How to Protect Our Children's Brains During Times of Uncertainty

Para escuchar en español: https://youtu.be/ys2-x66M1s0 This is the trasncript of Cafe Con ALASI Podcast, Episode: How Do I Explain What's Happening to My Child?

Today we're going to talk about how to explain everything that's happening to our children. This week, something happened that made me stop and reflect. As we all know, last week ICE was present in our community, and several people were taken from the streets. The events created a tremendous wave of fear and anxiety, leaving many of us with a deep sense that the safety we once felt has been shaken. It's something that affects us as adults, but it's also something we need to think about when it comes to our children.

Throughout the week, I noticed that every conversation I had with friends, every message I received, and everything I read on social media slowly began to change me. Without realizing it, my posture became more tense, my facial expressions became heavier, and the stress I was carrying started showing in ways I didn't even notice. I believed I was doing a good job of protecting my daughter from my worries, but there was something incredibly important I wasn't seeing.

One day, while we were at home, my daughter looked at me and asked, "Why are you looking at me like that?" In that single moment, I understood something that has stayed with me ever since. I thought I had successfully hidden my concern, but she had already sensed it. She didn't need to watch the news. She didn't need to know what ICE is, understand what a deportation order means, or have any knowledge of the immigration system. All she needed was to look at my face. That alone was enough for her brain to conclude that something wasn't right.

That moment made me realize it was time to have a conversation with her, but it also brought me face-to-face with the hardest question of all: How do I explain this to my child? I want her to continue loving every part of who she is. I want her to remain proud of being both an American citizen and a Mexican citizen. I never want fear or uncertainty to damage her cultural identity or make her feel that one part of herself is somehow less valuable than the other. So, even though I don't have all the answers, I began thinking carefully about how to approach this conversation, because there is one truth every parent should remember: silence communicates too. Even when we choose not to speak, our children are listening—to our expressions, our body language, our tone of voice, and the emotions we carry. When we don't explain what's happening, our children's brains often try to fill in the missing pieces on their own. And believe me, a child's imagination almost always creates scenarios that are far more frightening than reality. That's why today I want to talk with you about something I am deeply passionate about: the incredible brain of a child. Understanding how it works helps us understand why children react the way they do, and it also reminds us that one of the most powerful tools we have as parents isn't a perfect answer—it's a conversation.

Before we go any further, I'd like you to imagine something. Suppose that tomorrow someone gave you a house—not just any house, but the one you would live in for the rest of your life. How would you treat it? Most of us would repair every leak, repaint the walls when needed, fix broken windows, and protect the foundation with great care. We would do everything possible to keep it strong because we know it would be the place where we would spend the rest of our lives.

Now let me tell you something beautiful. Our children are building a house too. The difference is that their house isn't made of bricks or wood. It's their brain, and it will be the only home they will ever have for their entire lives. Every experience they have adds another brick to that house. Every word they hear, every hug they receive, every game they play, every conversation they have, every moment of fear, and every moment of peace leaves its mark on the structure that is being built inside them.

One of the most fascinating things about the brain is that it isn't born fully finished. Many people imagine that babies are born with a tiny brain that simply grows larger over time. In reality, babies are born with nearly all the neurons they will ever have. What makes the brain extraordinary isn't the number of neurons—it is the way those neurons begin connecting with one another. Imagine a brand-new city where thousands of houses have already been built, but there are very few roads connecting them. That's exactly what a baby's brain looks like. The neurons are already there, but they must build pathways so they can communicate with one another, and those pathways are created through experience.

Every time a baby hears their mother's voice, another pathway is formed. Every song someone sings to them creates another one. Every game they play, every new word they learn, every hug they receive strengthens thousands of these connections. Scientists call these connections synapses, but you don't have to remember the scientific term. Instead, picture highways connecting an entire city. That's how the brain works. In fact, during the first years of life, a child's brain can create more than one million new neural connections every second. Every second. The human brain is so extraordinary that it almost seems unbelievable.

While all of this construction is taking place, the brain isn't only learning colors, numbers, or letters. It is working on answering a much more fundamental question—one that every human being begins asking from the moment they are born: Is the world I live in safe? Children don't learn the answer to that question by watching the news, scrolling through social media, or hearing political debates. They learn it by watching the adults they love. They study how we react, how we speak, how we comfort them, how we embrace them, and how we respond when life becomes difficult.

That's why, this week, many children understood that something was happening even if no one sat down to explain it. They saw their mother crying. They overheard worried phone calls. They noticed their father speaking in a quieter voice than usual. They heard a neighbor's name mentioned over and over again, or perhaps they realized that a classmate suddenly stopped coming to school. They may not fully understand what immigration enforcement means, but their brains have already begun asking a simple and profoundly important question: "Am I safe?"

