“As long as you’re living under my roof, you’ll live by my rules.”
This sort of admonition, and others like it, operate on the same basic – and faulty – principle. Our kids live in our house. They follow our rules. They exist to be at our beck and call. They have to show us, indeed they owe us, obedience. Gratitude. Respect. They owe us for all the years we put into raising them. They owe us for giving them a warm place to sleep. They owe us for feeding them, for bathing them, for doing their laundry, for buying their clothes and their toys and their electronics.
If that’s something that resonates with you, you’re not alone. Society in general tends to favor this sort of top-down parenting approach: 1) Parents do the work and make the rules. 2) Kids owe it to their parents be quiet and compliant. They should be GRATEFUL.
But you’re wrong.
Our kids did not ask to be here. Let’s just start there. Kids are here because we decided to bring them into our world. In a very real sense, they are our invited guests. Do our guests owe us anything? I’ll get back to that.
Our literal job as parents is to take care of our kids. It’s our job to meet their needs, no matter what they may be. We see to it that their physical, mental, and emotional requirements are all attended to. We do our best to make sure that they have a safe place to sleep, good food to eat, and clothes to wear on their backs. We drive them where they need to be, we help them with their homework, we cheer for them at their soccer games. We celebrate them on their birthdays. We comfort them when they’re sick, we soothe them when they’re heartbroken, we listen when they need an ear. We play with them, we make memories with them. We try to give them happy experiences, whether it’s through family camping weekends, trips to the beach, or game night around the dinner table. We try to make their lives easier, and happier, and more comfortable.
And we do it all because we’re parents. Because that’s the job. Because we decided to have children. Because we invited these people into our lives.
When we invite people into our homes, do we expect them to owe us anything? Of course not. We try to make their stay as nice as possible. We are hospitable. We are kind. We are patient.
You may argue that it’s not the same. That our kids aren’t really visitors. That they are our children, little people that we are trying to prepare for the world. Fair enough. But wouldn’t that be MORE reason to treat them with unconditional kindness, not less? We are trying to show our children how to treat people, how to interact with the world, and how to respect themselves and others. Is approaching parenting with a sense of entitlement really the best way to accomplish that?
Want your kids to respect you? Start by respecting them first. Want your kids to have a grateful heart? Start by showing them what that looks like. Want your kids to listen to you? Start by listening to them. Start by treating them like people. Start by focusing on the relationship, not the rules.
Most of all, stop putting the onus on your kids to pay you back in some way for the privilege of being parented.
I dreamt I had a three year old again. It wasn’t one of my real-life children, but an alternate-reality, Dream Child. I knew in the dream that he was three, and I was feeling sad because his 3T Spiderman pajamas were getting too small. We were getting ready for bed, and he was carrying a naked baby doll in one hand, and a truck in the other.
I woke up, and it took me a hot second to realize that I didn’t in fact have a three year old, but a 24 year old who is a bonafide grown-up, a 20 year old who recently became a husband, a 17 year old who’s on the cusp of adulthood, and the baby, a 13 year old who is more self-possessed than I was at 25.
And my heart ached.
It’s exhausting having littles. I remember the sleepless nights, the teething, the being used as a human pacifier, the diapers, the sippy cups, the big emotions, the hunt for the missing shoes, the taking 16 hours to get out the door. Some days felt like they would go on forever.
But all the cliches, about it going by in the blink of an eye? I’m here to tell you that they’re true. One day you’ll be knee deep in Dora and Disney, and the next you’ll wake up from a dream of a three year old, and be hit with a painful nostalgia so acute it will take your breath away.
I have no more young ones. My kids are nearly grown (and to be clear, I’m thoroughly enjoying this time with them!), and the baby and toddler years are firmly behind me. But if you’re reading this and your kids are still little, I beg of you:
Hold them a little longer.
Read them another book.
Let them stay 5 more minutes in the bath.
Say yes.
Don’t sweat the small stuff.
It goes by so fast. So fast. So fast. There are tiring and frustrating moments to be sure, but the good moments? The precious moments? The sticky fingers in your hand, the tiny voice, the nursery rhymes and the bedtime stories? Cherish them.
There will come a time… in five years, or ten, or twenty… that you’ll look back and desperately miss them.
The other day I was in a Facebook unschooling group, and a new unschooler was looking for suggestions for YouTube channels for her young daughter. Not because her daughter was explicitly looking for new channels, but because (according to the mother), she was spending too much time watching “stupid and useless” videos.
