When Your Child Is Hurting and You Can't Fix It

Do you ever stay up at night stressing about your kid?

Not the everyday kind of worry. Not whether they ate enough protein or remembered their water bottle.

I mean the deep, gut-level worry.

(hero — mom stressed at laptop, child pillow fight in background): A mother sits stressed at her laptop with her head in her hands while her child plays in the background.

The kind that wakes you up before your alarm. The kind that has you replaying conversations, questioning decisions, texting coaches, texting other moms, googling options, spiraling through every possible future version of your child's life.

The kind of worry where their heartbreak becomes your heartbreak. Their rejection becomes your rejection. Their uncertainty becomes the thing that sits on your chest at 4:00 in the morning.

That is where I have been this week.

And I want to talk about something deeply personal, but also deeply universal, especially for the moms reading.

I want to talk about what happens when your child is hurting and you cannot fix it. About how hard it is to separate their experience from your own old wounds, your own fears, your own need to protect them from pain.

And I want to walk through my SNAP Method in real time, because I am not coming to you today with the perfect answer. I am coming to you from the messy middle.

Sometimes that is exactly where the work begins.

The Sticky Floor Hiding in the Carpool Line

So many of the women I work with are not just leaders at work. You are leaders in your homes. You are mothers. Aunts. Caregivers. The person everyone comes to when something hurts, when something breaks, when something needs to be figured out. (We have one for our family and her name is Ms. Peggy.)

And sometimes the heaviest sticky floors are not the ones that show up in the boardroom.

Sometimes they show up in the carpool line.

Sometimes they show up in the bleachers.

Sometimes they show up in a text thread with a coach at 9:30 at night.

That is where I am right now with my eight-year-old, Halle.

I am going to keep some of the details private because this is ultimately her story too. But at a high level, we have been navigating a really hard situation around cheer. She has loved parts of it. She has worked hard. She has built friendships. And then there have been hard moments. Moments where she has felt unseen, disappointed, and I have had to watch her process something I cannot process for her.

That is the part that is getting me.

Erica Rooney's eight-year-old daughter Halle smiling in front of her birthday cake.

Because I can handle a lot. I can handle a difficult executive conversation. I can handle boardroom politics. I can handle walking into a room full of strangers and speaking on a stage. I can handle rejection in my own life, even when it stings.

But watching my child hurt? That takes me out.

It takes me out in a way that feels physical. I can feel it in my chest. I can feel it in my stomach. I can feel it in my sleep.

If you have ever done this with sports, school, friendships, a teacher, a birthday party invitation, a child who keeps getting left out, a child who wants to quit something you thought they loved, you know what I am talking about.

And suddenly, it is not just about that one situation. It becomes every situation. Their confidence. Their identity. Their friendships. Their future. Their resilience. Their relationship with themselves.

If you are anything like me, your brain does not stay in the present moment. It takes off running into ten years from now.

That is the spiral. And that is exactly why I want to use the SNAP Method today.

Why SNAP, and Why Now

SNAP is not just something I teach. It is something I have to come back to over and over again.

The whole point of SNAP is that we stop letting the sticky floor run the show. We slow down long enough to notice what is actually happening inside us, name the belief or behavior that is keeping us stuck, ask ourselves the deeper questions, and then pivot into a more powerful, grounded response.

So let's walk through it. I am walking through this with you, not from above you. I am not healed and handing you the lesson. I am in the arena, with puffy eyes, a phone full of text messages, and a nervous system that needs a nap.

S: Stop and Notice the Feeling Inside Your Body

This sounds simple. But for a lot of us, especially high-achieving women, especially moms who are used to managing everything, noticing what is happening in our bodies is not our default.

Our default is solve. Fix. Text someone. Make a plan. Gather information. Get ahead of the pain before it gets worse.

That is exactly what I had been doing.

