4 Basic Principles to Provide Psychological Support in Emergencies

The sirens have stopped, the street smells of wet smoke, and a woman in a thin cardigan is standing on the pavement holding one shoe. She isn’t crying. She isn’t answering questions either. Someone offers her a blanket and she looks at it as though it were written in a language she once knew. This is what acute stress often looks like in the first hour: flat, slow, oddly polite, and easy to mistake for coping.

Most of us, standing nearby, freeze for a different reason. We worry about saying the wrong thing. So we say too much (“It’s going to be okay!”), ask too much (“What exactly happened?”), or we do nothing and tell ourselves that trained people will arrive soon. Sometimes they do. Often the first person who offers calm is a neighbor, a coworker, a bus driver, a teacher. Those first minutes matter more than most of us assume, and the skills involved are smaller and more learnable than the fear suggests. A calm voice, a seat, a glass of water and a few unhurried words can lower the temperature of a terrible hour. Nobody expects a rescuer’s heroics from you; people mostly remember who stayed.

No therapy degree required.

Here are the 4 basic principles to provide psychological support in emergencies, built on psychological first aid: prepare, look, listen and link.

We’ll cover what each means in practice, what to say and avoid saying, where the framework came from, and the red flags that call for professional help.

What are the 4 basic principles of psychological support in an emergency?

The four principles are Prepare, Look, Listen and Link. They come from the approach called psychological first aid (PFA), a humane, practical way of supporting people in the first hours and days after a crisis. Prepare comes before contact; Look, Listen and Link describe what you do once you’re with someone.

The wording comes from the guide published by the World Health Organization together with War Trauma Foundation and World Vision International in 2011, which was written for ordinary field workers and volunteers and not only for clinicians. The guide calls Look, Listen and Link its three action principles, and it places preparation before them. Counting all four gives a handy structure: learn the situation, check the scene and the people, listen without pushing, and connect people with what they need.

It helps to define the term. Psychological first aid is a set of supportive, non-intrusive actions that reduce distress and help people cope in the immediate aftermath of a crisis, without requiring them to relive or analyze what happened. Think of it as the emotional equivalent of putting pressure on a wound until the ambulance arrives.

What PFA isn’t: therapy, counseling, or a debriefing session where people recount the event. It isn’t something only professionals do, and it doesn’t aim to prevent a diagnosis. Its goals are modest and concrete: safety, calm, practical help, and a link to people and services that can carry on afterward.

Why does a short list matter? Because under stress, nobody follows a manual. In a real emergency your mind goes narrow, your hands shake, and anything longer than four words is hard to hold. A simple sequence is easier to remember than a long protocol, and it keeps your attention on the person in front of you.

The principles apply in many kinds of emergencies: a house fire, a road collision, a flood, an earthquake, a workplace accident, a violent incident, news of a sudden death. They also apply on a smaller scale, such as sitting beside a colleague after a frightening event at work, though the stakes and setting change.

A word on who this article is for. If you’re a layperson, treat the principles as a guide to being useful and kind. If you work in health care, education, emergency services or community work, they sit alongside your own training and local protocols, which take priority.

Each principle gets its own section below, and we start with a surprising question: do most people even need psychological treatment after an emergency?

Do most people need therapy after an emergency?

No. Most people exposed to a frightening event recover without specialist treatment, and expecting everyone to need therapy is a myth that can make recovery harder. That’s one reason early support is deliberately light.

Here’s the evidence. Clinical psychologist George A. Bonanno has spent decades studying how people respond to loss and trauma. His 2004 review in American Psychologist argued that resilience, meaning a stable, healthy level of functioning after a potentially traumatic event, is common and often underestimated. Some people show brief distress and then bounce back; others recover more slowly; a smaller group struggles for a long time. A single event doesn’t send everyone down the same path.

The picture gets more detailed in a large review by Fran H. Norris and colleagues, published in 2002, which pulled together studies covering roughly 60,000 disaster victims. It found that the effects of disasters vary a great deal. Severity of exposure mattered, as did earlier psychiatric problems and the loss of social supports. Events involving deliberate human violence tended to cause more lasting distress than natural events. So some people really do need more than first aid, and it’s reasonable to look for those who are at higher risk.

Put those two findings together and you get a sensible stance. Most reactions are normal, many people recover with time and support, and a minority need professional care. The task of early support is to help people stabilize and to notice those who aren’t settling.

