Signed in as:
filler@godaddy.com
Signed in as:
filler@godaddy.com
First — I want to acknowledge how heavy this feels. When a child says something like “I’m going to kill myself,” your heart stops. You care so much, and you want to get it right. Let’s walk through this together — with clarity, compassion, and grounded tools.
In children with trauma histories, threats of self-harm can stem from a variety of sources:
So before jumping to conclusions or dismissing it as “just talk,” we pause — assess — and respond with attunement.
Your regulated presence is the most powerful tool you have.
“I’m here. You are not alone. We’re going to get through this together.”
Even if your heart is pounding, keep your voice steady and your body language open. You are the safe anchor in the storm.
You can ask in a grounded, compassionate way:
“Are you saying that because you want to hurt yourself, or because things just feel too big right now?”
“Have you had thoughts about wanting to die, or are you trying to tell me how upset you feel?”
These questions help you distinguish between emotional flooding and true suicidal ideation — both deserve care, but the responses may differ.
Often, a child saying “I want to die” means “I want the pain to stop.”
Try:
“It sounds like you’re really hurting inside.”
“You’re feeling so overwhelmed that this feels like the only way to express it.”
Validating their emotional pain — without reinforcing the language of self-harm — is key.
Avoid saying things like:
These responses may increase shame or escalate the need to “prove” distress.
Instead, say:
“I care about you too much to ignore this. We’re going to take it seriously and find safe ways to help you feel better.”
A child saying “I want to die” is always a child in pain. Whether the threat is emotional, behavioral, or psychiatric, your steady presence is a lifeline. You don’t have to have all the answers — just your regulated love and a plan to keep them safe.
First — take a deep breath. Lying is one of the most common behaviors in kids who have experienced trauma, and while it can be frustrating, it often serves a purpose rooted in survival.
Let’s reframe lying not as a moral failure — but as a protective strategy. Many children in foster care.
Let’s reframe lying not as a moral failure — but as a protective strategy. Many children in foster care lie because they are afraid:
This doesn’t mean we allow it — but we understand it first, and then we address it with connection and structure.
For example:
If a child says, “I went to the park with my friend,” and you know it’s not true, you might gently respond:
“It sounds like you really wish you had a friend to do that with.”
This lets the child know you recognize the truth without confrontation, and — more importantly — gives them permission to express the emotional need safely.
Lying is often a trauma strategy — but when we listen closely, we can hear the longing underneath. If we meet the need instead of punishing the symptom, we help kids feel seen, safe, and ready to grow.
Your heart is in exactly the right place—and your hurt is real and valid. When a child says, “I don’t want to live here anymore,” right after a boundary, it’s often not a true desire to leave. It’s a trauma echo—an emotional flare that says, “I feel out of control, and I need to protect myself before you can hurt or reject me.”
This is not a reflection of your failure. It’s a sign that your child is still learning that love can be firm and safe. If the child is still saying this after they are calm and regulated, then that is a conversation to explore further and discuss with the child's therapist and caseworker.
Try a calm, regulating response like:
Don’t engage in debating whether they’ll leave. Keep the focus on connection, regulation, and safety. You're showing them that feelings—even messy ones—don’t break the relationship.
When you set boundaries out of love and get rejection in return, it’s heartbreaking. But that boundary you set? It’s a gift. You’re teaching them that love doesn’t disappear when it’s challenged. And every time you stay, every time you respond with calm and care—you’re building a new internal model for what safe caregiver relationships can be.
Take a breath and remind yourself:
"This hurt doesn’t mean I did it the wrong way. It means I care. And caring through the hard stuff is what healing parenting looks like.”
I'm so sorry you're going through this—it’s okay to feel shaken. You're not alone, and you're not a bad parent. Let's breathe together first.
Take one deep breath. In through your nose… out through your mouth. You're safe right now, and your calm will help guide the next step.
Your child’s actions—sexualized behavior and verbal aggression—may be a sign of early exposure to sexual content or trauma. This doesn’t automatically mean abuse has happened in your home, but it does signal that something may be going on emotionally, neurologically, or based on past experiences. Children from trauma backgrounds sometimes repeat things they’ve seen, heard, or experienced as a way of trying to make sense of it—or because their nervous system is stuck in survival mode and they're trying to gain control.
This behavior is a red flag, not a reflection of your parenting.
"When you do things like that, it tells me your heart might be feeling confused or hurt. You’re not in trouble, but it’s my job to keep everyone safe—including you and the dog. We’re going to work through this together."
This does not mean you’re failing. This is why therapeutic foster care exists. Your nervous system is likely in fight-or-flight too right now. You are allowed to feel panicked. But your ability to seek help and respond with care is what protective, healing parenting looks like.
You're in a sacred, tender moment—and you're not alone.
First, breathe.
You did the right thing by being a safe space where your child felt safe enough to tell.
Here’s what to do immediately, both emotionally and legally:
Speak calmly, gently, and with warmth. You don’t dig for details—just stay present.
Say something like:
Avoid asking detailed questions. That part is for trained forensic interviewers. Avoid asking any leading or specific questions. Asking, "Is there anything else that you want to share? I'm here if there is. Or you can always share later if there is." is an appropriate question because it gives the child a safe space if they want to share but does not suggest anything. Asking "Was it your uncle? Did your uncle touch ______ too?" is not appropriate. That would be a leading question (it gives the child information may not be accurate but they may repeat due to fear. That could legally and theraputically harm things.
You didn’t cause this.
You aren’t expected to fix this alone.
What you can do—and already did—is provide safety, belief, and connection. That is powerful.
You're doing exactly what a healing parent does—and no, you didn’t do anything wrong.
When a child from a trauma background says “I hate you,” it often means “I feel unsafe, unworthy, or out of control—and I’m testing if you’ll stay.” Their nervous system may be wired to expect abandonment or rejection. So when you stay calm and connected, like you just did, you're quietly rewriting their story.
Here’s what you can say next time in the moment:
- "It’s okay to feel mad. I’m still here. I care about you even when it's hard."
or
- "Sometimes big feelings say things our heart doesn’t really mean because we are scared or angry. I’m going to care about you through this. I am here to listen if you ever want to talk about it."
And for you—because your feelings matter too:
-“This hurts, and it’s okay that I feel that. Their pain isn’t about me—but my calm can be part of their healing.”