Tosha Schore doesn’t believe in fixing kids (and I don’t either). She believes in feeling with them.
In a world that rushes to calm, quiet, and control emotions, especially in boys, Schore offers a strikingly simple but radical message: emotions aren’t the problem. In fact, they’re the solution.
In a recent conversation, Schore, founder of Parenting Boys Peacefully, challenged the cultural norm of emotional suppression. “Crying is healing,” she shared. “We’ve been taught to see big feelings as something to shut down, when they’re actually the way our bodies release pain, stress, and trauma.”
Schore’s approach leans on listening partnerships — a practice where adults take turns offering each other undivided, nonjudgmental presence. Her personal story of navigating depression through being witnessed in deep emotional release illustrates the immense power of this practice. “I sobbed every day for 10 months,” she recalls. “And one day, after hitting on the root, I woke up and it was gone. My body had let it go.”
The implications for parenting neurodivergent children are profound. When we mistake emotional expression — acting out, freaking out, and zoning out — as the problem itself, we miss the opportunity to support the deeper healing underneath. Schore emphasizes, “The meltdown isn’t the issue. It’s the body’s way of letting out what’s already happened.”
So what can parents do in the moment? Get quiet. Stop talking. Be present. “It sounds simple, but it’s hard,” Schore admits. “We're conditioned to fix, to distract, to manage. But healing comes when our children feel safe enough to feel.”
And that safety? It begins with the parent. “You matter,” she reminds listeners. “You can't co-regulate if you’re swimming in unprocessed emotions. Your healing journey runs parallel to your child’s.”
Schore shares that even brief moments of creative emotional release can shift the energy — a scream in the shower, tears to a sad song, honest journaling. And when parents experience that shift for themselves, they become more patient, more grounded, and more available to witness their child’s feelings without fear or shame.
This shift has long-term impacts. “My teenage son doesn’t fight for airtime,” she says. “But he knows I’ll sit in silence with him until he’s ready to speak. That’s how trust builds.”
Ultimately, Schore believes we can raise a generation of emotionally intelligent boys and girls, but only if we (the adults and caregivers) stop bypassing our own emotional truth. “Our presence is the medicine,” she says. “When we stop rushing to fix and start learning to feel, that’s when the healing begins.”