I spent over an hour texting back and forth with her cheer coach. Trying to understand. Trying to advocate. Trying to be respectful and clear and strong. Trying to stand up for my daughter without going full mama bear in a way I would regret later.

(anxious woman holding temples — Step 1 of SNAP): Anxious woman holding her temples, representing the body's stress response when your child is hurting.

Then I was texting other moms. Asking what they thought. Trying to understand if I was seeing this clearly.

The whole time, my body was screaming.

That is the part I want you to hear. My body knew before my brain did.

My chest felt tight. My stomach felt unsettled. My sleep was disrupted. I woke up early, and not in a peaceful, "I am ready to take on the day" kind of way. I woke up with my mind already racing.

That is information. Our bodies give us data.

For me, the data was clear. This was not just frustration. This was anxiety. Grief. Fear. Helplessness.

Moms, we are not built to enjoy helplessness. We want to protect. Create the path. Solve the problem. Make the pain stop.

But sometimes the first move is not to fix it. The first move is to notice what is happening inside you before you hand that energy to your kid.

Because our children are already carrying their own feelings. They do not need to carry ours too.

Sometimes what feels like advocacy is actually anxiety in a blazer. Sometimes what feels like protection is our own fear trying to control the outcome.

N: Name That Sticky Floor

For me, the sticky floor right now is worry.

But it is not just surface-level worry. It is the kind of worry that disguises itself as responsibility. It sounds like, "I am just trying to make the right decision."

And yes, of course I am. But underneath that, there is something heavier. There is a belief that if I make the wrong decision, I might somehow mess up her future.

That is the sticky floor.

(mother holding child — Step 2 of SNAP): A mother holds her young child close, illustrating Step 2 of the SNAP Method: naming the sticky floor.

This decision, on paper, is about cheer. But emotionally, it feels like I am standing at a crossroads with my daughter's confidence, friendships, identity, skills, and joy all sitting in the middle.

Moms know how fast your brain can turn something small into a full documentary about your child's future.

If she quits, will she regret it? If she stays, will she feel smaller? Will she lose her skills? Will those friendships fade? Will she find something else that lights her up? Am I pushing too hard? Am I not pushing hard enough? Am I protecting her, or projecting onto her?

This is the motherload of the mental load. And I meant motherload, because that is exactly what it feels like.

We talk about the mental load in terms of groceries, dentist appointments, birthday gifts, forms, snacks, laundry, the calendar.

But there is another layer that is much harder to explain. The emotional forecasting. The future scanning. The invisible decision tree running in the back of your brain all day long. The constant calculation of what choice will protect your child's heart, build their resilience, preserve their confidence, and not accidentally create some wound they have to unpack in therapy twenty years from now.

That is exhausting.

When I named it, I realized something. My sticky floor is not just worry. It is control.

It is the belief that if I think hard enough, ask enough questions, gather enough opinions, and analyze every angle, I can somehow guarantee the right outcome.

But motherhood does not work that way. Neither does leadership.

You can make the most thoughtful decision available to you with the information you have, and still not know how it will all turn out.

That is so hard for high-achieving women. We are used to effort producing outcomes. We are used to being able to work harder, prepare better, communicate more clearly, and solve the problem.

But our kids are not projects. Their lives are not business plans. Their joy cannot be reverse-engineered. Their confidence is not something we can build for them by removing every painful moment.

I am afraid that if I do not get this right, she will hurt. But she is already hurting.

And my job may not be to prevent every hurt. My job may be to help her learn that hurt is survivable.

A: Ask and Answer the Deep and Personal Questions

This is the step we want to skip because it requires us to get underneath the reaction.

When you are in mom-protection mode, you do not want to get curious. You want to get busy. Send the text. Make the call. Find the new gym. Poll the group chat.

But this is where the real work is.

So I have been asking myself, "Why does this feel so big?"

(blue question mark on pink background — Step 3 of SNAP): Blue question mark on pink background representing Step 3 of the SNAP Method: ask and answer the deep questions.