I gently suggested that a re-frame of how she was viewing her daughter’s choices might be helpful, but I was met only with anger and defensiveness. She knew her daughter, she knew what she was watching, and she knew that it was stupid and useless.
I think the biggest problem – and there are many – with this line of thinking is that it automatically shuts down the line of communication between parent and child. The child knows the parent thinks it’s stupid, and it is something they can not safely share without minimization at best, and ridicule at worst. It makes the child feel bad about their own likes, and by extension about themselves, and makes them less likely to want to share their interests with their parents in the future. And you want to know one of the hallmarks, and indeed one of the most integral parts of unschooling done well? The sharing of interests!
Disparaging someone else’s interests is just poor form. It’s unkind. We all have millions of things we like to do, watch, listen to, play, that may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but that’s what makes the world interesting. How boring it would be if we all liked the same things! As parents, we may not be able to immediately see the inherent value in something our kids are doing, but if they’re choosing to do it, we can rest assured that it’s there. Their interests have meaning. Their interests have value. They are getting something out of that video, even if to you it looks stupid and useless.
It is hurtful to have our passions minimized. It is hurtful to be dismissed. And even if we’re watching something for pure pleasure and/or relaxation and/or escapism? Where is the harm? Where is the justification in making fun of it?
Embracing your loved one’s passions brings you closer. Disparaging them brings you further apart.
No one wants to be belittled for something they enjoy. Especially not our kids, who just want to share their worlds with us, if only we’ll let them.
In case you’re lucky enough to be blissfully unaware: This past week a dad went viral on Twitter for telling a very lengthy, 20+ tweet story about his hungry nine-year-old daughter. She wanted a snack, and he suggested she open a can of beans. She didn’t know how to work the can opener, and despite her asking him for assistance, dad helpfully suggested she figure it out on her own. He documented her entire struggle on Twitter, and SIX HOURS LATER, she’d figured out the tool and she had her beans. Multiple people asked me for my take on the matter, so here it is…. my unfiltered response to Bean Dad.
Dear Bean Dad,
We have something in common. I figured I’d start there because there’s so very little that qualifies, and it only made sense to start off on common ground. There’s actually two things we have in common, but I’ll get to the second one a little bit later.
We both know that sometimes lessons are best learned on our own, even if it involves some frustration. I think of my now twenty year learning to ride a bike. Unlike my oldest, who took the more cautious scooching approach, he was bound and determined to ride the “right” way, all in one day, all at once. He fell. He got back on. He got frustrated. He got back on. He got mad. He got back on. We encouraged him in his efforts and also let him know it was okay to take a break if he needed one. But he was determined. It was truly something to witness, and do you know? By the end of the day, he was riding, all on his own.
The difference between my son and your daughter though is that she asked you for your help. Right from the very beginning.
She asked you (politely, I might add) to open the can for her. That would have been your moment to either 1) open the can, or 2) show her how the can opener worked and let her open it herself. But you chose to look at it as a Teaching Moment instead, and essentially leave her to her own devices. That’s where you lost me.
After awhile of trying, she “collapsed in a frustrated heap.” You watched your (hungry) daughter collapse in a frustrated heap, you knew what the problem was, and you still refused to step in. This would have been a perfect time to say, “You’ve almost got it. You just need to clamp it on, like this.” But you didn’t. You let it go on. And on.
Once tears appear, you’ve lost your teachable moment. She was exhausted, she was hungry, she was dealing with “anger-management” issues, and she was in tears. Again, a good time to step in. At this point, I’m a little confused at what lesson she is supposed to be learning. Because all I’m seeing is that dad won’t help her, no matter how much she’s struggling.
SIX HOURS. I find it interesting that you use the word, “us” here. The kachunk of puncturing the lid was not eluding you. It was eluding her, and her alone. It had been eluding her for six hours. And yes, as you detailed in the next several tweets, she did eventually get it, and she had her beans. But… at what cost? What did she actually learn? Sure, she learned how to use the can opener, but she also learned that:
A most basic need (hunger) was less important than learning a lesson.
That Dad wouldn’t help her, no matter how frustrated she got.
That she couldn’t ask for assistance when doing something hard.
That it’s okay to be amused and entertained by someone else’s struggle.
