Jul 17, 2026

What I Actually Do in the Moment

Part 4 of 6 — Neurodivergent Parenting series. ← Previous: Part 3 | Next: Part 5 →

Catching It Early

As a helicopter parent who always hovers, I can often gauge when a meltdown is coming if she's around me. If I hear frustration building, or see her squishing her face, I watch from a distance and decide — based on what she's dealing with — whether to leave her to work through it or step in.

Why I sometimes leave her be: as much as I'd love to protect her from everything, I can't. She needs to experience emotions, disappointment, and sadness at some point. I'd rather she feel it and learn to cope with it here, in a safe space, with me, before it happens somewhere out in the world without me.

If it's something small and I know she can self-regulate, I leave her be.

If I hear it continuing, or see more frustration building, I'll poke my head into her room and, in a silly voice, say something like "Hi! What you doing?" Sometimes just hearing that silly voice — knowing I'm there — eases the moment. Or if I see her frowning, I might say, "Your brain is really doing a workout! Flex those muscles!" and pull a silly face. Diffusing with laughter, a gentle touch on her arm or shoulder, a kiss on the forehead — but mostly, just being present and letting her know I'm there.

Dealing With World War 3

If it's World War 3 and I didn't see it coming, it's immediate. I have to gauge the best plan of action fast.

First, I ask: "Do you need a hug?"

Sometimes she doesn't want to be touched — that adds to her overwhelm. She needs space, and I respect that. So I sit near her, outside her personal space but still visible, and start talking very calmly:

"I see that you are upset or angry, and I am very sorry that you are having to deal with this right now. I love you, and I am here whenever you are ready."

When it turns physical — screaming, hitting, kicking the walls — I step in immediately, because I'm afraid she'll hurt herself (she gets very strong when overwhelmed). I clap once, loudly, to get her attention. I look at her — she needs to look at me — and I hold her shoulders. I keep my voice calm:

"I understand you are angry right now, but I don't want you to hurt yourself. Let's find a safer way for you to vent."

If she still needs to hit something, I hand her a pillow and let her hit it and shout into it for as long as she needs. I allow this because we all need to release what we're feeling — it just needs to happen safely. Keeping it bottled up is a recipe for disaster.

Box Breathing Together

Sometimes we sit together and hold hands. She sits across from me, we keep eye contact, and we breathe together:

In through the nose for 4 counts
Hold for 4 counts
Out for 4 counts
Hold for 4 counts

Even if she can't hold that long, I keep going in a calm voice and keep showing her. After a few minutes, she's able to calm down a bit. I stay in the room, let her take the lead, and remind her that when she's ready, I'm here.

The Difference With Teenagers

If she says, "I'm not ready to talk about it yet," I respect that. Once I know she's safe, I say: "Thank you for sharing and letting me know how you feel. I am here whenever you feel ready to chat about it."

I allow her not to talk right away because I understand that processing emotions takes time — trying to pry information out of her just causes overwhelm again and can trigger another meltdown. Keeping her safe is my main objective. I still check in — poke my head in, say "hey," smile — just to monitor.

Most of the time, once she's completely calmed down, she comes to me and tells me what happened. Then we have a frank conversation about her reaction and about wanting to keep her safe. No blame, no pointing fingers. Just support and love.

None of this happened straight away. It took a lot of getting it wrong first. In the next part, I'll cover how I handle actual tantrums and her teenage rants — because they need something different again — and how I've had to learn to look after myself in all of this too.

Tania, Tansley Express