How to deal with a toddler tantrum on a plane

A single quiet tear dripped on my lap, but it was actually a loud internal scream. I was on a crowded airplane with a screaming toddler who was taking over. Her screams echoed throughout the entire plane. She shouted, “All done, all done, all done!” and kept trying to get out of her row.

The flight attendant passed by with a panicked look, carrying a coloring book to calm her. It didn’t work. I was horrified with the volume and intensity of her cries. I looked around for help ten minutes later. She was still screaming. No one was doing anything to quiet her. Then I realized… it was my child screaming!

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Realizing I had nowhere to hide, the embarrassment and shame flooded my face and my tears ran quickly now. Although I have survived postpartum depression and anxiety, hearing my child’s distress was still a huge trigger for my own bodily experiences, and sometimes I just wanted to check out. 32 years ago, this meltdown—built out of fear and overstimulation from the holidays and the thousands of people at the airport—would have been scared silent. My brain and my body want to do what it knows, as if it’s automatic. It takes a lot of energy to do something different.

Did I want her to just stop crying? Did I want to stop all the glaring eyes on the plane? Absolutely. In the short term, I wanted the embarrassment and shame to stop for me. However, in the long run, I want my child to grow up using her voice and embracing all of her feelings, not repressing them. So, I had a choice. Shout at her to stop it. Tell her to calm down (we all know how well that actually works when you are lost in a state of panic). Or take the hard road.

Go against what I was raised with. Go against all the people on the plane—and validate. Tell her, “You are safe. I am here. I know you are scared. I believe you.” Then ride the meltdown out. Take deep breaths and calm my own maxed-out nervous system. Hold her and breathe with her until she hears me. “You are safe, I am here.”

Who am I to dismiss the fear she has?

The truth is, I (as the wiser grown-up) always have a choice. To access that choice, I must first calm my own nervous system. The airplane rule of putting my oxygen mask on first applies here, too. I must calm myself, tell myself to breathe and remind myself that I am safe before I can help her.

So I count the lights marking the “fasten your seatbelt” signs from rows 1-20 silently to ground myself. I take intentionally long exhales. I try to create a bubble around us to block everyone else out. Because she is only two years old. She has been earthside only 26 months. An airplane was invented in 1903, which happens to be many years after humankind roamed the earth for the first time.

So yes, it is scary. It is loud, crowded and smells funny. It has these weird lights and tiny little seats. You can’t go anywhere, and on top of all that, it leaves the safety of the earth. When I stop to think about how her little perfect blue-green eyes see this moment, I see it. It’s too much. It is truly scary.

Being a parent is also incredibly scary. It’s loud and unpredictable. Chaotic and sometimes smells funny. It is too much at times, and I want to shout, “All done, all done, all done!” However, when I made the choice to be a parent, I also made the choice to raise a human from infancy through adulthood. That automatically means that I am the adult here.

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Despite my training and education as an Infant and Early Childhood Mental Health Therapist, I still did not realize how much I would not have control over. I thought my book knowledge would mean I could prevent any meltdown from occurring. I naively thought my education and occupation would ensure that I would never have that annoying, screaming child on a plane. And yet, here I am.

That child was mine. The screaming child dripping sweat, ponytail scrunchie and shoes lost somewhere among the meltdown, was mine. I am also here. Challenging all the ways society may say to raise children—and especially how to raise girls. Challenging the way my partner and I were raised.

Related: 23 mom-tested ways to manage a tantrum (that really work)

My child was equipped with the full range of emotions in-utero and yet a brain that will not be fully formed until her twenties. So of course she needs help from me. I want her to know that all her feelings are valid and OK, even the overwhelming and loud ones. I want her to feel her emotions without shame. I want her to never hide or bury them away. I want her to use her voice. I want her to know that I accept her in all her forms.

She finally settled and laid exhausted on my lap, asleep. I watched her breathe in and out. The plane lands. We are safe. But I am her safe place always, scary plane in the sky or not. Who am I to dismiss the fear she has? I have fears too. And telling me to “calm down” or “stop it” or “relax” does not make me feel any better. It makes me feel small and invalidated, and sometimes even angrier.

So, when faced with a choice, I will choose to take the hard way. I will ground myself and take deep breathes. Then, I will hold her and validate her fears as long as she needs me to. Because that is the job I signed up for.