Now, I saw that you apologized – sort of. You said that the story had been poorly written satire, that you both actually spent a lot of time laughing, that it was a positive moment, not a negative one. I’m sorry, but none of that changes the fact that your daughter asked you for your help, and instead of giving it to her you let her struggle, hungry, for six hours, all while splashing it about on the internet as though it were entertainment.
But I’m not alone in my assessment. In fact, you got so much backlash that you eventually deleted your Twitter account altogether. I can relate to that, as deleting is my first instinct too. But I’ve learned (or am currently learning – it’s a process) that there is something to be said for standing in the bed you made, and facing the music as it were. Yes, there were people being hateful, name-calling and shaming. But there were also people telling you, parent-to-parent, that you made a mistake. Telling you that there were other ways. Telling you that could have done things differently. Those are the people you could have listened to. Those are the people you could have learned from.
I hope that your time away from Twitter is a positive step for you, truly. I hope that you spend some time in self-reflection. I hope that you do eventually realize that the situation with your daughter could have unfolded much differently. And much more peacefully.
Mostly though, I hope that the next time your daughter comes to you and asks you for your help, that you stop what you’re doing and help her.
I started writing this blog in December of 2004. Just shy of 16 years ago. It started out as a simple semi-daily diary of our unschooling adventures, though it’s gone through several iterations since then. I’ve been drowning in nostalgia lately (more on that later), so I recently spent some time reading my earlier posts.
My heart hurts.
Two weeks ago, Paxton, who’s twenty at the time of this writing, moved out. It was a happy occasion, one marked with excitement for this new chapter in his life. He moved in to a 3 bedroom with two close friends. He’ll be able to gain the independence he’s ready for, and his commute to work will be much shorter. It’s a good thing. It is. But
My heart hurts.
Having my first child move out has broken a most tender spot in my mom heart, one that I didn’t even know existed. I’ve spent the past two weeks trying to name what it is I’ve been feeling, and I finally realized it yesterday: I’m mourning. It’s a different kind of loss than a death or a divorce, but it’s a loss nonetheless.
I know it’s a cliché, but seriously, where did the time go? How did I get from there: the wide-eyed 30 year old mom with little kids, to here….. the middle aged mom with all these young adults, 16 years later? It truly was like I just blinked.
My grief at the change has made me question, well, everything. Was I a good enough mom? Did I give them enough time? Enough attention? Enough patience? Enough of ME? Did we do enough cool things together? Did we make enough good memories? Did I give them the kind of childhood I wanted to give them? Were they happy? Not just superficially happy, but JOYFUL, deep in their souls? Right now, today, I have no answers, so clouded I am in my own melancholy.
It’s weird to suddenly have big kids. In February, my baby will be 13, and I’ll officially have only teens and young adults. I adore having older kids, and I am eternally thankful for the relationship that I have with each of them. But woosh. The feelings are big and overwhelming. An entire chapter, several chapters really, are over, and we’re starting a new one. One in which I play a very different role than I’ve played in the past. I’m still mom (I’ll always be mom), but mom means something different than it did 5 years ago. 10 years ago. 15 years ago.
I’m nostalgic. And I’m sad.
I’m excited for Paxton, who is going to have a great time with his friends, and a great time on his own. I’m trying to trust that we did a good job, and that we gave him the tools and the confidence and the self-awareness he needs to fly on his own. This is a big step for him, one that I’m thankful was able to even be an option for him. He’s fortunate, and I know that too.
But my God, am I missing those little kid days. So much I almost can’t breathe. I know this too will pass, and that eventually I’ll get used to the new normal. But right now? One of my chicks has left the nest, and I don’t feel okay.
I’m trying to give myself grace, and a whole lot of space to feel not-okay. It will pass. It will. I’ll come to appreciate the new parameters of our relationship in a whole new way, and life will return to another, if unfamiliar, sweet spot. For now, I’ll wait.
And if you’re reading this and your kids are still small? If you’re still dealing with sticky fingers and sippy cups and sleepless nights? Please hold them just a little bit longer, just because you can.
I don’t spend a lot of time where traditional parents gather. Not in 3-D life, not on websites, not on Facebook groups. I have very little in common with those parents, and to be completely honest the advice that tends to be held in the highest regard makes me… sad. It just makes me really, really sad.
The other day I was on a Facebook group (devoted to something else entirely), and someone came on looking for parenting advice, specifically punishment advice. Their child had committed some sort of infraction, and they’d tried the typical grounding, taking away electronics, and giving more chores. One commenter commended their efforts so far, and said:
“Make their home life as miserable as possible.”
