My Kid Melted Down in the Produce Aisle, and So Did I (Sort Of)
Because emotional intelligence isn’t just for them—it’s for us too.
We were three minutes into what I had naively thought would be a quick grocery run. You know, the kind where you convince yourself that grabbing avocados and oat milk with a toddler in tow is a totally reasonable task.
It was not.
My son had decided—quite passionately—that he needed the “juicy red strawberries” from the shelf display. The problem? The strawberries he was pointing to weren’t strawberries. They were tomatoes.
I tried to gently redirect. I knelt down, softened my tone, and said:
“Those are tomatoes, bud. We can get strawberries, but they’re in a different spot.”
What I thought would be a calm little Montessori moment turned into a full-scale protest.
Tears.
Fists.
That scream—the one that makes you scan the area for witnesses and possible exits.
Right there in the produce aisle, next to a pyramid of perfectly stacked zucchini.
In that moment, I had two choices:
Go into default mode: “Stop crying, you’re fine,” “We’re leaving right now,” or the dreaded “If you don’t stop, no strawberries at all.”
Pause. Breathe. Regulate myself first.
I wish I could say I nailed it.
I didn’t.
I felt my chest tighten. My face flushed with embarrassment. That urge to “get control of the situation” came on hard and fast.
But I didn’t yell.
I didn’t bribe.
I also didn’t stay calm the whole time.
What I did was something I now call a messy middle.
I crouched down again, took a few dramatic yoga breaths (mostly for myself), and said something I never heard growing up:
“You’re having big feelings. I get it. I want strawberries too when I’m hungry and tired. We’re going to figure this out.”
Parenting in public is emotional whiplash.
It’s part performance, part personal growth seminar, and part fight-or-flight response.
But here’s what I’m learning (over and over again):
Emotional intelligence isn’t just something I’m teaching my kid—it’s something I have to practice, imperfectly, every single day.
That means I’m not trying to stop the meltdown just because it’s inconvenient or embarrassing.
I’m trying to ride it with him.
Stay connected.
Regulate myself so he can co-regulate with me.
It’s not neat. It’s not always successful. And honestly, I still hate the awkward eye contact from strangers while my kid screams about the injustice of fruit mislabeling.
But I’m slowly redefining success.
Not as:
“Calm child = good parenting.”
But as:
“Connection maintained = we’re doing okay.”
So, here’s to every parent who’s ever found themselves breathing like a yoga instructor in the middle of aisle 3.
You’re not alone.
You’re not doing it wrong.
And sometimes the most important thing your child learns in a meltdown…
is watching you find your way back to calm.
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💬 And if you’ve had your own grocery store showdown, drop it in the comments—I’d love to hear how it went down.
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