How to Talk to Your Kids About Tragedy

The world just got heavier. Maybe you saw the news about Sydney. Maybe it hit close to home, or maybe it's just the weight of knowing bad things happen and your children will need to understand that one day.

And now you're sitting with a question that doesn't have a tidy answer: What do I actually say?

Here's what I know: you don't need the perfect words. Every parenting expert who promises you a script is selling something. What you actually need is to understand what's happening in your child's body when they hear about tragedy, and how you can be the person who helps them feel safe enough to process it.

Your nervous system is their reference point

Before we talk about what to say, let's talk about what your child is actually doing when they hear distressing news.

They're not just listening with their ears. Their nervous system is running a live scan of you. Your breathing. Your facial expression. The tension in your shoulders. The way your voice sounds. They're asking a question their body is trying to answer: Is this person I depend on still okay? Am I safe?

If you're panicking, even quietly, their system will pick it up. They'll mirror it. That's not because children are fragile. It's because they're biologically designed to track the adults around them. It's actually quite brilliant. It's also why the single most important thing you can do before talking to your child about tragedy is to get your own nervous system regulated.

Take a few minutes. Breathe properly. Feel your feet on the ground. Let your shoulders drop. Then you're ready.

Start with safety, not information

When a child is upset or scared, their thinking brain, the part that understands nuance and logic, is basically offline. What's running is the survival part of their nervous system. It doesn't care about details. It wants to know one thing: Am I safe with you right now?

So before you explain anything, establish safety.

Get down to their eye level. Sit close. Keep your voice calm and steady. You might say: "I'm here with you. You're safe." That's genuinely the most important sentence you can offer.

Your child doesn't need you to have all the answers yet. They need to know you're solidly here, that you're not falling apart, that they can trust your presence.

Keep your words simple and truthful

This is where a lot of parents get stuck. They either say nothing (and hope their child doesn't pick up on the heaviness), or they offer explanations that are too detailed, too speculative, or softened into something that doesn't feel true.

Kids know when adults are lying or hiding. It makes them feel more unsafe, not less.

Instead, be simple and honest.

"Something sad happened. Some people are hurt. I don't have all the answers yet, but I'm here with you."

You don't need to provide a full news breakdown. You don't need to explain the politics or the context or try to make sense of something senseless. Your job is to acknowledge the weight of it and anchor your child in the fact that they're not walking through it alone.

Wait for their questions. Let them lead what they need to know.

Help them name what they're feeling

When children are upset and don't have language for it, they often act it out instead, through behavior, sleep changes, clinginess, or regression. Your job is to gently offer language.

"That sounds really scary."

"I can see this is confusing."

"It's okay to feel worried."

You're not trying to fix their feelings or talk them out of them. You're teaching them that feelings are real, they're okay to have, and they can be named. That's nervous system education, and it's one of the most valuable things you can give them.

When they cry, let them cry. When they're scared, you don't have to make it better. You just have to be the person they cry and feel scared with.

Anchor them in love and routine

After the conversation, your child's nervous system needs to feel that their world is still stable. That's where routine becomes medicine.

Family dinner. Bedtime stories. A walk. Playing a game together. These ordinary moments are what tell your child's body: we're still here. This is still our life. You're still loved.

Don't try to distract them. Don't overcompensate with gifts or special treats. Just be present in the normal stuff. That's what feels safe.

Look after your own nervous system

Here's the thing nobody tells you: when you regulate yourself, your children regulate. It's not magic. It's biology. When you slow your breathing, your child's breathing can slow. When you feel grounded, your child feels grounded.

This means that self-care right now isn't optional. It's not indulgent. It's foundational.

Take ten minutes to yourself. Go for a walk. Call a friend. Slow your breathing. Move your body. Let yourself feel what you're feeling.

Your child needs you steady. And you can't be steady if you're running on empty.

There's no perfect moment

The truth is, there's no perfect way to do this. You won't have all the answers. You'll probably say something you wish you could rephrase. You might get emotional (and that's okay, it shows your child that you're human, and that difficult feelings are something real people experience).

What matters isn't perfection. It's presence. It's showing up for your child in their fear and saying, through your calm body, your honest words, and your steadiness, you're not alone in this. I'm here.

That's everything.