Every activity, browsable.

Will this matter in 10 minutes? 10 months? 10 years? Most worries don't make it far.

Track the anger — the trigger, the thought, the action, the aftermath.

Map the things that reliably set it off — so they stop being surprises.

Give the anger somewhere to go that won't hurt anyone.

Slow, deep breaths shaped like a bear hug.

Deep pressure for a small body that feels scared and shaky.

A slow head-to-toe check to find where the worry is hiding.

Four counts in, four hold, four out, four hold. Repeat until the system resets.

Track when a breathing technique helped — and when it didn't. Both answers matter.

Slow the breath by trying to make the biggest, slowest bubble.

Find and name the one spot where their anxiety gets quieter.

Find a photo together. Put it somewhere they can always find it.

A blank face. They color in the feeling.

Grief isn't about moving on. It's about carrying them with you differently.

Build a personal menu of what actually works — before you need it.

Is acting on this anger actually going to get you what you want?

Put the anger on paper before it comes out somewhere harder.

Draw the person or pet who is gone — exactly how you remember them.

A quiet drawing prompt for after a loss. They lead.

Act out the harder feelings — the ones without obvious faces.

Track one emotion a day for a week. Then find the patterns.

Sort what the worry is saying from what is actually happening.

Read a picture book and stop to find the feelings hiding in it.

Map four feelings onto four bodies. They always look different.

Act out a feeling. Everyone guesses. Then name it.

Practice reading emotions in faces and body language — not just words.

A simple sensory search to bring a worried toddler back to the room.

A grounding count-down for when worry is loud.

A simple daily check-in: circle how you feel today.

Include the one who is gone in the bedtime routine.

Color where the missing feeling lives in the body.

Grief doesn't go in a straight line. It comes in waves — and the waves change over time.

Use your arms to show how big the feeling is right now.

Hold an ice cube. The cold pulls you back to your body.

Write to the person who is gone. Say what hasn't been said out loud.

Breathe in like a lion waking up. Roar it all out.

Make the maddest face you can together. Then try a different one.

Four feelings, four movements. Call one out and do it together.

Fold a small memory into the jar. Keep them all.

Mad is just the start. There are thirty words between fine and furious.

Draw the worry in the cloud. Then watch it drift.

Look at faces together and name what each one is feeling.

Locate where the worry sits in the body. Give it a shape.

The feeling we show is often not the one we're really having.

When anger says attack or shut down, do the exact opposite — and feel what shifts.

Read the list out loud together. All of these are allowed.

Learn to catch the anger when it's still orange — before it hits red.

Old newspaper, a pile of paper, and permission to destroy it.

When the world feels too big, find an adult hand and hold on.

Squeeze every muscle as tight as you can. Then drop it all at once.

The mad has to go somewhere. Let it out, on purpose.

Practice the three-second pause between the trigger and the response.

One small memory, shared out loud. No pressure for more.

The anger chemical lasts 90 seconds. After that, a thought has to re-trigger it — every single time.

Map the scary thing from least scary to most. Start at the bottom rung.

Find one small thing that belonged to them. Let the child keep it close.

Start with one word. Work outward until you find the precise one.

Color in where your feeling is on a scale of 1 to 10.

A box that holds small things that remind them. Theirs to add to whenever.

Map where anger lives in the body — and what it might be trying to protect.

Set a 10-minute appointment with the worry. Then close it.

Write the scary thought. Then write what's actually true.

The classic CBT tool, for an older kid who wants to understand their own mind.

It's possible to feel happy and sad at the same time. Both are allowed.

Write what was never said — the hard parts, the complicated parts, all of it.

Strong feelings usually signal that something important to you was touched.

Big arms up like an eruption, then slow hands down.

Move your whole body like the feeling. No words needed.

Write it down before the details start to fade.

Find the parts of them that are now part of you.

Anger is often the top layer. Find what's underneath it.

Shake the nervous energy out. Then notice the quiet after.