What does "equalizing" behavior look like?

Last weekend, I found myself standing outside in the driveway, watching both of my boys climb on top of our 2015 Ford Focus. “That antennae is the thing that makes the radio work.” I stated with my best declarative language, watching Cooper experimenting with how far he could pull it. “If it gets broken, we won’t be able to listen to songs in the car anymore.” I watched Cooper stop and then move towards his younger brother, whose feet were precariously close to the windshield wipers, as he scrambled to the top of the car and followed his brother’s lead. In that moment, I was in the thick of the exquisite discomfort of what it means to accommodate your child or teen’s activated nervous system. I had taken a deep breath and my sacred pause, to provide autonomy and patience while Cooper engaged in equalizing behavior to get back to a place of nervous system safety. He had not yet crossed the threshold of the“health and safety boundaries” we hold in our home, but he was precariously close, so I stood observing and fighting my own annoyance of the irrational nature of it all. A half an hour earlier he had been repeating the familiar refrain: “I’m bored, I’m bored,” and was starting to bug William, which would soon escalate if we didn’t figure out some dopamine, distraction, or one-on-one divided attention soon. At that point I knew it was time for us to split the kids, so William and I decided we would run some errands before his park playdate. He would get the money from the returns of our glass bottles at the farm stop and from recycling cans. Cooper heard this – and although he receives MUCH more allowance than William for his “chores” and we spend a lot more on his tackle football team gear than my littlest’s 4-year-old soccer games – he perceived a loss of equality to his brother in the moment. Before understanding how the PDA brain works, I would have tried to convince or explain using logic that actually, he has a lot more money than William and he could come do errands if he wanted to. But now I understand that even though it is my instinct (or conditioning?), it would simply drive Cooper further into his survival brain, make him go into fight or flight, and make everything more dangerous. I didn’t really respond much, and simply took William with me to get into his car seat. Cooper climbed on top of the car to feel “above us”, preventing William and I driving away to return our cans, as a form of equalizing behavior. It was my choice point – I could either accommodate or activate. I decided to lean in, stayed there to keep the guard rails on, used some declarative sentences to talk to him about creating his own chore menu if he wanted (he had brought up the topic) and eventually he climbed down and went back inside to the kitchen. (It took about 15 minutes). Is this an efficient, straightforward, and time-saving way to parent? Absolutely not. Do I think it is still worth it? Absolutely. The cost of those 15 minutes to me and to William were minimal, compared to the benefit of trust being maintained, no panic attack, and Cooper getting back to a place of nervous system safety. It would have looked a lot messier and hard four years ago, three years ago, even a year ago. But over time, it gets easier as a parent and the more you work at it and practice – as uncomfortable as it feels – the more that connection, trust, and lowered overall nervous system stress in your child’s system will transform your relationship and their long-term well-being.