At a high level, it is about cheer. But inside my body, it feels bigger. And I think part of it is because I know what it feels like to be disappointed by something you worked hard for. I know what it feels like to want something and not get it. To be overlooked. To question yourself.

Even though Halle is eight and I am a grown woman, our nervous systems do not always keep those stories separate.

That is why parenting can be so triggering. It is not because our kids are doing anything wrong. It is because their pain often brushes up against our unhealed places.

Their social dynamics remind us of our own. Their rejection reminds us of ours. Their disappointment reminds us of the doors that closed on us.

Suddenly we are not just parenting the child in front of us. We are parenting the child we used to be.

That is a lot to put on an eight-year-old's extracurricular activity.

So I have to ask myself the hard questions:

• Am I worried because she is truly unhappy, or because I am uncomfortable watching her navigate uncertainty?

• Am I afraid she will regret quitting because she has said that, or because I am projecting my own fear of regret onto her?

• Am I trying to teach resilience, or am I asking her to tolerate something that no longer feels good for her?

• Am I trying to protect her joy, or am I trying to protect my idea of what I thought her joy was going to look like?

That last one got me.

Because sometimes our kids love something, and we start building a whole identity around it. She is the cheer girl. He is the baseball kid. She is the dancer.

Before we know it, a thing they do becomes part of how we see them. And sometimes it becomes part of how we see ourselves as parents too.

When they start to change, it can feel like loss. Not because we want to control them, but because we are human. Motherhood is full of tiny griefs no one names.

There is no decision that removes all risk. If she stays, there are risks. If she leaves, there are risks. If she takes a break, there are risks.

Maybe the deeper question is not, "How do I make the decision that guarantees she never regrets anything?"

Maybe the deeper question is, "How do I help her trust herself through whatever decision she makes?"

That is the work. Not controlling the outcome. Building self-trust.

P: Pivot

This is the part I do not fully have yet.

Usually when I teach SNAP, the pivot is where we move into the new belief, the new behavior, the new empowered response. But today, my pivot is still forming.

Maybe that is important too.

Maybe sometimes the pivot is not a lightning bolt. Maybe it is a practice.

Maybe it is the next grounded choice. Choosing not to spiral for the next ten minutes. Putting the phone down after the coach conversation. Choosing to stop crowdsourcing every single feeling.

Maybe it is sitting with your child and saying, "Tell me what you want. Not what you think I want. Not what your friends want. Not what your coach wants. What do you want?"

Halle is eight. Childhood is not supposed to be a résumé.

(two girls playing outside — Step 4 of SNAP): Two girls playing outside, representing the pivot in the SNAP Method and the freedom of childhood.

I need to say that again for myself. Childhood is not supposed to be a résumé.

It is supposed to be a place where kids try things, learn things, love things, outgrow things, come back to things, and discover who they are becoming.

There is wisdom in listening when something no longer fits. Wisdom in letting a child have a voice in her own life.

Maybe stepping away from cheer does not close the door on who Halle is. Maybe it opens a door we cannot see yet. Maybe she tries something new. Maybe she comes back later. Maybe she learns that she can survive changing her mind. Maybe she learns that her mom will stand beside her while she figures it out, without needing to script the entire future in advance.

That is the pivot. Moving from control to trust. From panic to presence. From "I have to get this exactly right" to "I can help her listen to herself."

The Mental Load No One Sees

I also want to name the bandwidth piece, because moms carry this quietly.

This stuff takes time. Not just emotional time. Actual time.

Time to text the coach. Talk to your child. Process with your partner. Text the other moms. Look up other options. Research gyms or teams or schedules. Think through finances and logistics and carpools and family calendars. Sit in the uncertainty.

Then we are supposed to wake up the next day and run a business. Lead a team. Show up on a call. Record a podcast. Write the proposal. Answer the emails. Make the dinner. Sign the permission slip. Remember the theme day at school.