Take Rosa, 63, an illustrative resident of an apartment block that flooded overnight. For two days she barely sleeps, jumps at every sound, and keeps replaying the water rising under her door. By the end of the first week she’s sleeping a little better. By week four, most of the edge has softened, though a heavy rain still makes her tense. That’s a typical trajectory, not a disorder.

What should worry us? Persistent symptoms that don’t ease after several weeks, or that get worse. That’s when specialist help makes a difference, and we’ll return to those signs near the end.

The belief that “everyone needs to talk it out” can backfire. It can pressure people to share before they’re ready and can make normal reactions seem like symptoms. I’ve seen well-meaning workplaces announce mandatory sessions and then wonder why people sat in stony silence. Support works better when it’s offered and not imposed.

So the first job of a helper isn’t to treat anything. It’s to make the next hour more bearable, and to keep the door open for the next month.

Principle 1: How do you prepare before you approach anyone?

Learn what happened, who is affected, and what help already exists. Preparation takes minutes, and it protects both you and the people you’re trying to support.

It’s the least glamorous of the four principles, and the one most often skipped. A person who rushes in without information tends to duplicate efforts, give wrong directions, or wander into danger. The WHO guide lists three areas to check before you offer support: the crisis event itself, the services and supports that are available, and any safety and security concerns at the scene.

A closely related manual is the Psychological First Aid: Field Operations Guide, written by Melissa Brymer and colleagues for the National Child Traumatic Stress Network and the National Center for PTSD. It describes eight core actions, including contact and engagement, safety and comfort, stabilization, gathering information about needs, practical assistance, connection with social supports, information on coping, and linkage with collaborative services. You don’t need to memorize the list. You need to know that good support is mostly practical.

What does preparation look like for an ordinary helper? A few questions are enough. What happened, and is the danger over? Who is in charge (emergency services, a building manager, a team leader), and where should people go? What can I actually offer: water, a phone charger, a quiet seat, information, a ride? And which cultural and language factors might shape how people prefer to be approached?

The last point matters more than people think. In some communities, direct eye contact or physical touch feels comforting; in others it feels intrusive. Gender, age, religion and family roles shape who should approach whom. If you aren’t sure, ask a trusted local person, or offer help and let the individual guide you.

You also need to prepare yourself. Take a slow breath, check your own state, and notice whether you’re able to be steady. If you’re shaking, it’s fine to pause. A helper in a panic isn’t a calming presence.

Picture Ben, 29, who witnesses a roadside collision on his commute. He pulls over, calls emergency services, and then, before approaching the shaken driver, takes ten seconds to check that traffic has stopped and that nobody else needs urgent medical care. That brief pause is preparation. It’s also why he’s useful instead of one more person adding chaos.

Know your limits as well. If you have no training and the scene includes injuries, your job is to call for professionals and keep people safe and calm, not to play paramedic.

And write down the phone numbers of the local services that matter before you ever need them.

Principle 2: How do you look for safety and for who needs help?

Look means checking three things: whether the scene is safe, whether anyone has urgent basic needs, and who is showing serious distress. Safety is first, because nobody can start recovering while still in danger.

The psychiatrist Judith Herman, in her landmark 1992 book Trauma and Recovery, put safety at the foundation of the whole recovery process: her first stage is establishing safety, before any work on memory or grief. That principle applies strongly in the first hours. People can’t process anything when they still feel unsafe, so physical protection, shelter and warmth come before emotional conversation.

Check the environment as you would for first aid. Is the hazard still active? Are people exposed to weather, traffic or crowds? Are children or older adults separated from their families? Practical fixes often calm people more than words do: a blanket, a chair away from the noise, a bottle of water, a phone to call a relative.

Next, look for people with urgent basic needs, such as medical care, medicine they depend on, food, or a place to sleep. People with chronic conditions are easy to overlook in the confusion.

Then look for serious distress reactions. Distress after an emergency is expected; what you’re scanning for is the person who can’t function or may be at risk. Warning signs include:

• Being so disoriented that they can’t say their name or where they are.
• Being unable to care for themselves or for children in their charge.
• Panic that doesn’t ease, with fast breathing or fainting.
• Silence and a fixed, unresponsive stare (shock can look calm).
• Talk of harming themselves or someone else.