That comment sort of stopped me in my tracks.
I realize that my parenting philosophy ventures far from the norm, but that particular piece of advice hit me so strongly it gave me a visceral reaction. Make their home life as miserable as possible. Is this where we are as a society? Is this how we solve problems?
Because I have spent the the past 23.5 years trying to do the exact opposite.
Home should be the safe place, not the miserable place. Let me just start there. Home should be the soft spot to fall, the place where if you do mess up (and you will, because you’re human), you’re met with understanding, kindness, and compassion. The place where you’re treated with respect, where you’re heard, where you’re accepted… mistakes and all.
I’ve said it dozens – if not hundreds – of times on this blog, but behavior doesn’t exist in a vacuum. If someone is doing something unkind, unsafe, or generally out of character, there is a reason for it. Making life miserable will not only not fix the problem, but will likely make it worse. If you were angry and yelled at your spouse, would you find it helpful if the rest of the family conspired to make your life more difficult? If they took away all your favorite things, if they banished you to your room? Would you be more or less likely to want to continue yelling?
Kids are people, too. Compassionately addressing the root cause of whatever’s going on will be the first step in problem solving, and will preserve the integrity of your relationship – the most integral part of good and effective parenting.
One of my main goals as a parent is to have a close, kind, and mutually respectful relationship with my kids. As such, I want good things for them. And that starts with making their home life happy, not miserable. Is there any other relationship in life (work, school, church, wherever it may be) that would be helped by purposely making things miserable for the other person? Why should our kids be any different?
Home is supposed to feel like, well, home. The place you can fully relax. The place you can be yourself. The place you can confidently try new things. And yes, the place you can make mistakes. No home, just like no family, is perfect. We all have our warts, we all have our shortcomings.
But shouldn’t the goal be more joy, not less? Shouldn’t we want to make things sweeter for our kids, not more bitter? Shouldn’t we strive to make our interactions with our kids (regardless of what sort of behavior might have precipitated said interaction) a little more patient? A little more compassionate? A little more kind?
I think making home life miserable is a straight-up terrible idea, for everyone involved. Not only is it a terrible idea, it’s an ineffective one. If home life is miserable, it will only force your kids to turn outward for the support they’re not getting at home. I don’t know about you, but I want my kids to come towards me when they’re having a problem, not turn away.
Like the meme so aptly says:
It starts with us. It starts at home.
It starts with a home that strives to be safe and sweet and kind and sparkly. It starts with us as parents showing our kids what it means to be respectful, and what it means to be responsible for our actions. It starts with parents who “walk the walk”, instead of demanding blind obedience. It starts with you and I, taking our kids by the hand, and telling them through our words and our actions, “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”
There is a video going around Facebook, basically making fun of middle schoolers.
Maybe you saw it. Maybe it made you laugh. I concede that parts of it made me laugh, because the guy who made it is funny. But I couldn’t finish it.
A few things, off the bat:
Are middle schoolers/adolescents/teens sometimes…. salty? Yes. Hormones do wacky things.
Are grown ups sometimes salty? Yes. Life does wacky things.
The difference is (and no, this isn’t the first time I’ve mentioned this, and I’m sure it won’t be the last) we don’t make videos mocking adults for their less than stellar moments. This is childism, plain and simple. To believe this video is to believe that middle schoolers are always sullen, and angry, and irritable, and uncooperative.
Are they those things sometimes? Again, YES! I have four children, three of whom are well past puberty, and one who is thick in its throes. Have there been difficult days? Yes. Have there been frustrating days? Yes. Have there been days where I’ve felt I needed to walk on eggshells a little bit? Yes.
But here’s the thing.
Videos like this play into the stereo-typically “bad” parts of adolescence, and there is so. much. good! Truly.
Kids this age are funny. They’re intelligent. They’re creative. They’re masterfully growing into their own unique skin. If we’re having trouble seeing that – and I say this as gently as I know how – maybe that’s an “us” problem, and not a “them” problem. Maybe we’re seeing what we want to see. Or what we think we should see. Or what society tells us to see.
Not too long ago, someone asked on Facebook how his fellow parents of teens were doing. I commented (like I always do when the subject comes up) that I adore having teens. Because I really do. His response? “Seriously???” What upset me about his answer was not the fact that he was having a different experience (because yes, absolutely, all dynamics and relationships are different, even within the same family) but the fact that he was so surprised that it could even be a possibility.
