One day, I was walking down the street with my then eight-year-old daughter and I remember her boiling with rage. She had had an argument with her older brother and was very upset. In the past, I would never have thought to ask her where she felt this anger in her body. Now I was interested. She shouted, ‘All over my body!’ and burst into bitter tears. The anger then immediately evaporated and then we talked about how it is sometimes good to cry in order to process difficult things. Her sunny smile returned and we talked about where in the body we felt which emotions. It was a wonderful moment with her.
I came home one evening after being away for a long weekend. My eleven-year-old son was lying in his bed crying bitterly. His whole body was shaking with grief. He had had a terrible argument with his mother and was at his wits’ end. I lay down next to him in bed and asked him where in his body he felt the pain. He said in his head, throat, heart and stomach. I told him to put one hand on his stomach and one hand on his throat. He did so, and I placed one of my hands on his heart and the other on his head and hummed an old lullaby that I had used to rock him to sleep as a toddler. Within seconds, his whole body calmed down and he fell asleep. I had learned through RAIN how to deal with such a difficult situation calmly and compassionately. I will be forever grateful for that.
One evening, my son couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. I sat down next to him on his bed and asked him what was wrong. ‘I feel kind of weird,’ he said. Then he told me that he was worried about school. Although he was a very good student, he was stressed about the demands of the next day. I lay down next to him and told him about the RAIN method, explaining the acronyms to him. He realized that he was feeling afraid and that this fear was sitting in his stomach. I invited him to simply let the fear be there and asked him how it felt. He described it as an unpleasant pulling sensation. I suggested he put one hand on his stomach and the other on his heart to give the feeling in his stomach a little love. He liked that and calmed down and then quickly fell asleep. We’ve done RAIN again and again since then, and sometimes he really looks forward to it.
A “Rainy” Walk with Alex
One Wednesday afternoon, I picked up Alex, a six-year-old I was babysitting, from school. As usual, he ran toward me with excitement, already talking about going to the playground with his bike. Going to the playground after school had become our little Wednesday habit.
Just as we unlocked our bikes, the rain suddenly started pouring down.
“I want to go to the playground!” Alex said.
I looked at the dark sky and gently explained that it wasn’t possible that day. Since we both had bikes, we couldn’t take the bus and instead had to walk the long, muddy path to the tram station.
Alex did not like that change of plans.
After a few minutes he stopped walking.
“I don’t want to walk! I’m tired!” he cried.
He stood in the middle of the path, holding his bike, crying and refusing to move.
Changes of plans were usually very difficult for Alex. He liked to know the plan clearly from the beginning, and when something unexpected happened he often became overwhelmed. In similar situations he sometimes ran away, and I had to chase after him.
Meanwhile, I could feel my own frustration rising. The rain was heavy, the path muddy, and I was carrying my own bike and backpack.
“Alex, calm down,” I heard myself say.
As soon as the words came out, I noticed something: I wasn’t really helping him calm down. I was wishing for the situation to calm down—for both of us. I was also trying to push away my own frustration.
My explanations were not helping. My patience was running thin.
I paused and noticed how tense I felt. If I continued from that place, the situation would probably escalate.
At that moment, I remembered the RAIN practice.
I took a breath and decided to first acknowledge what was happening inside me before trying to guide Alex through the same process.
When we finally reached the tram station, I knelt down next to him.
“I see you’re not feeling good because we couldn’t go to the playground,” I said softly. “What are you feeling right now?”
“I’m angry!” he shouted.
“I see that,” I replied. “It’s okay to feel angry. You really wanted to play. It’s hard when something we expect—like our usual playground time—doesn’t happen.”
He looked at me, still breathing heavily.
“Can you feel where the anger is in your body?” I asked.
He looked confused.
I pointed gently. “Maybe in your stomach? Your chest? Your head?”
He paused for a moment.
“My throat,” he said quietly.
Just then the tram arrived, so we didn’t have time to finish the RAIN practice. But something had already shifted. Alex looked tired, yet calmer and less overwhelmed.
Before we got on the tram, I looked at him and said, “I’m proud of you for recognizing your anger today.”
He nodded quietly as we continued our way home.
The first time we tried it she was 3 years old. She had just been given a vaccine. Her pain and feelings of betrayal towards the doctor and me were very intense. She was screaming in the doctor’s waiting room for a good ten minutes after the shot and simply could not calm down. Even after the initial prick of the needle was long gone, she kept saying that it hurt. I was very aware of the parents looking at me. I started to feel embarrassed that I was not able to calm her down. I kept on telling her “It’s finished now, it is gone” and she was so angry with my words because the pain was still there for her. Suddenly, I felt like a hypocrite, realising that I was telling my child to not feel what she feels.
Then I remembered RAIN, and I changed my tone completely.
“So,” I said, “It still hurts, huh?”
“YESSSS!!!!”, she screamed.
“Well, let’s tell the pain it is allowed to be here. It is ok for it to be here… (snif) …Where does it hurt exactly?”
She pointed to her thigh and, to my surprise, also to her heart. “What do you think it needs?” I asked.
“I don’t know!”, she managed between sobs. “Do you think it might need some love?”. She nodded.
“Ok, let’s put our hands on the thigh and send it love so it heals.” She nodded again, sobbing.
She put her hands there and I put my hands on hers… within seconds she began to calm down. . I could not believe how effective it was. Throughout the rest of the day, she would remember the experience and start to cry again. We did it another three times before the day was over and every time it had the same calming effect.
Since then, we have used RAIN many times together, often with more complex feelings such as shame and anger. She is able to go through all the steps, but only with my guidance… which is ok!