The quiet ones deserve special attention. The woman on the pavement with one shoe isn’t a “good coper” just because she’s not screaming.

Some groups need extra thought. Children may become clingy, regress to earlier behavior or complain of stomachaches. Older adults may be reluctant to ask for help. People with disabilities may be unable to use the evacuation route that others take. People with prior mental health conditions may find the crisis hits harder, though many cope well with appropriate support.

Take Amina, 20, an illustrative student in a dorm after an earthquake aftershock. Most friends are gathered in the courtyard, chatting and nervous. She’s sitting alone in the stairwell with her phone face-down and her knees pulled up, not responding to texts. A resident assistant who looked around, not just at the noisy groups, found her and sat down quietly.

Looking isn’t staring. It’s a calm survey that takes a minute, repeated as the situation changes.

Principle 3: What should you say, and not say, when you listen?

Offer your presence first, ask what the person needs, and listen without pushing them to describe the event. You aren’t trying to extract a story. You’re trying to help the person feel a little less alone and a little more in control.

“Hello, my name is Dana. I’m here to help. Would you like to sit down?” is a fine opening. Then wait. Some people want to talk straight away, some want silence, and many want something practical, like a charger or news about a relative. Follow their lead.

The WHO guide stresses that you should not pressure anyone to tell their story. It also reminds helpers to be honest about what they know and to respect confidentiality. Sit nearby, keep your voice slow and low, and let silence be silence.

Here are some phrases that tend to help, and some that tend to backfire:

• Helpful: “I’m here with you.” It requires nothing from the person.
• Helpful: “What would be most useful right now?” It offers choice, which restores a little control.
• Helpful: “Anything you’re feeling is understandable.” It normalizes reactions without diagnosing them.
• Avoid: “I know exactly how you feel.” You don’t, and the person will notice.
• Avoid: “At least you’re alive” or “Everything happens for a reason.” Both dismiss the loss that person is actually feeling.

Also avoid speculating about what happened, promising outcomes you can’t guarantee (“They’ll find your brother, I’m sure”), or telling people how they should feel. Never judge someone’s reaction, whether it’s tears, laughter or numbness. Laughter in a crisis is common and doesn’t mean disrespect.

Listening also means active attention: eye contact if it’s culturally comfortable, a steady posture, short responses like “I hear you.” Don’t fill every pause. Don’t check your phone. And don’t make it about you, since your own story about a similar event, however well-meant, shifts the focus.

When someone does want to talk, let them set the pace and the depth. If they begin to describe something very painful and seem overwhelmed, it’s fine to gently slow things down: “We don’t have to go into the details. Let’s take a breath together first.”

Imagine Lucas, 41, a bus driver whose vehicle was involved in a minor collision that injured a passenger. A supervisor sits with him, offers water, and says only, “Take your time. I’m here. Do you want me to call your wife?” Lucas nods. That’s it. No analysis. He later says it was the first moment he felt his hands stop shaking.

What if you say the wrong thing? You will, at some point. A short, sincere correction (“Sorry, that came out badly. I’m here whenever you want”) repairs far more than silence does.

Principle 4: How do you link people with practical help and each other?

Link means connecting people with what they need next: basic supplies, information, family and community, and, where needed, professional services. Hope and connection are protective, so this last principle often does the most lasting good.

Psychiatrist and trauma researcher Stevan E. Hobfoll led a panel of experts that reviewed the evidence on early interventions after mass trauma and published their conclusions in 2007. They identified five essential elements supported by research: promoting a sense of safety, calming, a sense of self-efficacy and community efficacy, connectedness and hope. These principles mirror PFA, and they explain why practical linking is more than a courtesy.

Let’s translate. Linking happens at several levels. Start with basic needs: help people reach food, shelter, medical care, documents and transport. Share information accurately (where to go, who is in charge, what happens next) and say plainly what you don’t know. Help people contact loved ones, or locate children, parents and pets. Support problem-solving by breaking overwhelming tasks into one next step, such as “first, let’s call your landlord.” Pass on details of services like counselors, community groups, spiritual leaders, health clinics or hotlines. And with permission, arrange ongoing contact, a check-in later in the week.

A few cautions apply. Don’t make promises about services you can’t confirm. Don’t give out personal details of survivors to people who haven’t been authorized. And don’t push someone toward a service they’ve declined; offer it again later, gently.

