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.
Three or four years ago, I had a falling out with a close friend. A discussion ultimately ended in her giving me an ultimatum, one that I didn’t acquiesce to. After some time had passed and I realized how much I missed her, I reached out… and was basically told to go f**k myself. We haven’t spoken since.
Two years ago, I was deeply – and inadvertently – hurt by another friend. Though conversations followed, I never received the apology I felt like I needed. Things have been different between us ever since.
Last year, one of Tegan’s (12 years old at the time) friends suddenly told her, “I hate you and never want to see you again.” When I tried to talk to his mother (someone who I also considered a friend) about it to see if I could learn what was going on, she responded by promptly blocking me. We haven’t talked since, and to this day neither Tegan nor I know what we did wrong.
Last week, some random person attacked me in one of my bipolar Facebook groups. She didn’t like what I had to say, and she reacted. She wasn’t kind, and she wasn’t gracious. She was condescending and arrogant, and her comments stung.
What do all these people have in common?
They’re the weather.
I can’t control the weather.
The weather does what it wants.
The weather makes its own decisions.
The weather is not about me.
Unless I’m putting myself in the eye of a hurricane, the weather doesn’t even affect me.
My whole life, I’ve cared too much what other people think and do. I get my feelings hurt easily, I’m quick to react, I’m sensitive to a fault. Many people have tried to talk to me about this – including my therapist of two years – but while I could understand intellectually, I didn’t know how to stop it. Nothing really made it click for me until recently when I heard the weather analogy. It was a literal lightbulb moment for me, and made me go, “Oh. OHHHH!!”
They’re the weather.
All of us as humans, as long as we’re living with appropriate boundaries, are walking around with an invisible circle around us. We have the right, the responsibility, and the authority to control everything inside our circles. Everything and everyone outside the circle? It’s the weather, and out of our control.
And it takes practice. When I got the comment on Facebook, a comment that would have ordinarily completely derailed me for a week, I had to remind myself: She’s the weather. I’m not in charge. She can say what she wants, do what she wants, act how she wants. It’s not about me. That’s HER choice. HER circle. HER responsibility. If she wants to be rude to strangers on the internet, she’s free to do that. My job? Simply to decide how I will or will not react. I get to decide if I’m going to let it send me spiraling, or if I’m going to let it go. Strangers on the internet? The answer is always to let it go.
Game changer.
As for friends, and other closer relationships? It’s more complicated, right? There are real feelings involved. There’s history. It’s personal. But the same principle applies. All I can control is me. That’s it. Was I true to myself? Was I honest? Was I kind? Was I fair? If the answer to any of the above is no, that’s on me to fix. But if the answer is yes, well then I did what I could.
The rest is weather. I can get an umbrella if I need it, but I don’t have to get wet.
Last week, Demi Lovato posted a video on their Instagram, in which they came out as nonbinary, and stated that they would be using the pronouns they/them.
The internet definitely had opinions. This is mine.
First, I think it’s useful to talk about the word “nonbinary” and what it even means. This is my own clumsy definition, but please! feel free to correct me if I haven’t gotten it exactly right. To be nonbinary (when it comes to gender) is to feel that you don’t fit into the traditional boxes of “male” or “female”, but rather into something that is more fluid…. whether that means something in between, something entirely different, or something that vacillates between the two. I don’t know how it feels to be nonbinary, because I’ve never felt anything other than female. I’ve always been on the “tomboy” side of female, but a female nonetheless.
Here’s the thing though. I don’t have to understand in order to be respectful of someone else. It literally costs me nothing to give someone else the gift of being seen, of being heard, of being valued for who they are, and not unfairly and incorrectly being put into a box of my own choosing. Calling someone they/them? It’s a small ask with a huge impact.
A lot of people want to argue that they and them make no sense because they are plural*, and an individual person is singular. Full confession: I used to be one of them. I did my best to use it if it was requested, but the grammar snob in me bristled.
I got over it.
