Every parent has that particular behavior from their children that tests their patience. For some, it might be the endless nose-picking, while others might struggle with dishonesty or bickering. For me, it’s the sound of screaming.
It’s important to clarify that I’m not referring to the joyful squeals that erupt during playtime, nor the irritated shouts resulting from exhaustion during shopping trips. What truly unsettles me is the kind of screaming that serves no purpose—a raw, primal sound that feels more suited for horror films than everyday life. That high-pitched wail pierces through my being, triggering an instinctual fight-or-flight response that leaves me frantically searching for emergency assistance. It’s a visceral reaction that I simply cannot ignore. Thus, my children are well aware that shouting is only permissible in dire situations: a stranger’s abduction, a wild animal encounter, or a genuine emergency.
Reflecting on my childhood, I recognize that my upbringing shaped my views on this matter. Growing up in a remote area, screaming was reserved for moments of real peril. Although I never had to unleash that scream in true danger, I was comforted by the knowledge that it was an option. My parents understood that a scream from me signified urgent distress, not merely a dramatic performance.
Now, as a parent of two in a wooded area with its share of wildlife, I allow my kids to roam freely outdoors while I work from home. While I can generally keep an eye on them, unpredictability lurks in nature, from potential coyote encounters to unexpected animal behavior. I need them to have that scream available as a safety mechanism, one I hope they never have to use. They can play and shout, but if a scream escapes their lips, I will be there in an instant, and they know that I’ll expect a valid reason for their alarm.
I often marvel at how some parents remain unfazed by the noise, as I find it so distressing. Just the other day at the park, a little girl was at the top of a slide, screaming at the top of her lungs, while her mother chatted away with friends, seemingly oblivious. My heart raced; it sounded as if the girl was in grave danger. What if something truly was happening? How would her mother even be aware?
To those parents who are undisturbed by their children’s screams, I have many questions. Is it that you believe children should express themselves freely? Are you concerned about stifling their emotions? Or have you perhaps trained yourselves to tune it out? My ears are ringing just thinking about it.
I understand that I might need to work on my own reactions, but I suspect that my deep-seated aversion to screaming is not something I can easily change without significant effort, such as cognitive behavioral therapy. Yet, I also feel no strong desire to alter my approach. I believe my children can thrive without needing to scream, especially when they are exploring the wonders of nature without me hovering over them.
I don’t think I am repressing anything essential in them, other than perhaps preparing them for the day they too will find screaming intolerable when they have kids. And I’m perfectly fine with that.
They are free to howl at the moon, belt out their favorite songs, play instruments until my head throbs, or even scream into a pillow to vent their frustrations. However, when it comes to real screams, those should be saved for genuine emergencies. This way, I can maintain some semblance of calm in my life, without a constant rush of adrenaline.
In conclusion, this approach not only safeguards my children but also preserves a peaceful environment at home—an essential balance for our family life.
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