Tough at School, Melting Down at Home: 3 Calming Tools

Early afternoon. The door opens and three children walk into the house. The first is Chezki. The second is Bechiel. And the third is Nitza.

I am Chezki,

and when I come home, I have to show everyone how strong I am. (My name comes from chazak — strong.) All morning I had to fight for my place in the classroom. One friend turned his back on me, and another threw an insulting word my way. Recess takes more out of me than all the lessons put together. When I get home, all the frustration and anger and aggression that piled up inside me comes out on my brothers and sisters. When I hit, I am hitting the word that hurt me. When I grab the game, or just stick out a foot to trip someone, I am destroying the pain rising up inside me. I am Chezki, and I am strong — mostly with the weak.

I am Bechiel,

and when I get home, a raging river pours out of my eyes over every little thing. (My name comes from bechi — crying.) I cry because Mom's foot moved up to the next stair. I cry because she didn't bring me a cookie right away. I cry when someone takes the bathroom before me. I cry because Mom didn't guess my fantasies about lunch. I cry when she says, “Just a minute, sweetie.” I cry, and cry, and most of the time I have no idea what I'm crying about. When Mom tries to bring me the cookie I wanted, I stop crying for a second — and then I throw myself on the floor again over something else entirely. I have so much crying inside me. All morning I worked hard at behaving nicely in preschool, at following the teacher's rules and instructions, at being a grown-up kid, a hero, smart, big. And that's it — now I can't do it anymore. Every small frustration shatters me into pieces. I am Bechiel, and I cry — mostly about things that make no sense.

I am Nitza,

and when I come home I am a very combative girl. In general, I follow the “we will refuse and we will hear” approach — my own twist on na'aseh v'nishma (“we will do and we will hear”). Whatever Mom says, my first answer is “no,” and only afterward do I check what she actually said. But when I come home, I become unbearable — stamping my feet, flipping tables over, screaming, and anything else that makes me feel, for one moment, like I'm in control. After a whole day in which so many things kept happening to me without my being able to do anything about them. And here's the thing: it works. I really am in control. Mom backs off and everyone walks on eggshells around me — and I still feel so lost and so small. I am Nitza, and I am combative, but that isn't really me.

When children come home, they come home — but they are not the only ones walking through the door. Along with them come the defenses that protected them out in the big world, the armor that let them cope with everything they met along the way. When they get home, they need us to help them take that armor off, just like their coat or their backpack. Otherwise they stay stuck inside it, and what we see is a child behaving badly, allowing himself things he would never try outside. We see a wild creature instead of a wonderful one.

In order to lower the armor, they need to meet your compassionate heart, your generous interpretation of their behavior, X-ray eyes that read them from the inside. They need to meet a mother who doesn't panic, who knows this is just the confusion of a transition season.

What else do they need?

1. Reconnect

After so many hours apart, your connection system has been on pause. To reconnect, look for their eyes, tell them how much you love them, and how much your heart was missing them.

2. Remove the triggers

First things first: bathroom, drink, food. These are the three parameters in their body's budget that are at a very low point right now. Let them drink, even if it isn't water. And eat, even if it isn't the healthy snack you had in mind. Later on you can think about improving the nutritional content. Right now this is first aid.

3. Low-arousal activity

Start with something calm, at a slower pace. Even better, something you are part of. This is not the moment for a wild game or a group trip to the park — save that for half an hour from now. Right now, let the nervous system let go, understand that it has arrived in a safe place, and reconnect to the energy of home.

Leah Auerbach is a parenting coach working with a developmental attachment approach. She specializes in parenting children with high sensitivity and emotional regulation difficulties, and in parenting twins. For responses and to get in touch: [email protected]