But your child has a different neurological profile from other children. She lives in a perpetual fight-or-flight state

“Ma’am, $185 a session,” the receptionist squeaked. “That’s if you have out-of-network coverage, of course.”

Gulp. A Shira-dedicated salary, that’s what we needed.

I’d decided to join a “parenting the explosive child” course, a methodology and support group led by a well-known psychologist and author. It would be some time until the neurologist consult, and until then, I wanted to try other avenues.

“She eats too much sugar,” Daniel had declared in the car yesterday, blasting Baruch Levine so Shira wouldn’t hear. “I’m sure if we eliminated sugar and food coloring she’d be a different kid.” He was so uneasy about the possibility of medication. It didn’t help that his mother had begun shipping us packs of $150-a-bottle herbal solutions with whoknowswhat inside.

Dr. Spencer’s classes cost a fortune, but they had impressive reviews: “Clear, systematic, and doable.” And one metaphor-inclined mother told me: “My son was a tornado. Now he’s just a rainstorm, with occasional thunder.” Ooookay. Maybe I could change my weather forecast too.

My fellow participants were an eclectic bunch. A gregarious tichel wearer with flowy skirts who shared her travails with anyone who would listen; a geeky-looking guy who asked endless technical questions; a chic, puffer-vested woman who studiously studied her phone, avoiding all eye contact.

When Dr. Spencer — a smartly dressed fellow with a confidence that made up for his diminutive height — began with theory, I groaned. He held up his right hand. “I know you all want practical,” he said. “You didn’t invest this kind of time or money to acquire an array of hypotheses. You want tools, you want change!” Thirteen heads nodded.

“But if you want to help your child, you need to understand him first. What makes him tick? What makes him rage? Why does he blow up constantly — is it because he wants to make your life miserable?”

We all gave him a blank look: We’re not sure, that’s why we’re here.

Dr. Spencer revealed a PowerPoint slide with two colorful graphs entitled “Salivary Adrenaline Levels in Typical and Explosive Children.” He pointed to the latter, towering bar.

“Every kid wants to be good and loved — and yours is no exception.” He looked deliberately at each of us. “But your child has a different neurological profile from other children. She lives in a perpetual fight-or-flight state. If her saliva was tested right now — in her sleep! — it would show more adrenaline than almost every girl in her class. The stress you feel in extraordinarily taxing situations? That’s the stress she feels ten times a day.”

Silence. The group was absorbing his words.

“Is it any wonder, then,” the psychologist whispered, “that her reactions are so disproportionate?”

My mental media player whirred into action. Shira, shouting, grabbing, and shoving, after Tali accidentally touched her Bop It. Shira, sticking out her tongue and flicking cholent beans, when Dahlia got a slice of Shabbos cake first. Shira, shrieking like a banshee and crunching Ari’s tiny fingers, when he wouldn’t stop kvetching on the highway.

“Now here’s the thing with adrenaline and its cousins.” Dr. Spencer flipped to the next slide — a chart listing behaviors induced by stress hormones. “They’re great when you’re being mugged or pursued. They’re not great when you need to make careful, considered judgments and behave within social norms.”

In addition to the hormonal imbalance, he explained, the explosive child is often lacking some core neurotransmitters essential for impulse control. Put simply: He does not have a typical brain.

The Smartphone-addicted woman suddenly sparked to life. “Is this supposed to make me feel comforted?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Dr. Spencer whipped back. “Now you can understand why things that seem so ridiculously easy to you — stay calm, ask nicely, tell me about the problem — are outrageously difficult for him. And there’s even better news—”

He clicked to expose an all-black slide with just one flashing red word: “Neuroplasticity.”

“With enough reinforcement and practice, your child can actually change his brain. Brains are plastic, flexible — the younger a child is, the more easily he can establish new patterns. And once he learns to self-regulate, his passion about life will empower him to accomplish great things.”

Silence, again.

Mrs. Smartphone stared at the image, her urgent texts forgotten. Dr. Spencer wrapped up, bringing the session to a close, but I was glued to my seat.

Your Shira has a different brain, a voice echoed, over and over. She’s experiencing real stress. Overwhelming stress, all day long. When she learns to self-regulate, she’ll accomplish great things.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 472)