I had a bit of a meltdown this morning: I was trying to get myself out of the house to a deadline. The hour was early, I’m suffering from a cold, and there was a handful of trivial practical problems. Suddenly it all became too much and I found myself standing the wrong side of the closed door. I wasn’t, it seems, going after all.

With hindsight, the crisis was only ‘sudden’ in terms of speed; it wasn’t unexpected. I can see, now, how my energy was low and I was using it at a faster rate than normal. The cold made everything a little more effortful and with each task my capacity lessened. Chuck in a few unexpected items and just watch the energy drain away.

My head filled with spiralling thoughts. These were mainly about the issue which tipped me over: at the last minute, I had realised I’d forgotten something: I ought to take it with me, although that would be inconvenient. I just needed to decide. And I could not focus on this: every negative thought I might conceivably associate with the problem clamoured for attention – a sense of unfairness, dislike of hypocrisy, resentment of sexism, resentment of petty rules, annoyance about mislaying a bag some months ago, dislike of my own appearance. Probably more, that I’ve now forgotten. It felt like more, at the time. It felt like legion.

Energy levels drop below an internal threshold; executive function fails. Thoughts go adrift and then the emotions surge exponentially.

And there I was: limbs entangled, chin up, desperately treading water, dragged along by the emotional currents, buffeted by chunks of my own psychic debris which worked loose and were pulled into the torrent. And – sorry for the heavy symbolism of this – the door to the outside world was closed.

Once I’d done the essential (had a bit of a cry, sent my apologies, made coffee, had something to eat) I wrote a list of what I’d felt in those last few minutes. Here it is:

• Conflicted
• Frustrated
• Anxious about time, suddenly feeling late and daunted at the extra effort it would take to keep up or, worse, catch up
• Defeated
• A longing to be held, comforted and soothed
• Over-sensitive. Which meant, had anyone tried to hold me, comfort or sooth me at that point I am pretty sure it would have felt too much and I would have lashed out at them.

Most of all I felt petulant. Really, really, petulant: bad-tempered, wanting to be indulged, sulky, resentful, unreasonable, blaming everyone else, and blaming myself. The key thing about petulance is that it’s a childish attitude. And in adults, therefore, it’s a word which shows that our inner child is at the fore. As mine was. The adult had been overwhelmed.

Of course I can think back to this morning and work out what I did ‘wrong.’ Should have got up earlier? Should have prepared more thoroughly the night before? Yes, yes, yes, of course. I’m all for learning a few lessons, practical tips I can put on a PowerPoint slide for my next mental pep-talk. However, I am increasingly unconvinced by that approach. It falls so strongly towards ‘how can I avoid this happening again?’

And I can think back to this morning and decide the cold is a key factor, which is no-one’s fault and so… these things happen.  Yes, yes, I am all for avoiding blame, but it also tends towards making me feel helpless. ‘These things happen, nothing I can do.’

I want to return to the petulant me. First of all, I want to acknowledge that it’s happened before. That inner fracture, the tipping over, the missing step and vertiginous tumbling. The loss of control and reversion to childishness. It’s happened before and not just with a cold or an early morning. And it will happen again. Each time is both surprising and familiar. So – ah, here’s the useful words – I want to learn how to prevent it, not avoid it.

Avoid is shunning something. Turn away from something. It’s a negative movement – trying to push something out, deny it, make it go away.

Prevent means go before. Act in anticipation of something. It’s a positive movement – understanding well enough to get ahead of something and then, yes, change the outcome.

Prevent is making things easier, better, stronger: avoid is merely trying to stop things going wrong.

The thing is, a petulant child doesn’t actually want to be in control. Not really. The child wants to feel safe, they want to feel soothed. I felt that very strongly. And all of me wants that. I am, as it were, in internal agreement there.

I don’t want to avoid my inner child. I want to carry it with me at all times: that part of myself is precious and wonderful and dear. But I do want to prevent it from having to take over. It can’t do it very well.

To care for my child better, I need to be a stronger and better adult. This blog needn’t become a self-help treatise; we all know the kind of stuff: do everything I can to encourage my saner adult self to thrive. And pay attention to my inner child when it’s not being petulant. That’s the best time to make it feel more secure and loved, so it can also thrive and become less vulnerable.

I will, inevitably, still lose it from time to time. But I will lose it less often – maybe a cold won’t be enough to bring me down in future. I understand what is happening better now and so, in that sense, I am a little more control when it happens. Finally, when I do lose it, I’ll recover more rapidly. Sometimes I think that’s most important of all.