It is too much sometimes.

You are exhausted because your brain is running eight invisible operating systems at all times. When one of your kids is hurting, that operating system takes over the whole machine. It runs in the background while you are trying to work. It pops up in the middle of a conversation. It wakes you up at 5:00 in the morning.

That does not make you dramatic. It makes you human.

(green silhouette with sticky notes — mental load): Green silhouette of a woman covered in sticky notes representing the invisible mental load mothers carry.

It means you love deeply. It also means you need tools.

Because love without regulation can turn into anxiety. Advocacy without awareness can turn into control. Support without boundaries can turn into over-functioning.

This is where SNAP brings us back to ourselves. Stop. Notice what is happening in your body. Name the sticky floor. Ask the deeper questions. Pivot into the next grounded choice.

Not the perfect choice. The grounded choice.

What I Want Halle to Learn

When I zoom out, I know what I want her to learn.

That she can trust herself. That disappointment does not define her. That she can try something and change her mind. That walking away is not always quitting. That staying is not always strength.

That her worth is not tied to whether she is chosen, placed, praised, or promoted.

That she is allowed to be both tender and powerful.

That her voice matters. That her mom will stand up for her, and her mom will also help her stand up for herself.

That sometimes life gives you a pivot before you are ready for it.

That might be the lesson for both of us. Because this is not just her pivot. It is mine too.

I am learning to separate my fear from her future. My old wounds from her current experience. My desire to protect from my need to control.

Motherhood is not about preventing every crack in their heart. It is about becoming the steady place they can return to when life cracks a little.

(Erica and Halle at baseball game): Erica Rooney and her daughter Halle smiling together at a baseball game.

Not the frantic fixer. Not the anxious over-functioner. The steady place. The safe place. The place where she can say, "I do not know what I want," and I can say, "That is okay. We can figure it out together."

If Your Child is Hurting Right Now

Maybe it is not cheer. Maybe it is your child's friendship group. School. A sport. Anxiety. A diagnosis. A teacher who does not see them clearly. A coach who does not understand them.

Maybe it is watching your child realize the world is not always fair.

That one hurts. Because we already know the world is not always fair. But watching them learn it? That is a whole different ache.

So here is what I am practicing this week.

Presence. Trust. Not making a permanent story out of a temporary season. Letting Halle be eight. Remembering that her life is not mine to architect. It is mine to support. To witness. To guide. And when needed, yes, to fiercely protect.

But not from every disappointment. Not from every hard choice. Not from every ending.

Because sometimes an ending is not a failure. Sometimes it is a doorway. Sometimes it is the beginning of a different kind of becoming.

Her future is bigger than this one moment. Her confidence is bigger than this one room. Her joy is bigger than this one sport. Her identity is bigger than this one season.

My role as her mom is not to make sure she never hurts. My role is to make sure she never hurts alone.

That is the pivot. That is the work.

If you are in your own sticky floor this week, whether it is motherhood, leadership, work, identity, or the impossible mental load of trying to hold everything together, come back to SNAP.

Stop. Name. Ask. Pivot.

You do not need the whole path. You just need the next honest step.

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Want to hear the full conversation? I went deeper into this in this week's episode of Glass Ceilings & Sticky Floors, including the parts I am still figuring out in real time. Listen to the episode here.

I am cheering you on.

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Erica Anderson Rooney: HER Collective Founder, Executive Coach and Author of The AI Gap

Ex-corporate girl turned women's empowerment expert who started a love affair with AI.

Erica Anderson Rooney is an ex-CPO turned executive coach turned AI educator who is on a mission to get more women into positions of power and keep them there.

She's the author of The AI Gap (June 2026), host of Glass Ceilings & Sticky Floors and AI Voice or Victim, and NC Chapter Lead for Women Applying AI. Her SNAP and AI Continuum frameworks are taught to thousands of women through CHIEF, WICT, and Fortune 500 leadership programs.

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