The common parenting trope tells us that teens are difficult. Rebellious. Disrespectful. Self-centered. But why? Why do we feel the need to believe it?
Because posts, articles, and videos like this one present it as truth.
BUT IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE THAT WAY.
We can choose to see the good in our kids. We can choose connection over animosity. We can choose compassion over control. We can be the adults, and recognize that these young people are going through huge and confusing life changes, and that they deserve grace. Heaps of it.
What they don’t need? To be made fun of on social media.
I just saw an article come through my Facebook newsfeed with the title, “I’m Not Afraid To Be A ‘Mean Mom’, Because I Don’t Want To Raise A**holes.” Now, you might very well be thinking, “Haven’t you written about this before?” Yes, yes I have. “Do you really need to write about it again?” Yes, I really do. “Every time?” Yes, every time. Here’s why: the official parenting party line continues to celebrate meanness. It pats itself on the back over the fallacy that harshness begets well-behaved children (whatever “well-behaved” means.) It prides itself on “being the parent, not the friend.” And every time – Every. Time. – that message is put out into the world, it deserves to have a counterpoint. It deserves to have another voice, a voice that chooses kindness over meanness, connection over control, compassion over shame. Quite simply, people need to know, deserve to know, that there is another way… a kinder, gentler, more respectful way… to raise kids.
The article in question really just makes three main points, but they all need to be addressed. Dismantling what we believe and why we believe it is important, and it pushes us to be better parents. It’s easy to follow the status quo and be mean to our kids, but if we want a good relationship with our kids… if we want kids who are confident and capable and compassionate… if we want kids who are in turn kind to their kids… we need to do better.
1) Being mean is necessary. The author mentions several times that being mean is simply par for the course, an inevitable part of being a good mom. Sometimes it’s just a responsibility that one must accept if they’re to be a parent.
But being mean is not necessary. Let me start there. Much ado is made of the fact that in order for kids to learn to pick up after themselves, to help around the house, or to take care of basic hygiene, that there needs to be meanness on the part of the parent. According to this mom, being mean is necessary to prevent her kids from becoming Neanderthals, or “feral heathens.” Four kids and 23 years tells me otherwise. Children, like all people, respond best when they’re treated with kindness and respect, when they’re given genuine choice and control over their lives, and when they’re treated like people. Far too often, parents feel that children need to be trained as if they are dogs. But they are fellow humans, and they deserve to be treated as such.
As for chores and helping out around the house, there seems to be an either/or mentality that states that either mom needs to rule with an iron fist to get anyone to do what she asks, OR mom needs to be a martyr, gets walked all over, and does everything herself. But there’s a happy third option in which we work in partnership with our kids, a place where there’s mutual respect, a place where we can ask instead of demand. If you had a roommate who had a persistent habit of leaving his dirty socks on the couch, would you be mean to him in order to solve the problem? No. You’d have a respectful conversation. Shouldn’t our children, these young people still figuring out how the world works, be given the same consideration? At the time of this writing, my second oldest is 19. He recently started working a full-time job, and has to wear a uniform shirt. I do laundry on Friday, and I told him I’d be happy to wash any shirts that he’s put in the hamper. But he needs them done more often than that, so he runs his own load mid-week, without my ever having had to be mean about it. (He also sets his own alarm, gets himself showered, and gets to work on time, despite my never having been mean about any of that either)
2) Her kids are pretty perpetually mad at her. She says her kids are pissed off at her “on the regular,” and that there is whining and complaining and crying. Color me confused. For real. Is there any other relationship in your life where pissing people off is your barometer for success? If you were constantly pissing your friends off, or your spouse, or your co-workers, you would (one would hope) think about why it’s occurring and what adjustments need to be made. Why, if it’s your kids, would it suddenly be something to pat yourself on the back about? If your kids are constantly mad at you, something is wrong. Yes, we’re all human. Yes, people get mad sometimes. But if you’re deliberately causing anger, that’s something that needs to be addressed. It is not a sign of good parenting, and it’s certainly not a sign of a good relationship.
I look at it this way: Sometimes, as parents, we’re going to have to make decisions that will make our kids angry, especially when it comes to matters of safety. (I’m thinking of the toddler that REALLY wants to stick the paper clip in the electrical outlet.) Sometimes, because of their own personal issues, our kids are going to be angry at us through no fault of our own. Maybe they’re angry about something else, and we’re the safe ones to dump their feelings on. Maybe life’s unfair and they’re angry at everyone and anything. (We’ve all been there) Maybe their hormones are going crazy, and the fallout just happens to head in our direction. Both of those things are okay, and are even inevitable at some point in time. But constantly treating our kids in a way that makes them angry? It’s not kind, and it’s not something to celebrate.
