, try not to let your fear or the outside voices limit how you see your child. Next time you find your mind heading to worse case scenarios, remember all the other wonderful things your child is and hold those firmly in your mind. Or, create an image of your child in the future, compassionate, loving and able to navigate big emotions. Let your child feel the fullness of themselves in your gaze.

And if you find it hard to trust in a peaceful future, then from one parent to another, I offer you my gentle hug in the kitchen as something very small but very definite to hold onto.