When we want to be patient but find ourselves shouting

Perhaps you are trying to get out of the door. There are questions, missing shoes, noise and a message you have not answered. A part is urgently trying to keep everything moving. Another feels alone with all the responsibility. Then your voice rises, before the parts that want to be patient can find any room.

Afterwards, other parts may say, “You should know better” or “You are becoming the parent you never wanted to be”. There may be guilt, fear or a wish to hide what happened. Those parts deserve attention too. Understanding this experience can begin with compassion and an honest look at what needs to change.

Through IFS, we can be curious about the parts that become overwhelmed. Are they trying to make something stop, regain control or finally be heard? What do they fear will happen if they cannot get everyone moving? What are they hoping to protect?

Some may carry earlier experiences of being ignored, criticised or left to manage too much. Others are responding to what is happening now. We do not need to assume an old wound explains every difficult moment. Noise, hunger, tiredness, sensory overload and too little support can matter in their own right.

We can care for the parts that shout while taking responsibility for how shouting affects a child. A child may feel frightened, confused or responsible for the adult’s feelings. Understanding our protection gives us something to work with; their need for safety and care still matters.

The child has their own experience too. A refusal, a lost shoe or a struggle with a transition may carry needs we have not yet understood. Neurodivergent children and parents may need different sensory, communication or practical support. There can be room for both experiences without asking the child to hold the adult’s distress.

A perfect pause may not be available in the middle of overwhelm. We can explore what tends to build around those moments: the demands, the lack of help, what parts are carrying and what the body needs. Support might include a quieter transition, clearer shared responsibilities or someone who can step in. What is possible depends on your circumstances.

In quieter moments, we can listen to the parts of you who feel urgent, angry or overwhelmed. We can get to know what they fear and what they need. The parts who feel ashamed or under pressure to get parenting right are welcome too. This is a space for you to receive care and support.

This is a pattern I have noticed at different times and in different situations with my child. I am leaving out identifying details to respect my children’s privacy. What I want to share is what I have come to recognise within myself.

There are parts of me who take a great deal of responsibility for anticipating what might affect my child’s sensory needs or sense of overwhelm. They stay vigilant, looking ahead and trying to prevent things from becoming too much.

Sometimes my child avoids something that feels difficult. I can understand that avoidance as protection. Yet a vigilant part of me may fear that what is being avoided will have a huge impact on them later. The responsibility can feel enormous. Then, because I am human, I sometimes forget or miss something. That is often where the cycle begins.

Then another part of me may turn towards that vigilant part with criticism and shame for not having anticipated it or picked it up sooner. The part trying so hard to protect my child is now carrying the feeling that it has failed them.

When that shame becomes too painful to hold, another part of me may try to pass it to someone else rather than keep carrying it. Often, that response is directed towards my children or my partner. Sometimes I find myself snapping at my child or partner, or questioning why they have not done something, in a way that could leave them carrying blame or shame. The care that began with wanting to protect my child has become tangled with fear, pressure and hurt.

Afterwards, other parts of me would shame me for not knowing better. I was already carrying the pain of what had happened, and now there was more shame and overwhelm. The cycle continued inside me even after the moment between us had passed.

Getting to know this cycle has helped me make more room for what is happening within me. A part of me may be feeling not good enough, ashamed or deeply frustrated. I can be with that part and listen to what it needs me to understand, while remembering that my child has their own experience and protection too.

From there, I have more room to sit alongside the avoidance and become curious about what feels difficult for them. We can explore what support is needed, without making them responsible for the pain and shame my parts are carrying.

This still is not perfect. Sometimes the cycle moves quickly, and I only recognise it afterwards. There are still moments when frustrated parts of me respond. The work includes returning to those parts with care, taking responsibility for how I have responded and making room for repair with my child.

As I have become more able to recognise my frustration as something happening within me, there has been less blame and shame in how I respond to them. I have noticed my child feeling less shame, being more present and becoming more able to take responsibility for what is within their capacity. I have noticed less avoidance too. There is less fear and pressure coming from my responses for them to manage, and less need to protect themselves by avoiding even more.

Parts of me feel less helpless and less tired. They are less caught in the belief that they are not good enough. By attending to what is happening within me, there is more safety and room for both of us.

When I find myself snapping or responding from frustration now, I can return and make a repair. That has helped create more safety and connection between us. In moments when my child might previously have become overwhelmed and at times lashed out, there are now times when they look at me and say, “Mummy, I need a hug.”

Those moments of reaching for connection matter deeply to me.

Even as I write this, there are parts of me who feel shame. I remind them that I am human, that my children are doing well, and that in our family we always return to repair. A painful moment does not have to leave us alone and disconnected. We can come back, listen to what happened inside each of us and find one another again.

Gabor Maté’s words in The Wisdom of Trauma resonate with me: “Trauma is not what happens to you. Trauma is what happens inside you, as a result of what happens to you.” They remind me to stay curious about what my child experienced inside, including any fear, shame or meaning they were left carrying. For me, repair is returning with care so they do not have to carry what was never theirs to carry in the first place, and so they know they are loved.

My children are my biggest teachers. Each time I notice a reaction within me, there is an opportunity to get to know myself more deeply. The people I love most can bring me closest to the parts of me who still need my attention and care.

Richard (Dick) Schwartz uses the term “tor-mentors” for people who stir up our parts and, through that discomfort, show us what needs healing. That wordplay resonates with me. When I become curious about my own response, a difficult moment can become an invitation to listen within.

This learning keeps unfolding. For me, it has become easier over time, and moments of joy and connection have grown bigger and more frequent. There will still be ruptures and repairs. Alongside them, there is more room to enjoy one another, feel close and keep discovering who we are together.

Knowing these responses within myself helps me meet the responses of parents and children with compassion. I know how deeply we can care, how enormous the responsibility can feel and how quickly fear, frustration and shame can build around that care.

My own inner work helps me stay grounded alongside the overwhelm, with room to listen to the parent’s parts and the child’s experience. I can care about both without being pulled into taking sides or adding to the pressure for someone to get it right.

I think of this as being the eye of the storm: a steady, compassionate presence with space for what is happening around us. From that steadiness, we can listen to the protection, understand what has become too much and explore what each person needs.

This does not ask parents to become perfectly calm or children to stop having difficult responses. There is room for the practical demands, sensory needs, lack of support and inner pressures that make family life hard. We can work together with patience, curiosity and confidence in the possibility of more choice and connection.

When you are steadier, repair can include acknowledging what happened in words your child can understand: “I shouted at you, and I’m sorry. A part of me was finding its feelings hard to manage. That was happening inside me. It wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t your job to make me feel better. I’m here to listen to how it was for you.” The words need to be your own and fit what happened.

Your child may need time, questions, space or reassurance. They do not need to forgive immediately or make you feel better. We can apologise for snapping and listen to how it felt for our child, while keeping a boundary that protects them or someone else. Repair also includes the support and changes that help make the relationship safer over time.

You do not have to arrive with a tidy account or prove that you have tried hard enough. We can make room for how much you care, the parts that feel overwhelmed and what your family needs. If you find yourself feeling more frustrated or reacting more strongly than you would like, support can help us understand what is happening and make more room for how you want to respond.

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For practical ideas around calmer responses and realistic expectations, UNICEF’s parenting guidance offers another resource to explore. The parts perspective here reflects how I approach this work.