As a parent, the challenge of disciplining my preschooler often brings forth unexpected emotional responses. I strive to remain calm, yet I find that raising my voice can inadvertently trigger deep-seated feelings from my past. Having experienced both childhood and adult trauma from loud, aggressive outbursts, I am particularly sensitive to the sound of shouting. It is important for me to understand how my own voice can become a trigger, both for me and my child.
My son, Leo, is approaching his fifth birthday and is generally a cheerful and well-mannered child. Like many kids his age, he has gone through typical developmental phases of biting and tantrums, which I have responded to with techniques such as “time-ins” — a gentle approach that avoids isolating or shaming him for his feelings. While patience is a virtue I have learned through parenting, it can be fleeting.
I want to clarify that I do not believe in physical discipline; I reject the notion of hitting or punishing a child. I have never forced Leo to show affection, and I respect his boundaries. However, there are moments when I find myself raising my voice, and I dislike it.
When my patience thins, it often revolves around safety concerns or repeated misbehavior. For instance, when Leo wanders toward the driveway, I remind him firmly, “We stay on the grass. The road is for cars.” After several reminders, my voice raises, and while it grabs his attention, I wish my calm tone were enough.
What struck me profoundly was the day Leo hit me during an emotional outburst, shouting “No!” I understand that children often express their frustrations this way, but it resonated with me differently. Having to physically restrain him while raising my voice felt like a personal violation, triggering a physiological response akin to previous trauma. My heart raced, and I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me.
In the words of trauma psychiatrist Dr. Bessel Van der Kolk in his book The Body Keeps the Score, trauma alters our brain’s response to danger, often leading to overreactions to perceived threats. This insight has empowered me to realize that my responses are rooted in my past experiences. Understanding this has been pivotal; if trauma can be encoded in the body, so too can healing.
To cope, I remind myself that I am not in imminent danger. I focus on teaching Leo valuable lessons about kindness, not simply trying to control his behavior out of fear. I use grounding techniques — observing my surroundings, engaging in specific yoga poses, and practicing deep breathing — to manage my anxiety, especially during stressful moments.
Healing is a gradual process, and I often turn to online communities and blogs where parents share their struggles. In a guest post on The Belle Jar, an author discusses her own challenges and notes how her daughter’s emotional responses echo those of past abusive relationships. This sentiment resonates deeply with me. Similarly, a piece on Stigma Fighters highlights the struggle of a mother determined to break the cycle of abuse, expressing the ongoing battle to view her child as a separate entity from her past.
Identifying triggers is not merely about avoidance; it’s about creating a nurturing environment. I aim to foster an atmosphere of understanding rather than fear. My goal is to avoid letting my own anxieties affect Leo, for the worst experiences I’ve had should not be mirrored in our parent-child relationship.
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In summary, parenting is a journey fraught with emotional complexity, particularly for those with a history of trauma. By recognizing triggers and fostering patience, I can create a healthier dynamic with my child, ultimately breaking the cycle of fear and promoting a nurturing environment.
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