Calm doesn’t start in the moment
One afternoon my son was hungry. Not “we’ll eat soon” hungry … the kind where where your body just feels wrong and needs something now.. He wanted a specific food, and I just wasn’t willing to offer that option.
From the outside, it probably looked like a really familiar parenting moment: a child pushing, a limit being held, a parent trying to stay calm. But we weren’t in the same place in that moment. Inside his body, there was hunger, discomfort, and urgency. His system was stuck on what he was expecting, not ready for the change. Inside mine, I was holding the time, the boundary, and the steadiness the moment required.
When parents ask me, “How do you stay calm in moments like that?” the question often carries an assumption, that calm is something you summon in the moment. A strategy, or a skill, or a way of stopping yourself from reacting.
But for me, calm doesn’t start there. It starts much earlier, with understanding. The kind that helps me stay oriented when things escalate.
I’m not calmer in those moments because I’ve found the right response. I’m calmer because of the understanding I’m standing on…. I’m calmer because I understand what I’m actually looking at: a hungry body, very little room left, a system organised around immediate relief (not reasoning, not flexibility, not waiting).
That understanding changes how the moment lands for me, how it feels for me and ultimately how I regulate myself and how I respond.
When I know what’s driving what I’m seeing and because when I understand what’s driving the behaviour, I’m not fighting the behaviour or asking for more than he can manage in that moment. I’m not confused about what’s happening. I’m not trying to override the intensity of the moment or rush us towards the resolution.
That understanding gives me an orientation I can hold onto, even when the moment is intense.I can stay grounded in those moments because I understand what’s sitting underneath what I’m seeing. I’m not relying on willpower or patience alone. I’m responding from an understanding of what’s actually driving the moment.
This still doesn’t make the situation easy. The boundary still holds, the discomfort is still real, the feelings don’t disappear. But I’m not relying on willpower or patience alone. I’m responding from a clear sense of what’s underneath the behaviour, rather than reacting to how it looks on the surface.
That’s the quiet power of understanding.
It doesn’t fix the moment. It doesn’t make the feelings smaller. But it changes how I’m able to stay present inside the moment, grounded, clear, and less pulled into the urgency of the spiral. For me, calm in these moments isn’t something I manufacture on demand. It’s something that has grown over time, out of seeing what’s really going on underneath and letting that understanding lead.
That orientation has really changed my experience of parenting. And it’s the same lens I bring when I sit alongside other parents too, helping them make sense of what they’re actually standing in.
Because when the moment makes more sense, you don’t have to fight so hard to stay steady inside it.