And that is where one of the most fascinating stories about the human brain begins. Deep inside each of us is a small structure that works twenty-four hours a day, constantly trying to answer that very question. It's called the amygdala, and we'll talk about it in just a moment because understanding what it does can completely change the way we support our children during times like the ones we're living through today.

Before we get there, though, I want you to hold on to one important idea. We cannot control everything that happens outside our homes. We cannot control the decisions governments make. We cannot control rumors, uncertainty, or the news cycle. But we can help build the most important house our children will ever have—their brain. Every conversation, every reassuring hug, every honest answer, and every moment we choose connection over silence strengthens that foundation. And believe me, that work doesn't begin with having all the right words. It begins with something as simple and as powerful as sitting down and talking with our children.

A few moments ago, I mentioned that deep inside the brain there is a small structure working around the clock. Its entire job is to answer one simple question: "Am I safe?" That structure is called the amygdala. It's tiny, but it performs one of the most important jobs in the human brain.

Think for a moment about a fire alarm in a school. Have you ever noticed how it works? It doesn't stop to think, "Let me analyze whether that's really smoke." It doesn't wonder, "Maybe someone is grilling outside," or "Perhaps they're just burning peppers in the cafeteria." No. The moment it detects what might be smoke, it does exactly what it was designed to do—it sounds the alarm. The amygdala works in much the same way. It doesn't analyze, debate, or investigate. It asks only one question: "Could there be danger?" And if the answer is even "maybe," it immediately pushes the brain's emergency button.

That's why this past week so many children didn't need to understand the news in order to feel that something was wrong. It was enough to see worry on their parents' faces, overhear anxious phone calls, watch their mother cry, hear that a neighbor had been detained, or notice that everyone at school was talking about ICE. For the amygdala, those signals were enough to conclude, "Something is happening."

Once that alarm goes off, something remarkable happens. Within a second or two, the entire body receives an emergency message. The heart begins to beat faster. Breathing changes. Muscles tighten. The pupils widen slightly. The body starts preparing itself to survive. What's fascinating is that all of this happens automatically. None of us consciously decides, "I'm going to make my heart beat faster now." The brain simply takes over, because that's exactly what it was designed to do.

When the amygdala senses a possible threat, it tells the body to release two very important chemicals: adrenaline and cortisol. Those words sometimes sound scary, especially cortisol, which often gets blamed for stress. But I'd like to reframe the way we think about them. Adrenaline and cortisol are not the villains. In fact, they're among the reasons our species has survived for thousands of years.

Adrenaline is like pressing the gas pedal in a car. It speeds up the heart so more blood reaches the muscles, increases the amount of oxygen flowing into the lungs, sharpens our vision, and prepares the body to run, protect itself, or fight if necessary. In essence, adrenaline tells the body, "We need every bit of available energy right now."

Cortisol has a different role. If adrenaline is the accelerator, cortisol is the manager responsible for distributing the body's resources. It tells the body, "Anything that isn't essential for survival can wait." That's why, during periods of prolonged stress, digestion slows down, sleep becomes more difficult, and even the immune system may not function as efficiently. Not because the body is malfunctioning, but because the brain has prioritized one objective above all else: survival.

And this is incredibly important to understand. That entire system is not broken. It isn't a flaw in the human body. It's doing exactly what it was created to do. The problem arises when the alarm never turns off.

Imagine driving a car with the accelerator pressed all the way down for three straight days. Eventually, the engine would begin to wear out. The same thing happens inside the brain. If a child spends days or weeks feeling as though danger is always present, the brain remains in what many experts call survival mode. And when a brain is focused on surviving, it has much less energy available for everything else. Learning becomes harder. Reading requires more effort. Memory suffers. Solving math problems becomes more difficult. Paying attention in school, playing, imagining, and even enjoying everyday life can become challenging.

Not because the child is lazy. Not because they're being disobedient. Not because they're "having a bad attitude." Their brain simply believes that staying alive is the most urgent priority.

Understanding this changes the way we see our children. Maybe this week your child was more irritable than usual. Maybe they cried more often, didn't want to sleep alone, wet the bed again after months without accidents, refused to go to school, or became upset over things that normally wouldn't bother them. Our first instinct might be to ask, "What's wrong with my child?" But often the answer is much simpler. Their brain is quietly saying, "I don't feel completely safe."

And this brings us to the most hopeful part of our conversation. As adults, we have the ability to help quiet that alarm. We can't always change what's happening in the world around us. We can't stop every immigration operation, control government decisions, or eliminate every rumor circulating through the community. But we can help our children's brains understand one incredibly important truth: they are not facing this alone.