Linking also strengthens social support, one of the most consistent protective factors in the research. Even small acts count: introducing neighbors who are sitting in separate corners of a shelter, organizing a shared meal, helping an older man call his daughter. The aim isn’t to create a community from scratch but to reconnect the one that already exists.

Giving people tasks can help too, as long as they’re real and not make-work. Someone who feels useful, handing out water or translating for a family, often feels less helpless. That’s the self-efficacy element in Hobfoll’s list, and it’s easy to overlook when you’re in “rescuer” mode.

The role of hope deserves a careful mention. It doesn’t mean cheerful reassurance. It means restoring a sense that life will have shape again, usually by helping with concrete steps: shelter tonight, a call to a relative, a plan for tomorrow. Hope grows from small things that go right.

Finally, link people to professional help when the situation calls for it. We’ll look at how to spot that moment shortly.

Where did these principles come from?

They have roots in the First World War, and they’ve been refined by disasters and research since. The idea that quick, simple, nearby support beats distant, elaborate treatment is more than a century old.

American psychiatrist Thomas W. Salmon studied how armies handled “shell shock” in 1917 and 1918, and in a 1919 paper he described the treatment that worked best. Soldiers who were treated close to the front, quickly, with the expectation that they would return to their duties, tended to recover better than those evacuated far from their units. His ideas were later summarized as PIES: proximity (treat near the event), immediacy (treat promptly), expectancy (expect recovery and return to normal roles) and simplicity (use simple measures like rest, food and reassurance).

The PIES principles have limits. They came from military settings with cohesive units, and civilians in disasters aren’t soldiers. The word “expectancy” in particular needs careful handling: expecting recovery is useful, but telling a grieving person they’ll be “back to normal” soon isn’t. Even so, the logic still echoes in modern PFA.

Notice the parallels. Proximity and immediacy resemble the idea of offering help at the scene. Simplicity matches the focus on practical comfort, and expectancy lines up with the hopeful but honest tone of linking.

For decades, the dominant approach in many places was something quite different: structured debriefing sessions soon after an event, where participants were encouraged to recount what happened and express their feelings. We’ll look at how that worked out in the next section.

By the early 2000s, disaster responders had accumulated enough lessons to want a clearer, evidence-informed alternative. The Hobfoll panel in 2007, the US field operations guide in 2006 and the WHO guide in 2011 gave practitioners a shared vocabulary. Today, PFA is widely taught to health workers, teachers, police officers, aid workers and volunteers around the world.

Is PFA proven? The honest answer is that it’s the best-supported approach we have for the early phase, but the direct evidence is thin. Randomized trials in the chaos of real disasters are hard to run. The approach rests mainly on consensus, on related research about what helps and harms, and on practical experience.

That honesty is part of the method. We shouldn’t promise that PFA prevents PTSD. It aims to reduce distress, support coping and connect people to care, and those aims it can pursue sensibly.

Think of it as a well-designed first-aid kit: not a cure, but the right tools at the right time.

Why shouldn’t you force people to talk about what happened?

Because the research on early, compulsory debriefing hasn’t been kind. Single-session debriefings meant to prevent PTSD haven’t been shown to work, and some analyses hint that they may do harm for some people.

The key evidence is a Cochrane review by Suzanna Rose and colleagues (2002) on psychological debriefing, a structured one-off session in which survivors go through the facts, thoughts and emotions of an event soon after it occurs. The review concluded that there was no evidence that single-session debriefing reduced the risk of PTSD, and some trials suggested a worse outcome among those who received it. The studies were small and varied, so the verdict isn’t absolute. But it was enough to shift guidance in many countries toward gentler, voluntary support.

Why might debriefing backfire? Several explanations are plausible, though not firmly proven. It may pressure people to relive frightening details before they’re ready. It may turn normal reactions into pathology. It may replace natural coping, such as sleeping, talking to a trusted friend and returning to routines, with a procedure.

This is why PFA stresses choice. You offer, you don’t insist. A survivor who wants to talk can talk. A survivor who wants quiet gets quiet. A person who says “not now” is making a reasonable decision about their own pace.

It’s worth separating debriefing from other forms of support. A voluntary conversation with a trusted friend isn’t the same as a mandatory group session. Peer support, where people choose to join, can be valuable. Evidence-based trauma therapies for people who develop persistent symptoms later, such as trauma-focused cognitive behavioral therapy, are also different and have good evidence.

