I let my son throw fits because I'm a good dad

Our 7-year-old son was recently diagnosed with Autism and ADHD. Before then, people thought he was disobedient and rude.

There’s an episode in the TV show Modern Family where the dad, Phil, is having a hard day.

He feels emasculated because he can’t figure out where the smoke alarm beeping is coming from. Every beep tells him, “You’re not a man.” And he’s slowly being driven insane.

Someone he wants to impress knocks on his door. Phil answers and happens to be wearing his wife’s very feminine apron. And, in perfect comedic timing, the smoke alarm chirps.

The confluence of emasculating events sends him over the edge.

I think about that often.

Anytime my son threw a fit, I would get firm and get him to stop.

I would guide him to start acting sociable again ASAP… because that was the only way to silence my inner voice, like that smoke alarm, that was screaming: You’re a bad dad.

I started noticing my motivation for good parenting, while it was to help him be successful in life, it was increasingly becoming more about protecting my inner wounds.

The only way I knew how to silence that inner voice was to get my son to stop acting out.

My emotional stability and peace were completely dependent on how my child acted.

That’s healthy… right?

Life is good… when I control every detail

This discovery led me down a path I didn’t expect.

It wasn’t about parenting.

It was about healing myself so I could become a better man for my family.

I realized I felt out of control when things weren’t going right. And as a reaction, I reached for the reins to fix it NOW.

One of his doctors suggested something I HATED. I viscerally reacted to it. “When your son acts out, he sees red and can’t be reasoned with until he calms down. Instead of talking to him about behavior right then, give him space, and talk and guide him after he’s calm and open.”

While this sounds simple, in the moment, for someone who wants control… It’s incredibly difficult for me to allow him to just throw a fit.

I interpreted that suggestion like this: “If your son throws a scream fit in the snack aisle at Target, lie on the floor next to him and say, 'I hear you, buddy. Daddy’s here.’ Don’t worry, other shoppers will re-route past you.”

That ain’t me.

Sorry, not sorry.

There are clear lines of acceptable and unacceptable behavior. Part of my job as a dad is to teach him how to be an accepted member of society. And throwing tantrums in public is not a healthy way of expressing frustration.

I firmly believe a diagnosis is not a death sentence.

Nor is it a crutch to do whatever he wants.

So… I tried the doctor’s advice in the privacy of our home.

He had some big feelings. Instead of talking to him about his behavior, I told him he could go to the other room alone and come out when he was ready to talk about it.

3 minutes later, he emerged, and we had a great conversation about how to behave.

Before, he wouldn’t listen. Sometimes, a “simple” conversation would turn into an hour trying to get his attention. He’d be completely shut down, and I couldn’t figure out how to get through to him.

But this approach allowed him to get centered, then we could talk about how to behave, and I could also show him that I see his big feelings and accept him regardless. (If this happens in public, we remove ourselves from the situation and work through it in private… no lying in the aisle and making strangers suffer).

As he’s grown over the last couple of years, public outbursts are few and far between. Private ones are still common, although a lot smaller and shorter.

I’ve begun to learn how to let the moment breathe.

To let him breathe.

To let myself breathe.

He feels more seen and loved. And his behavior has improved.

And I’ve felt my need for control wash away. My inner voice has now shifted from an accuser to the sound of a deep breath. I remind myself I cannot control my son, but I can guide him.

And each time I hear that, an innermost part of me feels healed just a little more.