Either Harry was going to calm down to meet my brain patterns, or I was going to meet his and loose control - so I breathed deeply and set myself into a state of zen empathy.
Every emotion he was too young to cope with and couldn't express came out in that tantrum. He needed it as much as a whistling kettle needs to let out steam. So we remained calm and waited for his sunshine to return, until he felt safe enough to talk about his emotions.
When our children live lives so unsuitable for them, taken for care by strangers when they crave parental affection, it is little wonder that they have emotions they can't cope with. We evolved for developing with family that love us deeply, that prefer to look into our eyes instead of texting on a phone.
Being inside a tantrum is far more scary than watching one; it is being out of control, of needing control, the sort that comes from co-regulating with someone calm and loving.
All behaviour is a form of communication, so whether I could understand him in the moment or not, the tantrum was a way of speaking, a sort of desperate and violent SOS.
We've all been there, all felt emotions that became overwhelming, that got the better of us; and if emotions can do that to full grown adults, can we start to imagine the challenges of new humans with powerful feelings? Isn't it time we truly saw our children rather than judged them or failed to protect them from the intolerant attitudes of strangers?
I am far more impresses when I see an adult respond to a child's tantrum with love and calmness than either bribery or threat.
When we are lost in emotional seas, we all need a steady lighthouse to guide our way home. We need outstretched arms to welcome us to the safety of rock so we can bid farewell to stormy waters.