Parenting PDA Kids in a World on Fire

Lately, some of the parents I work with have been naming something painful:

❤️‍🩹 “It feels weird to pull my child out of school when lots of kids would give anything to get an education.”
❤️‍🩹 “My kid has full meltdowns over socks. It feels so silly when kids in other countries are afraid of being bombed."
❤️‍🩹 "My child only eats five foods, including one particular brand of dino nuggets. I feel so guilty when I know other children are starving."
❤️‍🩹 “Who am I to feel overwhelmed when we have a roof over our heads and the money to buy Happy Meals?"

But let me gently say:

Your pain is real, even when others are suffering too. We don’t have to compare grief to know that it matters. We don’t have to justify the intensity of our parenting lives by putting it next to war, famine, or genocide.

You’re allowed to feel crushed by the weight of parenting a child who panics at the idea of wearing shoes, who can’t walk into a school building, or who clings to you like you’re oxygen. That’s all real.

Your child’s distress isn’t some luxury problem. It’s nervous system survival, just in a form the world doesn’t always recognize.

You Can Hold More Than One Truth

One of the coolest parts of the human experience is being able to hold onto multiple truths at the same time.

🌏 You can feel deep sorrow about global suffering and feel like you're going to lose it if your child quits eating another safe food.

🌏 You can cry for children facing violence and still be devastated that your child is too anxious to leave the house.
🌏 
You can care deeply about systemic injustice and still need to vent that your kid screamed for 45 minutes because their shirt didn't feel right.

There’s room for all of it. Truly.

Compassion Isn't a Scarce Resource

Your empathy isn’t something you’ll run out of. When you show up with compassion for your own child, you’re not taking anything away from anyone else. You’re practicing the kind of care the world needs more of.

The patience and gentleness you offer during meltdowns and shutdowns aren't separate from the work of building a better world. They're smack dab in the middle of it.

Pain Doesn’t Need to Be Ranked

You don’t have to prove your pain is the worst for it to matter.

Your child refusing to go to school isn’t just “inconvenient.” It’s a clue that something in their nervous system doesn’t feel safe.
That matters.

Your child panicking at the smell of dinner cooking isn’t a sign of privilege. 
It’s an expression of sensory overload, anxiety, and dysregulation. That matters.

When the world feels like it’s on fire, it’s easy to tell yourself,
“This isn’t important. I should be grateful. Other people have it worse.”

But minimizing your own struggle doesn’t ease anyone else’s. It just adds silence to suffering.

Being honest about what’s hard (and showing up with compassion anyway) is what makes a difference. That’s how we build the kind of world we want our kids to inherit.

“My Child Has the Luxury to Melt Down. What About the Kids Who Don’t?”

Sometimes the guilt runs even deeper:

“My child gets to panic over dino nuggets. There are probably PDA kids in Yemen or unsafe homes in my own country who don’t have the luxury to fall apart. What does that mean for them?”

You're right. There likely are PDA kids living in war zones, in crisis conditions, or even in homes down the street where sensory and emotional needs simply can’t be met.

They probably don’t have the space to melt down over food or the sound of a fire alarm. But that doesn’t mean those needs aren’t there. The world just hasn’t made room for them.

Your child’s meltdowns aren't a sign of indulgence. 
They’re a sign that their body feels safe enough to let it out and that their suffering has a place to land. You might not be able to give that safety to children in Gaza or Sudan or across town. 
But you can fiercely defend it in your own home, and then let that compassion ripple outward.

You’re not doing something wrong by protecting your child’s nervous system.
 You’re modeling what a more just and empathetic world could look like. If only every child’s distress were taken seriously.

Grieve the injustice. Feel the heartbreak. But don’t abandon your child’s needs as a form of penance.

Survival Looks Different in Different Families

Some families are surviving bombs.
 Some are surviving medical collapse or forced migration.
 Some families are surviving being misunderstood and unsupported by every system that was supposed to help. 
And some are surviving all of it.

None of this cancels anything else out. You don’t have to prove you’re suffering “enough” to deserve support.

Your family’s survival might look like noise-canceling headphones and staying home. Skipping school indefinitely. Saying “no” to birthday parties, canceling therapy, or watching the same show on repeat all day. It's still valid.

Guilt Won’t Heal the World

Guilt often shows up when we care deeply. But it can keep us stuck.

If you want to make a difference, start here:


❤️ Honor the hard in your home.
❤️ Trust that reducing suffering anywhere matters.
❤️ Let your grounded, practiced compassion radiate outward when and where you have capacity.

You're allowed to take care of your family and still hold space for the suffering of others.