The Hidden Harm of Unpredictability

Sometimes, the things that hurt kids the most aren't the big, obvious traumas we screen for. It’s not always the neglect or the abuse that leaves the deepest scars. I’ve seen it, time and again, in my practice, and lately, new research is really starting to back this up: it’s the *unpredictability* that can be so damaging. The not knowing what’s coming next.

We’re pretty good, as a field, at identifying the children who’ve experienced clear-cut adversity. The checklists are thorough, the screenings are in place. And they *are* important. Absolutely. But what about the kids whose lives are just… off-kilter? The ones where routines shift constantly, where a parent’s mood swings wildly, where a stable home life is punctuated by a series of unsettling events – not always “bad” in the traditional sense, but consistently disruptive. These are the kids who often fall through the cracks.

I remember one little girl, maybe seven years old, who came in with stomach aches. Persistent, debilitating stomach aches. Everything was normal medically. No allergies, no infection, no physical cause could be found. Her parents were loving, involved. Everything *looked* fine. It was only through a lot of careful questioning that the picture began to emerge. Her father’s job was constantly in flux – new locations, new responsibilities, a constant undercurrent of financial strain. Her mother worked long hours. There was no dependable rhythm to her days. Just a series of adjustments, a constant feeling of being on edge.

It’s easy to dismiss those kinds of fluctuations as simply a part of life. "Things happen," we say. "We'll get through it.” And yes, resilience *is* important. But when that instability becomes a pattern, when it’s the background hum of a child’s existence, it’s like a slow drip of water, eroding the foundation of their sense of safety and security. A child needs to know what to expect, even if what they expect is a rainy Tuesday. It helps them build a sense of self, a feeling of belonging.

My own father’s recent health scare really brought this home to me. It wasn't a dramatic event, thankfully. But those weeks driving to Norwood, the constant worry, the feeling that the rug could be pulled out from under us at any moment… it was unsettling, even for adults. Imagine what that does to a child. I saw it in my middle child, a sudden clinginess, a brief but noticeable dip in his sleep. He's a sensitive boy, always has been, but those few weeks left a mark.

And that’s what I see in these children. Not necessarily overt anxiety or behavioral problems, but a quiet, pervasive sense of unease. Difficulty concentrating. Trouble making friends. An unusual level of irritability. It manifests differently in every child, of course. Some internalize it, becoming withdrawn and anxious. Others externalize it, acting out and pushing boundaries. But underneath it all is that feeling of not being able to predict what’s coming.

What do we do about it? It’s a challenging question, and I don’t have all the answers. But I think it starts with awareness. Recognizing that the absence of trauma isn’t necessarily the same as the presence of stability. It means broadening our understanding of what constitutes a supportive environment. And it means being willing to listen, really listen, to families and pay attention to the subtle cues – the way a child’s eyes dart around the room, the way they flinch at unexpected noises.

This workshop I'm launching – “Raising Kids Who Know Themselves” – is, in part, an attempt to address this. It’s not about fixing anything; it’s about creating space for connection, for understanding, for building those internal anchors that kids need to navigate an unpredictable world. It's about helping parents notice, and naming the things that sometimes go unsaid. It’s about fostering a sense of safety and predictability, even when life throws curveballs. Because, let's face it, curveballs are inevitable. It's how we help our kids learn to swing that matters.