I strive to avoid raising my voice. The act of yelling can be triggering for me. Having experienced the harshness of aggressive outbursts both in my childhood and as an adult, I’ve become increasingly aware of how my body and mind respond to loud voices. It wasn’t until I became a parent that I recognized my own raised voice as part of this trigger.
My son Leo will turn 5 this fall, and he is generally a joyful and well-mannered child. Like many kids his age, he has gone through brief phases of hitting, biting, and throwing tantrums. I addressed these behaviors through “time-ins”—a gentle approach that neither isolates nor shames him for expressing strong emotions. Additionally, I redirect his energy and tap into reserves of patience I didn’t know existed. This patience is a gift my son provides, although it can be fleeting.
Let me state clearly: I do not believe in hitting children or anyone for that matter. I also believe in respecting boundaries, which is why I never force Leo to hug me or anyone else. That being said, there are times when I must raise my voice, and I dislike it.
When my patience wears thin, it often revolves around safety concerns or repeat offenses—actions Leo has been warned against multiple times. For instance, when we are outside, I make it clear that he needs to stay on the grass and not venture onto the driveway or street. Each time he strays, I guide him back while reminding him, “We stay on the grass. The road is for cars.” Yet, after several reminders, I find myself raising my voice. It’s effective; Leo is startled and quickly returns to safety, apologizing afterward. I wish my calm voice had the same effect, but it frequently does not.
What truly shook me was the day Leo hit me hard on the arm and screamed, “No!” I understand that young children act out, and I don’t perceive Leo’s behavior as abusive. However, being forced to grab his hand to prevent another hit and leaning in to firmly say, “We do not hit. No hitting!” was a deeply unsettling experience for me.
In that moment, I felt my throat constrict, my chest tighten, and my hands tremble. Even as I softened my tone to explain, “Hitting hurts people, and it’s never okay,” I felt as though I was pleading with him to understand, to listen, and to let me walk away. But with a 4-year-old, walking away isn’t an option.
Experiencing abuse leaves lasting trauma. Our bodies often remain trapped in a fight, flight, or freeze response, even when the danger has passed. Our neurological responses can be hyperactive, so even minor triggers can elicit intense emotional reactions. Dr. Bessel Van der Kolk’s work in The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma has been enlightening for me. His insights suggest that the brain of a trauma survivor remains hyper-vigilant, making even the slightest hint of danger provoke an acute stress response.
While it might not seem beneficial to understand that my anxiety is encoded in my brain, this knowledge has, in fact, been empowering. Dr. Van der Kolk emphasizes that since our bodies process trauma, it’s possible to unlearn this anxiety. Just as we can develop physical abilities, we can also reshape our responses to fear.
I notice my patience dwindling when confronted with yelling, and I remind myself that this isn’t the same kind of desperation I felt in the past. I have to remind myself that both Leo and I have escaped our previous dangers. I am teaching him to be kind, not attempting to prevent him from hurting me. I need to remember that Leo is just a child who is testing boundaries, not an adult who has repeatedly crossed them.
To help manage my anxiety and triggers, I employ various grounding techniques. These include sensory grounding—focusing on what I can see, hear, and touch in the present moment—along with ritualistic grounding methods such as specific yoga poses and deep-breathing exercises. Despite my efforts, healing can be a slow and isolating journey, which is why I often seek out blogs that resonate with my experiences.
In “Parenting with Trauma,” a guest post by Claire Evans on The Modern Family Blog, the author discusses her own challenges with her daughter’s outbursts. She reveals how her daughter’s reactions can evoke memories of past abusive relationships, making her feel vulnerable. This sentiment resonates deeply with me. Similarly, in “Anxious All Over,” writer and mother Tara Williams candidly shares her own struggles to avoid repeating abusive cycles, stating, “I never expected to have to battle that impulse.” I appreciate these authors for tackling such complex topics, as they are rarely discussed openly.
Many believe that identifying triggers involves avoiding specific topics or situations, but in parenting, I strive to maintain a calm demeanor. I want to avoid creating a power dynamic based on fear. I don’t want Leo to witness my anxiety escalate due to yelling; I want him to feel safe and secure. There are times when I find it necessary to raise my voice, but I prefer to keep those instances to a minimum.
In summary, navigating the challenges of disciplining a preschooler when you have past trauma can be incredibly complex. It requires a balance of patience, understanding, and grounding techniques to avoid falling into old patterns. For those seeking support on related topics, exploring resources on fertility treatments at March of Dimes and boosting fertility can be beneficial.