I was standing in my kitchen, wiping down the counter for the third time that morning, when I heard the sound. That little thud followed by the clatter of plastic. And then the crying. My 15-month-old, Leo, had thrown his sippy cup across the room because I had the audacity to hand it to him instead of his favorite blue one. He was furious. His face was red, his little fists were clenched, and before I could even get to him, he took a swing at my shin.
It didn’t hurt physically. But emotionally? It knocked the wind right out of me.
I stood there for a second, frozen. My first instinct was to yell. My second was to cry. My third was to just walk away and tap out. I felt so triggered. All the logical parts of my brain knew he was just a toddler, that this was normal, that he wasn’t trying to be mean. But in that moment, all I felt was this raw frustration rising up in my chest. Like I was failing. Like I was doing something wrong. Like maybe I was the only parent whose kid lashes out like this.
But I’m not. And neither are you.
If you’re reading this because your toddler hits when mad, throws things when upset, and you feel like you’re losing your cool more often than you’d like, I see you. I’ve been there. I’m still there some days. And this is what I’ve learned so far.
The Moment Everything Changed
It happened on a Tuesday. Leo had a massive meltdown because I wouldn’t let him play with the dog’s water bowl. He screamed, he hit my arm, and then he threw his stuffed bunny at the wall. I felt that familiar heat in my chest. I wanted to grab him, to shake him (I never would, but the thought scared me), to just make him stop.
Instead, I sat down on the floor. I didn’t say anything. I just sat there, breathing. He looked at me, still crying, but something in his eyes shifted. He came over and leaned his head on my shoulder. And then he stopped.
That moment taught me something I’ll never forget: my child wasn’t trying to hurt me. He was trying to tell me he couldn’t handle his own feelings.
He didn’t have the words. He didn’t have the impulse control. All he had was this overwhelming wave of anger and frustration, and his little body didn’t know what else to do with it except hit and throw.
Why Toddlers Hit and Throw When They’re Upset
I spent a lot of time reading and talking to other parents, trying to understand why this happens. Here’s what I’ve come to believe: toddlers hit and throw when upset because their brains are still building the wiring for emotional regulation. They feel the feeling before they can name it. The anger comes, and it’s so big and so fast that it needs to go somewhere. Their hands become the release valve.
For Leo, hitting wasn’t about being bad. It was about being overwhelmed. When he threw his cup, he wasn’t trying to make a mess. He was trying to get rid of a feeling that was too heavy for him to carry.
I started watching him more closely. I noticed that the hitting usually happened when he was tired, hungry, or overstimulated. It happened when he couldn’t have what he wanted, when he felt powerless, or when he didn’t understand why something had to change. It made sense. If I felt that powerless, I might want to hit something too.
A Shift in My Own Heart
The hardest part wasn’t his behavior. It was my reaction to it. Every time he hit me, I felt this sting of rejection. Like he was rejecting me as a parent. Like I wasn’t doing enough. Like I was failing at the most basic job in the world.
But I realized something: his hitting wasn’t a judgment on my parenting. It was a signal of his own internal struggle.
When I started seeing it that way, I could breathe. I could take a step back. I could remind myself that he wasn’t giving me a hard time. He was having a hard time.
What Actually Helped (And What Didn’t)
I tried a lot of things. Some worked. Some didn’t. Some worked for a week and then stopped. Here’s the honest truth: there is no magic trick that makes a toddler stop hitting forever. But there are things that helped us get through the moment without losing our minds.
Staying calm (even when I didn’t feel calm). This was the hardest one. When Leo hit, my body wanted to react. But I learned that if I raised my voice or grabbed his hands too fast, it made everything worse. He needed me to be the steady one. So I started taking a slow breath before I said anything. Sometimes I counted to three in my head. It felt fake at first, but it helped.
Naming the feeling. I started saying things like, “You’re so mad right now. You wanted to keep playing, and I said no. That’s really hard.” It felt silly at first. But I read somewhere that naming feelings helps kids build the neural pathways for emotional regulation. And honestly, it helped me too. It reminded me that he wasn’t being bad. He was just having a hard moment.
Giving him a physical outlet. I noticed that Leo needed to move his body when he was upset. So I started offering him a pillow to punch or a soft ball to throw. I’d say, “You can hit this pillow. I won’t let you hit me.” Sometimes he took me up on it. Sometimes he didn’t. But it gave him a way to release the energy without hurting anyone.
Staying close. This was counterintuitive. When he hit me, my instinct was to move away. But I learned that what he really needed was for me to stay near. He needed to know that even when he was at his worst, I wasn’t going to abandon him. So I’d sit on the floor near him and say, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll keep us safe.”
The Days Nothing Works
I want to be honest with you. Some days, none of this works. Some days, Leo hits me five times in a row, throws his snack across the kitchen, and then screams for twenty minutes. Some days, I lose my cool. I raise my voice. I walk away and cry in the bathroom.
And that’s okay.
Some days, you don’t need strategies. You just need to survive.
On those days, I put Leo in a safe space (his crib or a playpen), I take five minutes to breathe, and I remind myself that this is a phase. It won’t last forever. He won’t be hitting me when he’s fifteen. He’s learning. I’m learning. We’re both stumbling through this together.
What I Wish Someone Had Told Me
I wish someone had told me that my toddler’s hitting wasn’t a sign of bad parenting. I wish someone had told me that feeling triggered was normal, that it didn’t make me a bad mom. I wish someone had told me that the goal wasn’t to stop the hitting overnight, but to stay connected through it.
Your child isn’t giving you a hard time. They’re having a hard time.
Hitting isn’t rejection. It’s a cry for help.
Staying calm isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being present.
I still struggle with this. Some days I handle it beautifully. Some days I don’t. But I’m learning to give myself grace. And I’m learning to see my son not as a problem to be fixed, but as a person who is still figuring out how to be in this big, overwhelming world.
And so am I.