Sunday's Snapshots: Tantrums vs. meltdowns

With back to school, the beginning of soccer, and the fair, many families are dealing with high emotions, not just in the littles, but the bigs. Another parent recently explained their childs’ meltdowns to me and all I could do was nod along and smile, “I feel that way too,” I blurted. Sometimes it’s too many people, sometimes it’s being hungry, sometimes there’s no obvious reason. Another parent came up and told me how their child may not realize they’re overheating, if they become grumpy to ask them to shed a layer and see if that fixes it. “Same,” I thought.

There was a thing going around social media that asked people about the difference between a temper tantrum and a meltdown, claiming that one should be ignored and the other required intervention. The only difference I could see between the two is perception: if you perceive it as an act of defiance, it’s a tantrum, if you see it as a cry for help, it’s a meltdown. The actual event from the child’s perspective is the same, it’s the resulting adult reaction that is different.

When we first moved here, my children were five and two, excellent ages for overwhelm of all kinds. Life was hectic with moving what little we’d brought, cleaning, finding appliances and furniture, unpacking – all the usual chaos of a move. But my kids had just been moved twice: once into an RV and then a year later into their grandmother’s house. Here we were six months later, moving again. The excitement was palpable, but so was the stress. We were in the grocery store on one of our near daily runs because we didn’t yet have a fridge, and one of my children, I couldn’t tell you which because I don’t remember, started to lose control.

Honestly, I wanted to join them. I felt everything they were feeling, the only difference was I had to maintain an outward veneer, the mask of adulthood. In that moment, I could have railed and threatened, “That’s it! We’re leaving,” a cart abandoned, and a family whisked away to the vehicle waiting outside. But I also couldn’t, we needed to eat and to do so, the grocery shopping had to be completed. I took a deep breath and asked my child to do the same, I got down in a crouch and held their hands. “I think we’re both hungry and overwhelmed,” there was nodding, “and that we’ll both feel better once we can get out of here and get back home for some down time.” I took another deep breath and my child mimicked me. “Do you think we can make it through picking up two more things so we can check out?”

I deliberately said “we” because it was a question for us both: did they think they could handle it, did I think they could handle it, did I think I could handle it? And we agreed we could, and we did. It was a minor victory as far as life goes, but an enormous victory in that moment. We both realized we were capable of more than we knew. I didn’t resort to threats, a tactic I’d grown up with on my father’s side, and I didn’t walk away, an effective tactic I’d learned from my mother. Instead, I met them where they were, seeing the tantrum not as a tantrum at all but as an act of desperation.

Far from a perfect mother, there have been plenty of times where I’ve offered the empty threat of a spanking, which my children ignore or even laugh at, plenty of times where I’ve allowed them to take a moment and come find me when they’re done, or the tried and true and completely ineffective threat to put them in the car or take them back home so I can finish the shopping. These reactions are my own tantrum, my own meltdown. But no one tries to send me to the car or to walk away from me, instead I’m occasionally soothed by another adult nearby, kind words of encouragement, “Hang in there!” “My kids did that, too!” and the occasionally misplaced and shame inducing, “You’re gonna miss this.” (I assure you, this part, I will not miss).

We are all people who get overwhelmed, hungry, overheated, over-peopled, over-stressed; age and label are irrelevant. What matters is how we are treated when it’s happening. I prefer a little kindness, a little empathy, and I really don’t care if people think I’m throwing a tantrum as long as they hold my hand and help me breathe through it.

Sunday Dutro is an internationally published writer living in Thompson Falls with her beautiful family. Reach her at [email protected]