When Your Child’s Behavior Triggers Your Old Wounds of Not Belonging

**You can also listen to this in audio format only on The Regulated Mother Podcast on Apple or Spotify.

**Below is the blog article for easy reading.

When Your Child’s Behavior Triggers Your Old Wounds of Not Belonging

Public Moments That Leave You Feeling Exposed and Alone

It was supposed to be fun.

My son was six, and we were at a birthday party held at one of those chaotic indoor play places—ball pits, bouncy castles, arcade games, the works. The kind of place kids usually love. And I was hopeful. Maybe this time he’d join in. Maybe I’d get to have even just a few moments chatting with the other moms, feeling like I belonged there too.

But from the minute we arrived, he clung to me. He didn’t want to leave my side, and I could feel his nervous system on high alert. I gently tried helping him ease into the environment—guiding him toward activities while staying right beside him. But nothing felt safe to him. His discomfort was growing.

As we stood near the ball pit, another child came close—just standing nearby, curious and playful. Suddenly, my son screamed at him. “Stop it! Go away!” The other child froze, confused, not understanding what he’d done wrong. And I could feel the weight of it—the eyes of the other moms turning toward us.

I quickly apologized to the child and tried to explain, but my son was escalating. “He’s bothering me!” he shouted again. I could feel my face flush with heat. Shame crept in like wildfire. One mom approached, asking if she could help, and a group of others looked over, watching the scene unfold. But the moment she stepped toward us, my son’s distress exploded. Her presence made everything worse.

And I froze.

Paralyzed with embarrassment. Trapped in the rising panic and shame. I had no idea what to do.

This wasn’t a one-off experience. Birthday parties were rarely joyful. I’d show up hoping he could have some fun, that I could have a few minutes to just be with the other moms. But instead, I spent the whole time trying to co-regulate him, trying to hold things together. And the truth is—I dreaded these events. They became painful reminders of how different my child was, and how different I felt too.

While other moms watched their kids play and laughed together, I was in survival mode—managing, appeasing, containing. And I often left feeling like I had failed him… and failed myself. The weight of trying so hard to create a “normal” experience, only to feel alienated and exposed, was too much.

By the time we got home, I wanted to collapse. I’d retreat into shutdown—what I now know is a dorsal vagal state—just to escape the intensity of it all. Because public spaces with a hypersensitive, high-needs child often don’t just feel hard… they feel like living proof that you don’t belong. That your child doesn’t belong. That you’re both on the outside of the world you thought you’d be part of.

And that kind of loneliness sinks in deep.

Why These Moments Hurt So Deeply

It’s easy to assume this feeling of “not belonging” is just emotional. But the truth is, it’s biological. From an evolutionary standpoint, humans are wired to survive through connection. Belonging to a group meant protection, shared resources, and a greater chance of survival. Rejection didn’t just hurt—it threatened our very existence.

This wiring still lives in our nervous systems. Our brains are constantly scanning for signs that we’re safe, included, and accepted. When something threatens that—like feeling judged for your child’s public meltdown or sensing disapproval from another parent—it can activate the same survival alarm system that would have been triggered thousands of years ago when someone was cast out of the tribe.

Neuroscientists Naomi Eisenberger and Matthew Lieberman found that social rejection actually activates the same regions of the brain as physical pain. It’s not just a metaphor when you say rejection "hurts" – your brain literally registers social disconnection as pain. This gives so much context to why moments of being judged in public can feel unbearable.

Psychologist Abraham Maslow placed belonging right in the center of his hierarchy of needs. It comes after physical safety, and before esteem or self-actualization. In other words, without a felt sense of belonging, it’s hard for us to function or thrive.

Our Culture Conditions Us to Belong by Conforming

On top of our primal wiring is a thick layer of cultural conditioning. From early on, we’re taught that belonging comes through fitting in. Our society subtly—and not so subtly—reinforces the idea that being accepted means being “normal,” well-behaved, successful, compliant. And for children who don’t fit those expectations, and parents who are trying desperately to support them, the message is loud and clear: You don’t belong here.

As Brené Brown puts it:
“Fitting in is about assessing a situation and becoming who you need to be to be accepted. Belonging, on the other hand, doesn’t require us to change who we are; it requires us to be who we are.”

You see this play out in schools, on playgrounds, in parent groups. The parent of the child who’s loud, reactive, sensitive, or different is often left out of the mom chat. Or judged. Or ignored. We might even be told—directly or indirectly—that we need to work harder to get our child to fit in. That something about our parenting is not enough.

It’s heartbreaking. And it’s also inherited.

So many of us grew up with caregivers who praised conformity and punished difference. We were told to “be more like so-and-so,” or taught that success and love came from performing well, blending in, not making waves. Generational trauma plays a huge role here. If our parents were conditioned to believe that belonging had to be earned through perfection or obedience, they likely passed those messages down to us.

Teenagers often model this intensely, naturally aligning themselves with peer groups as a way to seek security and acceptance. It’s developmentally wired. But when parents never unlearn the messages that belonging only comes through conformity, we continue this cycle in our homes.