We use they/them pronouns in the singular all the time. (ie: “Someone left their cell phone on the table.”) Second, even if they usually are used plurally, so what? Language evolves, words evolve, LIFE evolves. I see people fretting about “what’s happening to the world today”, but this is not something new. Nonbinary people have always existed. It’s just that they’ve only recently been given a voice, and a way to express themselves to the world. And how can that be anything but a good thing?
We all want to be accepted for who we are. Using someone’s correct and preferred pronouns is a simple step to take to start making that happen.
But why should we change what we call Demi Lovato? They’re never going to hear us talking about them, so what does it matter? Yes, Demi Lovato is never going to hear me talking about them. Demi Lovato is not going to read this blog post and give me points for getting it right. But it matters. If for no other reason, because while it’s Demi Lovato today, it might very well be someone who can hear you next time. It might be your sibling, or your friend, or your neighbor, or your mail carrier. I found out just a few days ago that a good friend of mine accepted she/her, but that they preferred they/them. I’d had no idea. Now that I know, I can do better.
And it feels hard sometimes, right? As humans, we get used to things. We get set in our ways. Our verbiage becomes habitual. But it’s worth the effort. People are always worth the effort. Although it might take some getting used to (and some getting it wrong and having to correct yourself), at the end of the day it is a simple thing to do to make someone feel more visible, and more respected.
I don’t know why people are upset about Demi Lovato, I really don’t. Demi Lovato and Sam Smith and other nonbinary and/or gender fluid celebrities just want what the rest of us want:
To be seen.
To be heard.
To be accepted for who we are and how we show up in the world.
Using correct pronouns won’t achieve that on its own, but it’s a damn good place to start.
*(xe, ze, sie, co, and ey are a few singular pronouns that some nonbinary people use, but I don’t personally know anyone who uses them.)
After I showered and made my coffee, I got caught up on email, Facebook and Instagram (on a screen), then I sent off a message regarding a costume for my 13 year old’s upcoming play (on a screen). After that I watched last night’s A Million Little Things (on a screen.)
The TV is off now, and I won’t turn it on again until this afternoon when I watch The Talk (on a screen). It’s a fun little break in the day, and I like to listen to them talking about current events. I’m also a big fan of Amanda Kloots, whose story I started following in 2020 when she began recounting her story of her husband Nick Cordero’s fight with, and ultimately death from, COVID-19. I watched her updates daily on Instagram (on a screen).
In a few hours, I have a dentist appointment. We moved a couple of years ago, and I had to find a new one. I asked for recommendations on Facebook (on a screen), and looked up everyone who was mentioned (on a screen). I checked my insurance website too (on a screen) to see who was or was not covered.
A couple of minutes ago I ran upstairs to talk to my husband who’s working from home today (on a screen), then I got out my laptop to begin this post (on a screen). I found a picture (on a screen), and I started to write (on a screen.)
Forgive my bluntness, but “screen time” is one of the stupidest phrases we’ve collectively come up with as a society. It means literally nothing. In 2021, screens are used for an infinite number of purposes, from utility and information, to communication and entertainment. Lumping all of it into a catch-all phrase of “screen time” makes absolutely no sense.
Another thing that makes no sense? The fact that so many parents hold such a disdain for their kids’ use of “screen time” (“If I let him, he’d be on his tablet ALL DAY!”) then use said screen time as a prime bargaining tool, removing it at the slightest infraction. Which in turn only makes it more alluring, more attractive, more important. The forbidden fruit, if you will. Parents want their kids to regulate, to learn to use screens in a healthy way, but by limiting them and constantly taking them away they’re ensuring that that won’t happen. Screens will be viewed by the child as something to binge, something they must hold on to tightly, to take in as much as they can before they’re taken away again.
I recently saw a reply on a Facebook group where a worried new unschooler was told, “The best way to unschool is to keep your house free of screens.” I could not disagree more. One of the best parts about unschooling is that you have the opportunity to make your kids’ worlds bigger. Why then would you limit them, and in turn make their worlds smaller?
Screens, in all their forms, are tools. And incredible tools at that! I am so thankful, especially over the very weird past 12 months, that my children are able to access their screens whenever they want.