Picture a workplace after a violent robbery. In one version, the manager requires everyone to attend a group “processing” meeting the next morning. Some people are silent, some are overwhelmed, one leaves in tears. In another, the manager offers time off, a quiet room, a list of counselors and a voluntary check-in two days later. The second approach respects individual pace.

The lesson reaches beyond workplaces. Families sometimes press a child to “tell us everything.” Friends insist that someone “get it out.” These impulses come from love, but they can feel like pressure.

A safer default: be available, offer, and then wait. If the person comes back to you in a week, you’ve done exactly the right thing.

Which reactions are normal, and when are they red flags?

Normal reactions after an emergency include fear, numbness, anger, guilt, trouble sleeping, poor concentration and physical symptoms like a racing heart. Most ease within days to weeks. Red flags are symptoms that are extreme, persistent or dangerous.

Common early reactions include intrusive memories, startle responses, irritability, tearfulness, loss of appetite and a sense of unreality. Many survivors feel guilt about surviving or about decisions they made. Children may have nightmares or return to behavior they’d outgrown. All of this is understandable, and these reactions are not evidence of weakness.

What separates a normal reaction from a concern? Look at intensity, duration and function. Is the person getting better, even slowly? Can they eat, sleep a bit, look after dependents and do basic tasks? Or are things getting worse?

Signs that call for professional assessment include:

1. Thoughts of suicide or of harming others.
2. Symptoms lasting longer than about a month with no improvement, such as relentless flashbacks, nightmares or avoidance.
3. Severe dissociation, where the person seems detached from reality or can’t recall large parts of the event.
4. Heavy alcohol or drug use to cope.
5. Inability to function at home or work.
6. Psychotic symptoms such as hearing voices or strong paranoid beliefs.

If someone is in immediate danger or talking about ending their life, contact local emergency services right away and stay with them. In the United States, call 911 or the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline; in Canada, 911 or the 9-8-8 Suicide Crisis Helpline; in the United Kingdom, Samaritans on 116 123 or 999 in an emergency; in Ireland, Samaritans on 116 123, Pieta on 1800 247 247, or 112 or 999 in an emergency; in Australia, Lifeline on 13 11 14 or 000 in an emergency; in New Zealand, 1737 or 111 in an emergency. Readers elsewhere can contact their local emergency services or national crisis line.

For symptoms that persist without immediate danger, encourage the person to see a primary care doctor, psychologist, psychiatrist or licensed counselor. Treatments with solid evidence, such as trauma-focused cognitive behavioral therapy and eye movement desensitization and reprocessing, exist for post-traumatic stress disorder, and many people improve with them.

Offer to help with the practical bit: finding a clinician, making the first call, going along to the appointment. Often the barrier isn’t unwillingness but exhaustion.

Not everyone who develops symptoms has post-traumatic stress disorder. Depression, anxiety, grief reactions and substance use problems are common after emergencies too, and an assessment can sort out which fits.

A helpful phrase: “What you’re feeling makes sense after what you’ve been through, and there are people who can help if it doesn’t settle.”

How do helpers look after their own minds?

Helpers need support too. Supporting distressed people is tiring, and repeated exposure to suffering can lead to secondary traumatic stress and burnout. Rest, food, boundaries and a person to talk to aren’t luxuries.

Think about Farid, 35, an illustrative volunteer who spent a week handing out supplies in a temporary shelter after a flood. He ate on the move, slept badly, and said yes to every request. By day six he was snapping at friends and replaying a conversation with a mother who’d lost everything. He wasn’t failing at his role. He was running on empty.

Signs that a helper is struggling include irritability, difficulty sleeping, emotional numbness, intrusive images of what they’ve seen, withdrawal from friends, and a feeling that nothing they do is enough. These are common, and they deserve the same kindness helpers give others.

Some practical steps help. Take breaks, drink water and eat actual meals, however busy things get. Work in pairs or teams where possible, and share difficult tasks. Set limits on shift length and on exposure to distressing news or images. Talk to someone, whether a colleague, supervisor, friend or counselor, about what you’ve seen, voluntarily and at your own pace. And keep a few routines intact, such as your sleep schedule, exercise and time outdoors.