Attachment theory, introduced by John Bowlby and expanded by Mary Ainsworth, teaches us that a child develops secure attachment through consistent experiences of being seen, soothed, safe, and supported. It is through this security that children internalize a belief in their own worth—and in their right to belong, even when they are struggling. And that starts with how we see them.

And in many Indigenous and collectivist cultures, belonging is not something to be earned or proven. You belong simply because you exist. Because you are part of something larger than yourself. These cultural ways of being show us that belonging doesn’t have to be earned through achievement or behavior—it’s something you’re granted simply by being part of a group. They invite us to redefine belonging not as something we perform for, but as something we experience through showing up as we are, being in genuine connection with others, and caring for one another in mutual, respectful ways.

What Our Nervous System Does When We Feel Disapproval

In those moments when we feel exposed, like at that birthday party, our nervous system can swing into survival mode. Depending on our unique wiring and trauma history, we might:

• Freeze – go silent, shut down, lose access to our words or ability to act
  
  
• Fawn – over-apologize, try to manage others’ reactions, overexplain, try to make it right
  
  
• Flight – want to flee the situation entirely, escape, get away
  
  
• Fight – snap at someone, get defensive, or redirect frustration toward our child
  
  

None of these are moral failings. They are intelligent, body-based reactions to perceived threat.

And here’s the hardest part: when our nervous system is in a survival state, we lose access to the parts of our brain that allow for calm, compassionate parenting. Which means we can’t fully show up for our child in that moment—not because we don’t care, but because we’re dysregulated.

Understanding this helped me move out of blame and into compassion—for myself, and for my child.

When Old Wounds Come Online

Earlier this year, I had a therapy session that revealed just how deeply this goes.

I’d been feeling activated around Instagram—posting more, hoping for more likes, checking for validation. On the surface, it seemed like a social media thing. But inside, I knew something deeper was stirring.

In session, I connected with a young part of me—about eight years old—standing in a new school after yet another move. She remembered trying to fit in with a group of girls who looked at her like she didn’t belong. They made fun of her clothes, her hair. And that day, she made a decision:

If others don’t like me, I can’t like myself.

It was a painful moment of taking on a belief that love and belonging had to be earned through performance and acceptance by others. That part of me had been carrying that burden ever since—quietly influencing everything from how I show up online… to how I react when someone doesn’t approve of my child.

We did healing work that day. I told her:
“You don’t have to change anything for me to like you. I like you just as you are.”
She stared back with disbelief.
“I didn’t know that was possible,” she said.

And that’s when it clicked for me:
When I feel like I don’t belong in public spaces with my child… it’s not just about now.
It’s also about then.

Rewiring Belonging from the Inside Out

I once read about an autistic boy who was bullied at school. The other kids made fun of him, excluded him, and didn’t understand him. When he was asked how he got through it, he said something that stopped me in my tracks:

“It didn’t hurt me that much, because my parents always made me feel like I am enough the way I am.”

That simple, unwavering message became his anchor. His parents' belief in his worth gave him a foundation of safety, even when the outside world tried to shake it.

And that is the power we have.

Parenting a hypersensitive, high-needs child invites us—often demands us—to take on a new definition of what belonging means. Not as something we earn through conformity or approval. But as something we root into from the inside out.

Because belonging is not about fitting in.
It’s about being seen—and loved—for who you truly are.
And that has to begin with us.

So many of us were taught—by culture, school, even family—that we had to behave a certain way, look a certain way, achieve a certain level of success in order to be accepted. To be loved. To belong.

But that kind of belonging is conditional. And our kids are here, mirroring to us—sometimes loudly and painfully—that they need something different. They need us to remember that true belonging comes from self-acceptance first.

When we do the work of healing our old wounds…
When we witness our shame, our freeze, our fawn…
When we learn to love ourselves, not in spite of our struggles but alongside them…

Then we begin to offer our children what they need most. Not perfect parenting. Not external approval. But the deep, embodied message:

You are enough. Just as you are. You belong with me.

That is what wires a child’s nervous system for safety.
That is what softens shame before it calcifies.
That is what builds resilience that lasts a lifetime.

Reclaiming True Belonging

True belonging doesn’t come from being liked or approved of. It doesn’t come from getting your child to act like everyone else. It comes from feeling rooted in your own truth—and extending that same rootedness to your child.

It’s about creating a new meaning and purpose in this parenting journey—one that’s not based on comparison, perfection, or societal norms, but on authenticity, self-love, and nervous system safety.

Because when you can feel worthy of love just for being who you are…
You begin to mirror that truth back to your child.

Even if the outside world doesn’t see them clearly—you do.
And that becomes their foundation.

So if you’ve ever wondered what your purpose is in all of this, maybe it’s this:
To become the one who sees yourself and your child through the lens of worthiness.
To offer the belonging you never received.
To create a ripple effect that transforms not only your family—but the world around you.