Talking to my Three-Year-Old about Panic Attacks

I’ve said since even long before I had a child of my own that kids perceive and understand so much more than most adults give them credit for.

The very first time my daughter saw me have a panic attack, she asked me why I was “breathing like that” (hyperventilating). My husband explained that I didn’t feel good and needed some space. My daughter, as if by instinct, told me authoritatively that I needed something to cuddle, something to drink, and some rest. She then brought me one of her stuffies, a bottle of her Motts for Tots apple juice, gave me the briefest but tightest hug, and told me to rest.

She was three at the time. She had no idea what a panic attack was; only that mommy was upset, and needed comfort, hydration, rest, and most importantly, love.

And then today happened. It was the worst panic attack I’ve had in a long time, and it came on quite suddenly. It was the result of sensory overload, and I went from “This is too much” to losing my mind in a matter of about a minute.

For those who don’t experience sensory overload, it’s a bit like this: You have a giant audio mixer, one of these things:

And every single individual piece of sensory information around you is on it on its own slider or knob. Normally, they’re all at varying levels: The conversation you’re having with your partner/kid/friend is most of the way up, but other things, like the conversation happening around the room or the fact that it’s a bit warm in here, are lower. And on a still lower setting is the kind of sensory input you normally don’t even notice: The feeling of your clothes against your skin, the lights overhead, the stuff you don’t even think about.

Sensory overload is taking each and every one of those sliders–and there are dozens–all the way up to maximum.

Every single thing–from the fabric of your shirt on your back, to work you’re trying to focus on, to the conversation in the next room, to the smell of someone’s perfume down the hall–all feels like it’s happening at equal intensities, and it’s too much, it’s too much, and all of a sudden you can’t process any of it, it’s like everything around you is screaming in your face and you’re drowning in it.

Today, I was closer to the tipping point than I realized when I agreed to let my daughter play her PBS Kids games on my phone for a few minutes while I wrapped some things up with work. For some reason, it was just the voices and music in her games that set me off–and I McFreaking Lost It.

I mean, I didn’t scream at her or anything. But I went from Calm Mom (at least on the outside) to full-blown panic attack quicker than you can say “Buncha Munchy Crunchy Carrots.” (It’s from a show my kiddo watches, called Octonauts. I don’t really get it either, but if she’s happy, I’m happy.)

Of course, she was startled by the abrupt change and started crying and screaming, which made it even harder for me to keep myself together, and needless to say, no one had a good time. But she calmed down quickly, and I calmed down a little less quickly, and then we got to talk. And as always, she amazed me by her capacity for understanding and compassion. This is about how that conversation went:

Me: Hey kiddo, can I talk to you for a minute? I wanted to explain something to you.

3-year-old: Why do you want to talk to me?

Me: Remember a little while ago, when I asked you for my phone back, and you got upset and so did I? How did you feel about that?

3-year-old: *taking a minute to think it over* Hmm. Sad.

Me: Why did it make you sad?

3-year-old: Because you were crying really really hard.

Me: Yeah, I was. I got pretty upset didn’t I? I just wanted to explain what happened and make sure you know that I am not, and was not, upset with you at all. Mommy had a panic attack. Do you know what that is?

3-year-old: No, what is a pack-ick attack?

Me: A panic attack happens when I get too overwhelmed, and my brain and my body can’t handle all those feelings. Do you ever get overwhelmed, like when things are super noisy or there’s a lot happening at once?

3-year-old: Yeah, and then I cry. Just like you did!

Me: That’s right. Sometimes I have a hard time dealing with it when there’s too much going on around me too. And earlier, when you were playing on my phone, there was already so much that I was trying to focus on and so much going on, that the sound of your games was too much for me, and I asked for my phone back because I needed that noise to go away. Do you understand?

3-year-old: Maybe if we turned the volume off on your phone, that noise would go away, and then you wouldn’t have a pack-ick attack!

Me: Well, yes, but then you wouldn’t have been able to play, because you need the sounds to know what to do next. You got pretty upset when I took my phone back though.

3-year-old: Yeah, I cried, and you cried, and… and DADDY CRIED!

Me: Well. I don’t think daddy cried, but I think he felt pretty overwhelmed too. Do you understand why daddy took you to another room at that time?

3-year-old: No, but I didn’t like it.

Me: I know you didn’t, you wanted to stay in here with me. But when you were crying, that was a lot of noise too, and daddy wanted you to get your big feelings out in a place where it wouldn’t make me more overwhelmed. Do you understand?

3-year-old: Yeah. I was really loud!

Me: I just want to apologize for getting so upset, and I want you to know I wasn’t upset with you for crying or anything. Me taking my phone back, and getting so upset, and daddy taking you to another room, were all about me, and wasn’t anything you did wrong, okay?

3-year-old: Okay. Are you feeling better now?

Me: Yeah, I’m feeling a lot better. Thanks kiddo. Are you feeling okay about everything?

3-year-old: Yeah. Can you draw a fish for me?

And that was it. I’m sure there’s a lot she didn’t fully internalize, because things with young children take a lot of repetition. But she understood and remembered it well enough that, an hour and a half later when she asked me if she could play games on my phone again and I said no, she remembered how I had felt last time (“Sad, and overwhelmed,” in her own words), and agreed to play quietly for a bit until I was done working.

The point I’m making here, I guess, is twofold:

First, talk to your kids like they’re people. I know it’s hard not to just default to “I’m not feeling well” or “I’m just sad,” or better yet, try to hide your feelings from them entirely or sweep it under the rug and hope they stop asking questions. But it’s not helpful.

I’m not saying to make your kid your confidant–don’t do that. No child should be responsible for managing their parents’ emotions. If you need help with that, talk to a therapist.

But when big feelings happen, kids deserve to know that grown-ups have big feelings too, and we can always have a conversation about how we feel and why.

Today’s conversation, I’d like to think, did a lot for my daughter.

First, Rather than her having to un-learn mental health stigmatization like most of us did, my openness with her in terms she can understand will hopefully help her grow up with an understanding that these things are normal, can happen to everyone, and are okay to talk about. Discussing mental health with children is not only age-appropriate as long as you use the right words, but absolutely necessary in my opinion.

Second, it set an example of how we can both talk about our feelings and understand our own reactions to them. We talk through big feelings pre-explosion whenever possible, but that can’t always happen, and that doesn’t make the conversations about feelings any less important.

And finally, it showed her the respect that I think all kids deserve–I didn’t sweep her concerns under the rug, I didn’t act like nothing happened. I told her that I reacted badly, apologized, explained what had happened and why I felt the way I did, and made sure she knew it had nothing to do with her.

Is there stuff I could’ve done differently? Probably. Maybe we could have gone over ways I can handle it if I start to feel that overwhelmed again. Maybe we could’ve made a code word that means “I don’t have the ability to articulate this right now, but I really need you to turn your volume down or go to another room because my mind and body need space.” Maybe we could’ve used it as an opportunity to talk about anxiety management and ways to calm down when we’re in the middle of big feelings.

As parents, we’re all, always, a work in progress. I could spend the rest of my life wondering about this conversation alone and what I could have done better or just differently. But for now, I’m really proud of the progress we’re making, and the kind of person my child is becoming.

Which brings me to the second point I’m making: My kid is amazing. I’m so grateful for how much I get to learn from her in every situation.

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