And finally,
3) I’M THE PARENT, NOT THE FRIEND. True story: I was telling my kids about this blog post while we were eating dinner, and one of my teens said, “Why why why why WHY do people think that being parents and friends are mutually exclusive?” Indeed.
I’ve written about this before as well. Not only do I think it’s possible, but I think it’s hugely important to be both parents and friends with your kids. Parents are protectors. They raise, they guide, they nurture, they provide care. And friends? Real, true friends? Friends have your back. They’re your confidantes. They listen when you need to talk. They give honest advice. They make you laugh. They’re your shoulder when you need to cry. They call you out on your poor choices. They are your biggest cheerleaders, and your soft place to fall. They’re the ones who stand on a wall and say, “Nobody’s going to hurt you. Not on my watch.” Why on earth would anyone not want to be that person for their kids? For me, my friendship and my parenting with my kids is so intertwined, I could never separate the two. And I wouldn’t want to! In fact, my kids are some of my very best friends, and exactly the kind of people I choose to have in my life. They are kind, they are considerate, they are funny, they are intelligent. They inspire me to be a better person. If I took some sort of moral stance against being their friend, I would truly be missing out on one of the very best parts of parenting. Yes, I’m my children’s friend, and make no apologies for it.
—————————————————————–
My kids aren’t perfect, and Lord knows I’m not perfect either. We’re all just humans, doing our best, navigating this human thing together. But this much I know: if I always try to lead with love, kindness, gentleness, and respect, I’m headed in the right direction.
Tegan is a freshly minted 12 year old at the time of this writing. She loves her friends, her hedgehog and Stranger Things. She’s a singer and an actor and a story teller. She’s super into skin care, loves experimenting with makeup, and carries her ionic hairbrush everywhere she goes. Things like dating are not even on her radar.
But let me back up a little bit.
Yesterday a really lovely lifestyle blogger shared a picture of her little girl and her husband. Her absolutely precious daughter was wearing a set of pajamas that read, “Sorry boys, Daddy says no dating.” I generally get bored reading comments that number in the hundreds, but 99% of what I did read said the same things: “So cute!” “Adorable!” “So funny!” Always the odd man out, I didn’t find it cute or adorable OR funny. In fact, I find it kind of… gross.
The toddlers that these pajamas are made for are not going to be thinking of dating for several years. Let’s just start there. These are children, and to sexualize them in this way is creepy.
But that’s actually not my biggest problem.
Our children are not our property. Full stop. Shirts like this, as well as the common trope of dad scaring off the boys with a shotgun, suggest otherwise. My daughter’s future dating life, as well as her body, belong to her, not to her father. We might find it cute and funny to joke about dad and his shotgun, or about his beating the boys off with a stick, or otherwise intimidating anyone who dares come to the door. But it’s not cute. It’s controlling, and it contributes to the overarching problem of the male patriarchy.
When Tegan eventually brings a boy* to the house, he will be welcomed, not turned away. He’ll be talked to, not interrogated. He’ll be shown respect, not intimidation. In short, he’ll be treated like every other friend they bring through the door. Friends who I’ve come to love as my own children.
Does that mean then that there wouldn’t be a conversation if she were dating someone that was toxic or otherwise unkind? Of course not. Do I think it’s super likely that she will choose someone who is toxic or otherwise unkind? Not especially. She, along with her brothers, have so far shown a remarkable maturity in being able to set boundaries for themselves, and to distance themselves from unhealthy relationships. They possess a friend-picker that is far more refined than any I had at their ages.
Does that I mean I don’t think there will ever be problems? No. Will there be bumps, and hiccups, and missteps, and heartbreaks? Yes. Communication is paramount, and we’ll navigate the world of dating like everything else: as partners, not adversaries. I want my kids to be able to be open with me, about anything. Using controlling stances and scare tactics pretty much closes that door. Dating is just another chapter in the parenting playbook, one that we’ll figure out with time, patience, and mutual respect.
And it will never, ever involve threats of being met at the door with a shotgun.
