The Parenting Advice About Big Emotions I Ignored (And What I Wish I’d Known Earlier)
It was 1:15 on a Saturday afternoon, and we were 15 minutes late to pick up the birthday cake for Mia’s cousin. The checkout line at the grocery store snaked back past the soda display, my phone was dead from an hour of me looking up cake decorating ideas, and my 7-year-old had just slid to the linoleum in front of the checkout, screaming so loud the cashier paused mid-scan. She’d asked for a rainbow-sprinkled donut from the display by the register, I’d said no—we already had enough sugar for the day—and she’d completely fallen apart.
For four years, I’d had a go-to move for this exact scenario: distract. Pull up a 2-minute Cocomelon clip, offer a lollipop from my purse, promise we’d come back for the donut tomorrow—anything to stop the screaming before another customer stared. The thing is, I’d been told not to do this, four years earlier at Mia’s third birthday. My sister-in-law, who’s taught first grade for 12 years, had watched Mia melt down when her birthday candle snapped in half. I was shoving a new cupcake in her face and grabbing for the TV remote, desperate to end the crying, when she pulled me aside and said, “You don’t have to fix the bad feeling right now. She’s allowed to be disappointed. Just sit with her, say you get it, and wait.”
I thought that was the worst advice I’d ever heard. Why would I let my kid stand there sobbing when I could make her happy again? Why would I drag out an uncomfortable moment for everyone just to… what, teach her a lesson? I brushed it off and kept doing what I was doing. If a distraction worked, great. If it didn’t, I’d give in just to end the scene.
That Saturday in the grocery store, I had no distractions left. No phone, no candy, nowhere to go. So I just leaned against the conveyor belt, crossed my arms, and said what my sister-in-law told me to say four years earlier: “I know you really wanted that donut, and it’s so disappointing we can’t get it today. I’d be upset too.”
The retired lady behind me huffed and shifted her groceries. Mia screamed louder for a minute, kicking my grocery bag a little. I didn’t say anything else. I just waited. After two minutes, her screaming slowed to sniffling. She crawled over to my leg, leaned her wet face on my jeans, and mumbled, “I still want it.” I said, “I know. I’ll write it on the list for next week, okay?” She nodded. By the time we got out to the car, she was asking when we’d get to the party.
That’s when it hit me how wrong I’d been. For years, I’d thought my job as a parent was to keep my kid happy, and that any negative emotion was a problem to solve. What I didn’t see was that every time I distracted her out of a bad mood, I was stealing the chance for her to practice feeling sad or mad and getting through it on her own. The bad feeling never went away—it just popped up later, as a random fight with her brother or a refusal to go to bed out of nowhere. She also learned that big emotions were scary, because even mom thought they needed to be hidden or fixed right away.
Now that I’ve been doing this for a few months, I’ve figured out small, concrete things that work, no fancy tools needed. First, I use that exact short line I used in the grocery store, every time. I don’t give a long speech about why she can’t have the donut—she already knows. I just name the feeling and validate it: “That’s really disappointing. I get why you’re mad.” Second, if we’re in public, I just turn my body a little to block her from other people’s stares, instead of dragging her out or begging her to stop. Most of the time, the awkwardness is my problem, not hers. Third, I don’t change my mind mid-tantrum to end it early. If I said no to the donut, I stay no, but I don’t get mad at her for being upset about it.
Last month, she came home from a soccer tournament crying after her team lost in the final seconds. Before, I would’ve immediately offered ice cream or a movie to cheer her up. This time, I just sat down next to her on the entryway floor, said “That loss sucks so bad. I know how much you wanted to win,” and I just sat there. I answered a couple text messages on my phone, didn’t push her to talk or cheer up. Fifteen minutes later, she looked up and asked if we could get ice cream. On the drive there, she talked the whole time about how the other team scored, how she missed a pass, how unfair it felt. If I’d distracted her right away, she never would’ve gotten that out.
I still mess up. Last week, we were running 10 minutes late for school, and she melted down because she couldn’t find her favorite sparkly hair tie. I was so pressed for time that I handed her a granola bar and told her we’d buy a new one after school, just to end the crying. That’s okay, though. It’s not about never slipping up.
I still have moments where I want to make the bad feeling go away fast. But now I know that the advice I ignored all those years wasn’t about being mean or letting kids “get away” with bad behavior. It was about trusting that they can handle hard feelings, one small disappointment at a time. We’re still working on it, some days go better than others. But lately, Mia’s tantrums are shorter, and she’ll even say “I’m really mad right now” before she starts crying, instead of just falling apart. That’s more than I ever had when I was busy distracting her from every bad thing.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » The Parenting Advice About Big Emotions I Ignored (And What I Wish I’d Known Earlier)