Last weekend, something happened that reminded me how much is going on beneath the surface for our kids and how fast things can unravel when their internal “cup” overflows.

We were up at my in-laws’ cabin. My husband and son had gone up earlier that day with other family members for what should’ve been a fun day of rafting. I arrived later that evening with our other kids, just in time for things to go sideways.

As I got out of the car, my son opened the door, and my purse fell out. He picked it up and set it down... right on top of a pack of bread rolls. I said, “Oh, don’t smash the rolls,” and he immediately burst into tears, ran into the garage, and told me to leave him alone.

Then he ran into the woods.

It was getting dark, and I was panicking. I didn’t know what had happened or why he was reacting this way, but I knew I couldn’t let him disappear into the trees. I followed from a distance, close enough to keep him safe, but far enough that I wasn’t crowding him. He was clearly dysregulated, arms crossed, flinching when I got too near, and switching between crying and laughing.

Eventually, I got him to sit in the car and offered him his nightly medication. He agreed, and while I stepped away to grab it, his grandma gently checked in with him. Thankfully, he took the meds, calmed down, and agreed to sneak into the cabin through the back door, where he could have a quiet space to himself. He ate some muffins, drank some milk, and fell asleep.

After he was settled I found out what happened.  The family’s “two-hour” rafting trip turned into four and a half hours in the sun and water. He was exhausted, over-socialized, hadn’t eaten dinner, and was at his limit. That little comment about the rolls was the final drop that spilled the cup.

As I reflect on that experience, I think there are some things I did well and things I could have done better. 

Here’s what I did well:

• I kept him safe and in sight without escalating things.
  

• I stayed calm and didn’t yell.
  

• I helped him get to a quiet, regulated space.
  

Here’s what I could’ve done better:

• I told him I’d take him home without knowing if I actually could. That could have backfired when I wasn’t able to follow through.
  

• I kept asking, “What’s wrong?” in the middle of his meltdown, when what he really needed was space to decompress.
  

After things settled, we made a plan. He had a designated quiet space for the rest of the trip. We downloaded a Jurassic Park movie for solo screen time. We gave him full permission to step away, nap, or just lie down. He did much better once he had control over his environment.

This experience was a powerful reminder: even if your child seems fine on the outside, something might be brewing under the surface. My husband checked in several times that day to make sure my son was okay. Every time my son looked fine and said he was good. 

When meltdowns happen, our job isn’t to fix it in the moment or demand answers. It’s to help our kids feel safe enough to come back to calm.

If you are finding yourself feeling helpless or lost more times than not in your parenting journey, I would love to support you. 

This is exactly what I help parents with inside the Neurodivergent Parenting Community.

Here’s what it looks like:

• Implementing new tools to better understand your child’s needs 

• Finding strategies that actually work for your kid

• A community that reminds you parenting is hard and you’re doing great

You don’t have to figure it out alone.