————————————————————————————-
* I used the word boy because at this point in time, it appears to be the most likely. But a girl would be equally accepted. 🙂
sadness or displeasure caused by the nonfulfillment of one’s hopes or expectations.
We’ve had a week up in here. On Tuesday, the 15 year old and I were hit by what turned out to be a very drunk driver, on the way to piano. I’m still freaked out and not sleeping, I’m afraid of every single person around me when I drive, and my car is not okay.
Later in the week, another of my kids was handed one of the biggest disappointments of their life thus far. Not the kind of disappointment that you feel when the gelato place is out of your favorite flavor, but the kind that just reaches in and crushes your soul. The kind from which you feel like you won’t recover.
As a parent, I don’t think there is anything harder than seeing your child in pain, of any variety, and not being able to stop it. I really don’t. When our kids hurt, we hurt. And we want to be able to stop it. We want to be able to stop it so badly. But we justcan’t.
The best thing we can do (the only thing we can do really) is to be there. To sit with them and to hold their hand until the storm passes. These are six things I’m trying to keep in mind while I help them navigate through this season.
1. Don’t minimize it. Adults do this weird thing sometimes where they act as though kids’ feelings are not as important as their own. Like an adult can feel DISAPPOINTMENT, but a child only feels Disappointment Lite. Their feelings are real. Their feelings are valid. If anything, I think a child’s feelings are even more acute. They are so open and trusting (as opposed to adults, who tend to be at least a little bit jaded), so when that trust is broken, they are cut, and they are cut deeply. They are allowed to feel what they feel.
2. Don’t make it about you. As someone who is both an empath, and who just feels big feelings, I struggle with this. I am predisposed to take things harder than a “normal” person, by virtue of personality, mental illness, and just plain luck of the draw. But their feelings are not MY feelings, and I think it’s important that I remember that. If I make it about me, it simultaneously takes away from their feelings, heaps more on their plate, and minimizes their own pain. (See point 1) I love the “Ring Theory” by psychologist Susan Silk.
The person in the center (in this case, the one feeling the disappointment), can vent to whoever the heck they want to vent to. Those in the subsequent rings can only vent OUT, not in. Meaning it’s never appropriate to dump your own feelings on the person in the center.
3. Commiserate. YES, this sucks. YES, it hurts. YES, I’d be upset too. YES, I’ve been there (but only if you really have.)
4. Let them call the shots. I think that sometimes the first instinct tends to be to try to cheer them up. And while there’s a time and a place for cheering up, to be sure, there’s also a time and place for just feeling what they’re feeling. Do they want to talk about it? Listen. Even if it’s the hundredth time that day. Do they want to distract themselves? Join them. Follow their lead in how they want to handle their feelings.
5. Hold space for them. It took me a long time to come around to the phrase “hold space.” I don’t know why exactly, except that it tends to come with the hyper spiritual woo-woo kind of stuff that doesn’t resonate with me. But I’ve since learned what a hugely powerful thing it is, I think in part due to the people who’ve cared enough to do it for me. Holding space basically means you create an atmosphere in which you can just be there, loving them; to let them have their experience, to validate their emotions, and to make room for whatever it is they’re feeling…. all without judging, critiquing, or trying to “fix” in any way. This is a great little article in layman’s terms.
6. Remind them it will get easier. When I was 5 or 6, I had a cat named Shala. Shala died right in front of us, after choking on a hair ball. I still remember my mom telling me, “I know it hurts, but it’s going to get easier. Every day it’s going to hurt a little bit less.” She was right. Granted, there is a huge range of possibly upsetting events in between a cat dying and being on the receiving end of another kind of calamity, but the principle still stands. Time passes. We learn to move forward. Things hurt a little bit less. It WILL get easier. There are two caveats to this though. The first is that it needs to come when it is time, (ie: not when you’re still firmly in the holding space stage) and not a minute sooner. The second is that some people don’t want to hear this at all, ever, and it doesn’t make them feel better. Know your kid.
Disappointment, hurt, and upset feelings are part of life. There’s no getting around that. But with love, time, and a whole heck of a lot of patience, we can absolutely help our kids work through even the toughest of life’s blows.
I'm Jen... the shy, lost girl from the east coast who married at nineteen and eventually found herself - four kids later - in the middle of the desert. I like chocolate. You can read more about me here.
A ridiculous amount of coffee is consumed in the process of writing these blog posts. If you enjoy my work, I'd be extremely grateful if you added some fuel to keep me going!