Organizations carry responsibility here. Supervisors can build in rotation, check in privately, and make it normal to ask for support. A culture where the toughest person never admits struggle tends to produce either breakdowns or quiet exits.

After the emergency ends, give yourself time. Many helpers feel a letdown, or guilt that they didn’t do more. If troubling reactions persist or interfere with daily life, speaking with a mental health professional is a sensible step, not an admission of failure.

Notice that this mirrors what we advise for survivors: safety, rest, connection, and professional help when symptoms won’t settle. The same principles apply to the people who offer the help.

Who would you call after a hard day of helping?

FAQs about the 4 Principles of Psychological Support in Emergencies

What are the 4 basic principles of psychological first aid?

The four principles are Prepare, Look, Listen and Link. Prepare means learning about the event, the services available and any safety concerns before approaching anyone. Look means checking that the scene is safe and noticing who has urgent needs or serious distress. Listen means offering calm presence, asking what people need, and not pressuring anyone to describe what happened. Link means connecting people with basic necessities, information, loved ones and further help. This structure is drawn from the psychological first aid guide produced by the World Health Organization, War Trauma Foundation and World Vision International, which calls Look, Listen and Link the three action principles.

Can I give psychological first aid without being a therapist?

Yes. Psychological first aid was designed so that ordinary people, including volunteers, teachers, coworkers and neighbors, can offer it with brief training. You’re not diagnosing or treating anyone; you’re offering comfort, practical help and information. That said, training helps, and a short course gives you confidence and good habits. Know your limits: if someone is at risk of harming themselves or others, or seems severely disoriented, bring in emergency services or health professionals quickly. Your role is a supportive bridge, and a good one can make the difference between feeling abandoned and feeling accompanied.

What should I say to someone who has just been through a traumatic event?

Keep it simple and honest. Introduce yourself, say you’re there to help, and ask what would be useful right now. Offer water, a seat or a quiet space. Phrases like “I’m here with you” and “Take your time” work well. Avoid “I know how you feel,” “It could have been worse,” or promises about outcomes you can’t guarantee. Don’t push for details. If the person wants to talk, listen without interrupting and without judging whatever they say. If they’d rather be silent, sitting beside them is often enough. Follow their lead on pace and on how much closeness they want.

Is it normal to feel numb or calm after an emergency?

Yes. Numbness, flatness and an eerie calm are common in the first hours and days, and they don’t mean you don’t care or that you’re coping perfectly. The mind sometimes turns down emotion when events are too large to take in. Feelings may arrive later, often when things are quiet. What matters is whether the numbness gradually lifts and whether you can eat, sleep a bit and handle essentials. If it lasts for weeks, comes with a sense that nothing is real, or leaves you unable to function, speak with a doctor or mental health professional.

How soon should someone get professional help after a crisis?

It depends on the signs. If there’s immediate danger or talk of suicide or harming others, get emergency help straight away. For other reactions, most people improve within a few weeks and don’t need specialist treatment. If symptoms are still strong after about a month, are getting worse, or are interfering with work, relationships or sleep, a professional assessment is sensible. Earlier help is appropriate for anyone with severe distress, heavy substance use, or a history of serious mental health conditions. Waiting for it to “go away” can be reasonable at first, but not indefinitely.

Does psychological debriefing prevent PTSD?

The evidence says no. A Cochrane review found no support for single-session debriefing as a way to prevent post-traumatic stress disorder, and some trials suggested possible harm. That’s why current guidance generally favors voluntary, practical support instead of mandatory sessions where people recount events. Offering a chance to talk, if someone wants it, is fine. Requiring it is another matter. Other approaches, such as trauma-focused therapies, have much better evidence, but they are intended for people who develop persistent symptoms and are delivered by trained clinicians, not as an immediate routine for everyone.

How can I support a child after a frightening event?

Keep routines as normal as possible, stay close, and give simple, honest explanations suited to their age. Children often show distress through behavior: clinginess, tantrums, sleep problems, stomachaches or returning to earlier habits like bed-wetting. Reassure them that they’re safe now, that their feelings are okay and that adults are looking after things. Let them ask questions and answer briefly. Avoid exposing them to repeated news footage. Play and drawing can help them express what they can’t put into words. If changes last more than a few weeks or are severe, consult a pediatrician or a child psychologist.

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