After my 6-year-old became unmanageable, we decided to try therapy. In our sessions, I was reminded of something important: My son is still so young.

• After a year of living in a pandemic, my son became more reactive and uncontrollable.
• It got to the point where I was afraid of him.

About a year into the pandemic, our son began reacting with more anger than we had ever seen before. And we were weary. We went nowhere, did nothing. We were convinced we could hide from COVID-19, so we stayed inside and struggled.

In what could be deemed a predictable outcome, things got worse.

Our child was explosive; the smallest inconvenience or request set him off. His rage was scary, his quiet often even more so. He snuck candy out of our cabinets and ate it in his bedroom closet. Occasionally he pooped and peed in his closet. It was as if, in a world that had both shrunk in size and exploded in mass fear, he had only one choice: to implode.

We got to the point where it felt like we were walking on eggshells from the moment he woke up until he fell asleep again.

While I am not proud to admit this, I heard the sentence "I am scared of my son" come out of my mouth more than once. The worst part was that I wasn't exaggerating. I was genuinely fearful of his reactions to the point that I was altering my behavior as a parent. I was failing both him and myself.

We decided to try family therapy

In our exasperation, we decided to try therapy. We told our son we were going to visit a person who would help us all communicate more calmly and work together peacefully.

The sessions were divided into thirds: The therapist would talk to each parent individually for 15 minutes and then to our son for the final 15. During her time with our son they would play games so she could observe his natural state. Once, she had him draw the events he remembered from a night of terror. She found ways to zoom in on things we hadn't been able to observe in the same way.

I don't know what small lessons she was able to impart to our son during their play, or if she gave him any tips beyond belly breathing. I do know that she helped us with reminders about his brain development and what he was or wasn't capable of at his age, as well as tips to disengage when necessary.

But the most important thing she did was remind us that our son was young. At least once — often a couple of times — during every session, I would hear her say: "He's so small. He's so young."

I am telling you the truth when I say I had forgotten that.

I had forgotten he was only 6

The 6-year-old who stood before me didn't look like the baby I'd been handed a few years earlier in the hospital. That little thing hadn't been able to steal candy, squat in a closet, chuck toys across the room, or yell loud enough to make our walls shake.

But in the giant divide that was a six-year gap, I had stopped seeing my son as small. I had been viewing him in a way that was deeply unfair.

He could never act like an adult; he's light-years away from that. He's been on this earth for only six years. If I still struggle to manage my emotions, how could he not?

Our therapist helped me remember that our son is very young. That he has a long road to learning how to get through this difficult thing called life. And that I am not here to judge him as he does it, but to walk the road beside him.