Do you know what some of the most powerful tools are? A hug. A conversation. A predictable routine. Our calm presence. When a trusted adult stays composed, embraces a child, and explains what is happening using simple, honest, age-appropriate language, the brain begins receiving a completely different message. Instead of hearing, "You're alone," it begins to hear, "Someone is here to protect you."

And that message literally changes the chemistry of the brain.

That's what I'd like to explore next, because there is another part of the brain that comes online when a child feels heard, understood, and emotionally safe. And that part has the remarkable ability to transform fear into understanding. Now I want to share one of the most beautiful things I've learned about the human brain. A little while ago, we talked about the amygdala—that small alarm system that turns on whenever it detects danger. But the brain also has another remarkable part. It's located just behind our forehead, and it's called the prefrontal cortex. If the amygdala is the fire alarm, then the prefrontal cortex is the fire chief. The alarm only knows how to do one thing: sound the alarm. The fire chief, however, arrives at the scene, observes, asks questions, analyzes the situation, makes decisions, gets organized, and develops a plan. That's exactly what the prefrontal cortex does. It's the part of the brain that helps us think before we act, take a deep breath before we respond, solve problems, distinguish between a rumor and a fact, make thoughtful decisions, control our impulses, and, perhaps most importantly, find hope. Because hope isn't born only in the emotional part of the brain—it also comes from the part that thinks.

Now imagine this. A child comes home from school and says to his mother, "Mom... my friend says ICE is taking away all immigrant families." If no one has that conversation with the child, who do you think responds first? The amygdala. And the amygdala doesn't investigate. It doesn't ask questions. It doesn't verify information. It simply says, "Danger!" Immediately, the child's mind begins filling with thoughts like, "What if they take my dad today?" "What if I get out of school and my mom isn't there anymore?" "What if I never see my family again?" These aren't imaginary questions that adults invent. They are real questions that many of you have shared with me. The brain filled in the empty spaces, and it almost always fills them with the worst possible scenario. That's why silence, even when it comes from love, often increases fear instead of reducing it. The human brain hates uncertainty. When it doesn't understand something, it imagines. And a child's imagination can often be far more frightening than reality itself.

Now imagine the mother chooses a different response. She turns off her phone, sits beside her child, gives him a hug, looks him in the eyes, and says, "I want to talk with you because I know you've probably heard a lot of things these past few days. Yes, some families in our community are going through very difficult moments because some people have been detained by immigration authorities. Every family has a different situation. Some people have ongoing legal cases, others have deportation orders, and others don't have legal immigration status. Not every story is the same. I understand that this may make you feel scared. It makes me sad too. But I want you to know something very important. The adults are working to take care of our family. We have people helping us. We have a plan. And you can always come to me whenever you have questions."

Do you notice the difference? Reality hasn't changed. The news is still the same. But the child's brain has changed. Now the prefrontal cortex begins to do its job. It's as if the fire chief arrives and says to the alarm, "Thank you for warning me. I'll take it from here." Suddenly, completely different thoughts begin to emerge. Instead of thinking, "We're alone," the child begins to think, "My mom knows what's happening. My dad has a plan. There are people helping families. I can ask questions. I don't have to solve the adults' problems." That's exactly what we want to accomplish. We don't want our children to stop feeling. We want them to be able to think while they are feeling. Because when we're only feeling fear, the amygdala is driving. But when we understand what's happening, the prefrontal cortex gets back behind the wheel.

At this point, many parents ask, "But what if I don't have all the answers?" The answer is actually very simple: you don't need them. Our children don't need parents who know everything. They need parents who are available to listen. There's a tremendous difference. A child can tolerate hearing, "I don't know the answer." What is much harder is feeling that no one wants to talk about what's happening. So if your child asks, "Is this going to happen to us?" don't be afraid to answer honestly. You can say, "I understand why you're asking that. I've thought about it too. There are things we can't control. But there is something I can tell you with complete confidence. We're preparing. We're looking for reliable information. There are many people supporting us—your teachers, your school, ALASI, our mayor, our community, your aunts and uncles, and your cousins. And no matter what happens, I will never stop finding ways to protect you."

We're teaching our children a skill that will serve them for the rest of their lives. We're teaching them that even when the world feels uncertain, they can seek reliable information, talk to someone they trust, ask questions, and face difficult situations with someone by their side.

That's called resilience. And I want to clarify something important. Resilience doesn't mean our children never feel afraid. Resilience means they learn that fear doesn't have to make every decision. Fear can sit beside us, but it doesn't get to drive the car. The steering wheel belongs in the hands of that remarkable part of the brain that thinks, organizes, learns, and finds hope: the prefrontal cortex.

And there's one tool that's even more powerful than a conversation. It's something every one of us already have and it has the power to change the chemistry of the brain in a matter of seconds. A hug. Yes... a hug. And that's what I'd like to talk with you about as we close this episode...