After the Meltdown: When Your Child Wants a Hug and You Want to Hide

Let's set the scene.

Your child has just had an EPIC meltdown. The meltdown to end all meltdowns. Maybe it lasted 45 minutes. Maybe there was yelling. Maybe there were tears. Maybe you heard, "You're the worst! I hate you!" at least seventeen times (give or take). At some point you considered changing your name and starting a new life.

And then… It's over. The screaming has stopped, the room is quiet and your child begins to settle. They innocently wander over and ask for a hug or a glass of water, or they lean against you, or they start talking about a random topic as if the last 45 minutes never happened.

And you?

You are DONE.

You are absolutely fried. Touched out. Emotionally wrung dry. The last thing you want right now is to be touched by anybody, let alone the child who was just a tiny tornado.

(CAN WE ALL JUST LET OUT A COLLECTIVE, "UGH," FOR A SECOND?)

If you've ever found yourself in that moment, then you know the guilt, the resentment, or just the overall ick that can come with it. Despite how common it is, it can feel strangely taboo to say it out loud. Which is probably why we spend so much time talking about what to do during a child's meltdown and not nearly enough time talking about what happens after.

After the storm has passed, two nervous systems are often asking for two very different things.

Yours is asking for space.

Your child's is asking for connection.

Both needs are completely valid. And unfortunately… they're also at odds with one another.

So what's actually happening here?

One of the ideas I come back to again and again is something I’ve learned from Robyn Gobbel, who talks about our nervous systems shifting between connection mode and protection mode.

When we feel safe, we're in connection mode. That's where we're able to think clearly, solve problems, laugh, play, learn, and connect with other people.

But when our nervous system detects a threat, it shifts into protection mode. That's where fight, flight, or freeze takes over.

During a meltdown, your child's nervous system is in protection mode. That's why you might see yelling, name-calling, throwing things, running away, shutting down, or whatever protection (aka fight, flight, or freeze) looks like for your child.

And here's what’s equally important: Our adult nervous system shifts, too.

When someone is screaming, throwing things, or saying hurtful words, our own threat detection system activates. We might enter protection mode. 

Here’s where it gets tricky. It’s a matter of timing, really. As your child’s meltdown ends, their nervous system begins making its way back toward connection. The intensity of what happened has shaken them and they are looking to us for reassurance. “Am I ok?” “Are we ok?” “Do you still love me?”

Instead of asking this in words, they might reach for your hand, ask you to sit beside them, lean against your shoulder, ask you for a snack. Sometimes they begin chatting about something completely unrelated. On the surface, these moments can seem insignificant and even inconvenient. But underneath, they're bids for reconnection.

But your nervous system is not ready. You don’t feel safe to connect yet. You’re still trying to recover from the storm. They want reassurance (aka connection) and you want space (aka protection). I think that explains why this moment can feel so incredibly hard.

THERE ISN'T A PERFECT SOLUTION TO THIS TENSION.

I find myself in this situation, too. I know what my child needs. And sometimes it's the exact opposite of what I need. What if I don’t have it to give? So I’ll share with you what I do for myself in these situations. I try to pause and ask myself this question:

Can I see the child who is reaching for me instead of only remembering the child who was yelling at me five minutes ago?

It’s not easy and I don’t always have it in me. But understanding what's happening beneath the surface helps me respond with a little more compassion for both of us.

If you're able, offer a brief path back to connection. Sometimes that's a hug, but if touch is out of the question for your sense of safety, it can be as simple as saying, "Wow… that was really big and we got through it."  Or, "I'm here and I love you."

It doesn't have to be fancy and it doesn't have to be perfect. It simply lets your child know that the relationship made it through the storm.

Then take your break. Splash water on your face, step outside for a breath of fresh air, hide in the pantry and eat chips in complete silence (ok that’s me).

Let your own nervous system settle, too.

YOU DON'T HAVE TO CHOOSE BETWEEN TAKING CARE OF YOUR CHILD AND TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF.

Healthy relationships make room for both.

Long after the yelling has stopped, your child probably won't remember the exact words you said, but they'll remember what it felt like to find their way back to you. And maybe, over time, you'll remember that you can find your way back to each other.

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