“I’M NEVER GOING to let my kid sit at a table like that with a phone in their hand.” – Every man who hasn’t had kids yet.
You might remember your younger siblings or cousins losing it when they didn’t get a turn on the video game, or whatever was on their plate at dinner was so repugnant that the food was soon all over the floor and the house descended into calamity.
Tantrums are a normal part of growing up.
When you think about what it is to be a kid, it makes sense. You have a brain that’s yet to develop properly, you lack the skills to communicate your needs, handle frustration, deal with transitions, or you’re just not big or strong enough to do what you want to do. Throw in an inability to control impulses and you’ll get a kid who flips a table when he’s not allowed to keep watching his show.
Our youngest is now five, and learning about what’s going on in his brain when he loses it really helped me with responding to his tantrums in a way that’s helped both of us grow up, rather than how I was treated when I was a kid (it was the 70s and whacking kids was seen as doing them a kindness; thankfully the research has since shown that is a terrible idea).
That was the good part. The bad part was that learning about what’s going on for him gave me the humbling realisation (while in the middle of a heated disagreement with my wife) that the way I sometimes respond to her is, as much as I dislike admitting it, a man-sized tantrum.
The only difference between my three-year-old and me was the scope for the fallout to be far more severe than a spilled dinner plate.
To be honest with you, some of my responses to situations are just toddler tantrums wearing dad’s clothes. I’m not a boy, I’m a man! I have a career and a mortgage, I navigate relationships, I have a cardiologist, I’m a proper grown up!
But every so often, something happens and suddenly I’m four years old, the line between man and boy is thinner than I want to admit. I might not be sprawled on the supermarket floor screaming through snot bubbles for a chocolate bar, yet that scene and me shouting something mean at a car from inside my motorbike helmet arise from the same emotional process.
They’re both expressions of frustration, triggered by unmet needs, an inability to cope with stress, or a loss of control.
Take the kid melting down in the sweets’ aisle. His prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain responsible for impulse control, is still under construction. Overwhelmed at not getting chocolate, he collapses into a screaming ball of tears and screams.
Now consider me, who’s just realised that his weekend looks very different due to a family thing which I’m told I was told about but have no recollection of being briefed.
It’s not that I don’t like those relatives. They’re lovely. It’s not that I’m puzzled that I can’t remember the conversation (I swear it never happened, but here we are). It’s that what I thought was going to happen is now not going to happen.
I don’t scream or flail my arms around (though I’m not proud to admit that both have happened on occasion), but a car door closed with a little too much oomph and then avoiding eye contact with my wife for a few hours is the adult equivalent.
In both cases, the underlying issue is the same: emotions have taken over.
The things that can trigger a tantrum – either in men or boys – are often surprisingly similar. Both groups struggle when their needs aren’t met, have a hard time with delayed gratification, struggle with a lack of autonomy, and dislike uncertainty.
If there’s a whiff of insecurity or fear in the mix, the tantrum takes on even more intensity. There are a few common culprits for tantrums, no matter how old you are, stress and overstimulation being two major players.
For kids, missing a nap or a long day at school can turn a minor frustration into a full-blown meltdown. For men, a poor night’s sleep or a stressful day at work can have the same effect, making the smallest inconvenience – your wheelie bin halfway down the street, no milk in the fridge – feel like the final straw.
Tantrums with boys can be quite broad. They’ll involve sadness, vulnerability, wanting protection, even loss of emotional control. Yet men are frequently conditioned to believe that certain emotions – like fear, sadness, or vulnerability – are off-limits.
So, what happens instead?
Anger becomes the socially acceptable mask for a whole spectrum of feelings.
A man who’s scared of failing might lash out at his partner for asking about his work. A man feeling unappreciated might channel his hurt into yelling about the mess in the living room. It’s not that men are inherently angrier than kids; it’s that anger is often the only emotion we’ve been taught to express.
Kids, on the other hand, are usually more transparent. When they’re sad, they cry. When they’re frustrated, they yell. When they’re scared, they cling to a parent.
In some ways, this makes their tantrums easier to understand.
Tantrums in men can be more subtle, yet they’re just as emotionally raw as a kid’s – and just as disruptive.
The worst thing about having kids isn’t the sleep or the worry – that’s the easy part. The worst thing about having kids is that they don’t do what you tell them, but they will do what you show them. I was way, way older than I’d like to admit to you (I’m talking within the last year) when I came to understand that I was showing my son “accidentally” slamming doors, snapping at loved ones, or withdrawing into a sulky silence are all ways that grown-ups handle things. They don’t, and I was not being very grown up at all sometimes.
True maturity isn’t about suppressing our emotions or pretending we don’t have them. It’s about learning to recognise and manage those emotions, so they don’t control us. In that sense, maturity is less about age and more about emotional intelligence – and tantrums are a sure sign we’ve still got some growing up to do.
The good news is that emotional maturity isn’t something we’re born with. It’s something we learn.
Just as kids can learn to navigate their big feelings without resorting to meltdowns, men can learn to manage their stress, frustration, and insecurities in far healthier ways.
Like anything, the first step is accepting that it happens, then choosing to do something about it.
There will often be a pattern, so take the time to think about how things usually kick off and what predictable things start to happen.
Now you are aware of how things usually go, stay attuned to that pattern. That being said, you might not realise that it’s happening until you’re mid-tantrum, heart racing, immediately regretting the last thing you heard yourself yell.
What now?
The same thing my defensive driving instructor told me: decelerate and give yourself more time to make the next decision.
The quickest way to regain control is to slow your breathing. A box breath will buy you a bit of time – inhale deeply for four counts, hold for four counts, and exhale for four, hold for four. It sounds simple yet it signals to your brain that it’s safe to calm down.
The second thing would be to ask yourself, “What’s really going on here?”
Are you angry, or are you feeling disrespected? Are you frustrated, or are you scared of failing? Naming the underlying emotion can help you shift from reacting impulsively to responding thoughtfully.
If you can honestly apologise in the moment, do so – but more often than not, what works for me is to say something like “I’m sorry, that was unkind of me to say, you don’t deserve that. I’m struggling to not let my frustration make the choices here, I’m going to take a break for a few minutes and when I come back, I hope we can figure this out”.
Recognising and managing frustration is a powerful first step, but true growth comes from preventing tantrums in the first place.
This means doing the deeper work of building emotional intelligence. Get to know what’s happening within you by naming your emotions daily, even when you’re calm. Notice what sets off your frustration and explore the deeper story behind those triggers.
Get some healthier coping mechanisms you can utilise, things like exercising (I’ve found that going outside for 100 Kettlebell swings can really help things reset), journalling, meditating and talking openly with a trusted friend or therapist.
Most importantly, understand that part of being a man is to be vulnerable. Without vulnerability we can’t have resilience. Fear, sadness and uncertainty are all normal parts of the human experience. The more we choose to feel and express emotions in healthy ways, the less likely they are to erupt as anger or frustration.
Growing up isn’t about imitating how people we admire act with the hope of convincing others that we’ve got our shit together. Growing up is about doing the work to become the kind of man we would respect – someone who handles life’s challenges with grace, communicates honestly, acts with benevolence and sets a powerful example for those looking up to him.
I’ve been taught to ask myself “How can I respond as the man I want to be?”. In a cool state, that’s a simple question to answer. The hard part is when the body’s fired up, finding that moment to pause, breathe and remember the question at all. But every time I manage to do it, I put a bit more space between me and the boy I no longer need to be.
Related:
Osher Günsberg on how to redirect distracting sexual energy
Osher Günsberg on the male rite of passage we don’t talk about