A few weeks ago, my teenage son slammed the door and muttered something under his breath after I reminded him—yes, for the third time—to put his phone away at the dinner table. My reflex was to snap. “Don’t talk to me like that!” was right on the tip of my tongue. But instead of reacting, I paused. Years of experience as both a parent and therapist have taught me that when a child “acts out,” it’s often an invitation—to lean in, not lash out.
Later, I went to his room. “What’s the matter?” I asked. He hesitated, then said, “You don’t get it! Everything feels like pressure. Even dinner feels like one more thing I have to get right.” That moment shifted something in me. It reminded me: our children aren’t misbehaving to make our lives harder. They’re struggling to express emotions they don’t fully understand—and hoping we’ll meet them there.
Let’s be honest—when a child screams, slams, withdraws, or talks back, it can feel disrespectful and personal. Especially when your own emotional tank is running low. But here’s what I’ve learned through both parenting and years of supporting families: “misbehaviour” is usually communication—just not the kind we’re used to decoding.
It often stems from an unmet need, a surge of emotion, or a sense of helplessness. Younger children might throw a toy when they feel overwhelmed. Teens might roll their eyes or isolate when they feel misunderstood. They’re not trying to hurt us—they simply don’t have the emotional vocabulary to say, “I feel lost,” or “I don’t know how to handle this.” Their behaviour may be loud— but behind it is often a quiet cry to be heard.
Our children’s brains are still under construction—especially the parts that regulate emotions and impulse control. They’re not “little adults.” They’re learners. And sometimes, behaviour is their way of telling us what they can’t say out loud. Here’s what might really be going on: A need for connection—even when they act distant A cry for control in a world that feels unpredictable A hunger for attention that says, “See me. Hear me. Don’t just manage me.” A nervous system in full-blown fight-or-flight mode If we learn to read the signals, we can move from reaction to response, from punishment to presence.
Let’s clear one thing up: empathy does not mean permissiveness. Discipline matters. But how we discipline is what makes the difference.
Take this scenario: your 6-year old hits their sibling in frustration.
Option 1: “Stop being such a bully! Go to your room!”
Option 2: “Hitting is not okay. I see you’re upset, and we’ll talk about what’s going on. But hurting someone is never the answer.”
One response shames. The other teaches. One shuts down the conversation. The other opens the door to growth. True discipline isn’t about control—it’s about building emotional skillsets that last.
Think about the last time you lost it. Were you in your calmest, most rational state? Likely not. Our kids are no different. And they rely on us—not just for rules, but for co regulation. They learn calm not from our words, but from our presence.
Instead of punishing in the heat of the moment, try sitting nearby. Breathe. Offer calm energy. When they’ve settled, then talk.
You’re not letting them “get away” with it—you’re guiding them through it. You’re showing them how to move through big emotions without losing connection.
Children who are shamed into silence don’t stop feeling—they just stop sharing. They become the “mature for their age” kids who internalise anxiety. The ones who seem self-sufficient but are actually emotionally isolated.
So, What Can You Do Differently?
Here are five simple but powerful shifts that help reframe discipline as connection:
Pause Before You React
Take a moment. Regulate yourself first. Calm is contagious.
Name the Emotion You See
“You look really frustrated,” or “Seems like you’re feeling left out.” This builds emotional literacy.
Validate the Feeling, Redirect the Behaviour
Invite Repair, Not Just Remorse “I know you’re angry, but throwing won’t help. Let’s see what we can do instead.” “How did your sister feel when you shouted? What can we do to make it better?”
Model Accountability
When you lose your cool (and you will), own it: “I yelled. That wasn’t okay. I’m sorry.”
That night, after the slammed door incident, I eventually sat beside my son and said, “I didn’t handle that well either. I wasn’t really listening.”
He didn’t say much at first. But then, with a quiet honesty that cracked me open, he replied, “Thanks for not yelling. I know I was being annoying.”
That moment wasn’t about behaviour. It was about being heard. And it reminded me: every time we choose connection over control, we teach our children something powerful— That even in their hardest moments, they are still lovable. Still worthy. Still seen. And maybe that’s the most important lesson of all.
“Every
tantrum is not
defiance—it’s
a doorway into
your child’s
emotional
world.”
That night, after the slammed door incident, I eventually sat beside my son and said, “I didn’t handle that well either. I wasn’t really listening.”
He didn’t say much at first. But then, with a quiet honesty that cracked me open, he replied, “Thanks for not yelling. I know I was being annoying.”
That moment wasn’t about behaviour. It was about being heard. And it reminded me: every time we choose connection over control, we teach our children something powerful— That even in their hardest moments, they are still lovable. Still worthy. Still seen. And maybe that’s the most important lesson of all.
