About Me

Emma sat on the floor, staring at her tiny pink sneakers like they were monsters.
“It’s time to go,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “Can you please put them on?”

“No!” she screamed, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

We were already late. I felt the familiar frustration bubbling up. It’s just shoes. Why does this have to be a battle?

Then I remembered: This wasn’t about shoes.

Emma had spent years in foster care before coming to live with us. Her caseworker once told me she had been moved seven times. Seven homes in four years. How many of those moves began with someone saying, “It’s time to go”?

I took a breath, knelt down, and said softly, “It’s hard to go places when you don’t feel safe, isn’t it?”

She froze.

“Can I sit with you while we get ready? You don’t have to do this alone,” I said, holding out my hand.

After a moment, she crawled into my lap. We sat together for a while — no rush, no pressure — until finally, she whispered, “Will you help me?”

We put her shoes on together.

That day, I learned that sometimes what looks like defiance is really fear. And sometimes the greatest gift we can give a child is not a quick fix, but the safety of knowing they don’t have to face hard things alone.

• Pause before reacting. Often, big emotions hide a deeper need.
   
• Connect before correcting. Build trust first; solutions will follow.
   
• Offer safety and choice. “Do you want help?” can open a door that demands cannot.
   

Every behavior tells a story. The question is: Are we willing to listen?

 Lila was six years old when the sky fell.

At least, that’s what it felt like.

It started with a loud boom — thunder so strong it rattled the windows. Lila covered her ears and ducked under the kitchen table.

Her foster mom, Miss Kara, found her there, knees pulled up tight, breathing fast.

“Sweetheart, it’s just a storm,” Miss Kara said gently.

Just a storm? Lila thought. But storms meant danger. She remembered a night when yelling turned to slamming doors, and slamming doors turned to sirens, and sirens meant she had to leave. She’d learned long ago that loud noises usually meant something bad was coming.

“Can I stay here?” Lila whispered.

Miss Kara sat down on the floor beside her. “Of course. But can I tell you a secret?”

Lila peeked out.

“When I was little, storms scared me too. So my mom taught me a trick. Every time the thunder boomed, we counted the seconds until the lightning flashed. It helped me feel brave.”

Lila tilted her head. “Brave?”

“Brave,” Miss Kara said with a smile.

So they counted. One… two… three… crash! They both jumped.

“You know what else helped?” Miss Kara said. “Knowing I wasn’t alone.”

Lila scooted closer until she was leaning against Miss Kara’s side.

The sky still rumbled, but somehow it didn’t feel as heavy.

For kids who’ve experienced trauma, ordinary events can feel like the sky is falling. What calms them isn’t minimizing their fear — it’s joining them in it.

• Validate first. (“That was scary, wasn’t it?”)
   
• Stay close. Safety is often felt more than said.
   
• Give them tools. Even small coping strategies can help a child feel brave.
   

Sometimes, the best way to help a child through the storm isn’t to tell them it’s safe — but to sit beside them until they believe it.

“Happy birthday!” everyone cheered as Jamal walked into the kitchen.

But Jamal didn’t smile. He froze, eyes darting between the cake, the balloons, and the faces staring at him.

“You don’t like it?” his foster mom, Ms. Diaz, asked, confused.

“I don’t want it,” Jamal said, his voice low.

He ran to his room, leaving the candles flickering behind him.

Later, Ms. Diaz found him hiding under his blanket. “Can I sit with you?” she asked.

Jamal shrugged.

“Birthdays used to mean my mom promised she’d come,” he whispered. “She never did. So I don’t want to do them anymore.”

Ms. Diaz’s heart broke. “Thank you for telling me,” she said softly. “How about we make new birthdays? Ones where you choose what happens?”

For the first time all day, Jamal peeked out. “Like no cake?”

“Exactly,” she said.

And together, they started planning his first birthday that felt safe.

Lesson for Caregivers:

• Celebrations can trigger grief for kids with trauma.
   
• Invite collaboration: “What would make this feel safe for you?”
   
• Honor their past while helping them create new traditions.
   

Reflection Questions:

• What celebrations might feel different for my child than they do for me?
   
• How can I give them more voice in these moments?

Eli didn’t have the words for his big feelings, not yet. At two and a half, his vocabulary was still small, but his world was already big and confusing.

Every Thursday morning, his foster mom, Miss Annie, packed his little blue backpack with snacks, wipes, and his favorite stuffed bear, Teddy.

“Ready to see Mama?” she’d ask gently.

Eli’s eyes lit up. “Mama!”

The car ride always felt long. But when the door opened and Mama’s arms scooped him up, everything felt right. Her smell, her laugh, her voice — it all felt like home.

But then… it was over.

The nice lady in the office said, “Time to go back, Eli.” Mama’s face got tight, and she kissed him too many times all at once.

Then he was back in Miss Annie’s car. Back to the other house.

That night, Eli cried in his crib, reaching for Teddy. He wasn’t sure which house was his, or why he couldn’t stay with Mama.

Miss Annie came in, rubbing his back. “It’s okay, baby,” she whispered. “You’re safe.”

But Eli didn’t want safe. He wanted Mama.

Lesson for Caregivers:

• Babies and toddlers feel the impact of visitation deeply, even if they can’t express it.
   
• After visits, they may show clinginess, regressions, or big emotions — these are signs of grief and confusion, not misbehavior.
   
• Create predictable routines around visits, and offer comfort items (like favorite toys) to help them transition between worlds.
   

Reflection Questions:

• How can I prepare my child emotionally before and after visits?
   
• What small comforts can I provide that help them feel secure during transitions?

Noah was always moving.
If he wasn’t running, he was yelling. If he wasn’t yelling, he was hitting. If he wasn’t hitting, he was breaking something.

His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Lopez, were exhausted.
“We’ve tried timeouts, charts, consequences,” Mr. Lopez said. “Nothing works.”

One night, after a particularly hard day at school, Noah exploded. He threw his backpack, screamed, and kicked a hole in the wall.

Mrs. Lopez knelt down beside him, tears in her own eyes. “Buddy… what’s going on? Why are you so mad?”

Noah’s face crumpled. “I don’t know,” he sobbed. “My head just… feels too big. I can’t make it stop.”

That night, they didn’t lecture him. They held him.

The next week, they found a therapist who specialized in trauma and regulation. Noah learned to name his feelings. They learned how to help him calm his body before it boiled over.

It wasn’t perfect. But slowly, the boy who couldn’t calm down learned that he didn’t have to do it alone.

Lesson for Caregivers:

• “Bad behaviors” are often signs of a nervous system in distress — not intentional disobedience.
   
• Regulation comes before discipline: children need tools to manage big feelings, not just consequences.
   
• Seek support (therapists, parenting coaches) — coping skills are learned best together.
   

Reflection Questions:

• When my child is at their worst, what might their body or brain be trying to tell me?
   
• What calming strategies can we practice together before meltdowns start?

Thank you Mrs. R for sharing this with us!

A Story for Parents Learning to Listen Beyond the Behaviors

It was a Tuesday night, and my patience had been thin all day.
Dinner had been an hour-long standoff, homework ended in tears, and now my daughter was stomping down the hall, slamming her bedroom door so hard the walls shook.  
I wanted to yell, “Enough already!” I wanted to tell her she was being dramatic. Instead, I sank into the couch, staring at the door she’d just disappeared behind.
That’s when it hit me. I remembered reading about it on your website.  It wasn’t about broccoli at dinner or the math worksheet. My child wasn’t trying to make my night hard. She was trying to tell me something, and she didn’t know how.
So I knocked.
“I don’t want to talk!” she yelled.
“I know,” I said softly. “But I’ll sit outside the door until you’re ready. You’re not in trouble. I just want to understand.”
Five minutes later, the door opened, and she looked to see if I was there. She sat on the floor next to me, tears streaming down her face.
“I had a bad day,” she whispered. “The kids were mean at recess, and then I got in trouble at school. I didn’t want to tell you because I thought you’d be mad too.”
In that moment, all the battles of the day disappeared. My little girl didn’t need discipline. She needed a safe place to land.

That night, I learned one of the hardest and most important lessons in parenting: our kids’ big behaviors are often tiny voices screaming for help.

Lesson for Parents: Hearing the Heart Behind the Behavior
When children act out, it’s easy to focus on the defiance or disrespect. But often, behaviors are just signals of unmet needs:
~Fear or stress from school, friendships, or home changes.
~Overwhelm from sensory overload or big emotions they can’t regulate.
~Shame from feeling like they’ve disappointed you.

The next time your child slams a door, talks back, or melts down, PAUSE a minute.
Step back from the power struggle.

Get curious. Ask yourself, “What’s really going on beneath this reaction?”
CONNECT before CORRECTING.
Let them know they are safe with you before addressing the behavior.
Children learn to regulate when they feel understood.
Sometimes the greatest discipline isn’t about consequences, it’s about connection.

YOUR TURN:
When was the last time you heard the heart behind your child’s behavior? Share your story.  You never know who needs to hear it.