A very, very short list of what screens have allowed my children to do:
Talk with their friends
Play games, alone and with others
Take classes
Write stories
Watch videos
Make videos
Share pictures
Watch movies
Listen to music
Apply for jobs (17 year old)
Code (24 year old)
GOOGLE
How cool is it to have all this technology, all this information, all this learning, all this entertainment, right at their fingertips?
But but… aren’t I worried about child predators? Porn? Addiction? The internet is dangerous!
To that I’d say: First, my children, all teenagers and young adults at the time of this writing, use technology in a very different way than they did when they were seven. While they still had the freedom to use what they’d liked, they did so with much more supervision. It should go without saying that young children need more supervision in general. We did things together. We explored. We partnered. We discussed. It all laid the groundwork for today, where they explore with more freedom. They’re confident, they’re safe, and they still share.
They know that technology and the internet is not something to fear but something to use and enjoy responsibly. They know that they can come to us if they ever have a problem. They know that they can talk to us about anything, including anything they’re doing online. They know that technology is just another tool, one that they can take or leave at any time, and that is neither more nor less valuable than spending time outdoors or playing a board game or painting a picture. It’s just one of a million things they may choose to use, or not, in any given day.
So no, I don’t live in fear of screens. I rather enjoy screens, and am thankful every day that we are lucky enough that they are part of our lives.
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.
I used to get really jazzed about New Years. I was allured with the whole idea of clean slates and fresh starts, and I couldn’t wait to start writing in my crisp new planner – Okay, that part hasn’t changed. I’m very excited about my 2021 bullet journal – But somewhere along the way I either got more realistic or more jaded, because it’s just another day on the calendar to me now. I don’t do resolutions, I don’t make vision boards, I don’t come up with a “word of the year” (that’s one I’ve noticed is really popular lately). I don’t begrudge anyone who does do those things; it’s just not for me. If I want to make a change or try something new, I just do it, regardless of the date on the calendar. A little over a week ago, Tegan and I decided to start Couch to 5K again. There were a few reasons, but it was mainly because we’re signed up to do a mud run this spring (Covid permitting), and it will be more fun if we have more endurance. We could have waited until the new year, but we started on December 20th. Voila. No New Years resolutions about exercise.
There are a few popular things though that even I did make resolutions would absolutely not make the list. Here are three things I won’t be doing for 2021, in no particular order:
Trying to lose weight – I have a long, complicated history with my weight. From dealing with disordered eating starting in my teens and lasting well into adulthood, to being underweight, to being overweight. Three years ago, I was put on a new medication that made me swiftly put on 40 pounds, and a year ago I was put on another one that made me swiftly lose 30. Could I still lose weight according to those outdated charts? Yes. Would I be mad if I lost it? No. Am I actively going to try to lose it? Also no. One of the lessons I’ve had to learn in the past few years – and it was a hard fought lesson – was radical body acceptance, no matter my weight. The diet industry wants us to believe that we have to be thin in order to be acceptable, but 1) thin is not synonymous with healthy, and 2) beauty comes in all sizes. My body carried, birthed, and breastfed four humans. It’s climbed mountains and swam in the ocean and rode horses and played soccer and ran a 5K. My body is amazing! The number on the scale? That’s just a number. DISCLAIMER: I’m not suggesting I’m not going to take care of my body. On the contrary, I’m excited about having more movement in my life, and am looking forward to doing the run with Tegan. I like playing hard, eating nourishing foods (see item 2), and getting good sleep. There is no end goal, because health is a constantly moving and evolving thing, but if there was? It would be strength. It would be confidence. It would be endurance. Not whether or not I fit into size 6 jeans.
Trying to eat healthier – I’m going to pick on the diet industry again, but the word “healthy” is such a loaded word. What does it even mean? What’s healthy for one person could literally kill another. We have preferences and intolerances and allergies. What makes me feel light and energized might make you feel sluggish and weighed down. I’ve written about this before, but now more than ever, the moralizing of food is out of control. Hate and war are bad. A potato chip is just a potato chip. I’ve had the same food philosophy for a long time now, and it hasn’t served me wrong. I eat when I’m hungry and stop when I’m full. I make no food off-limits. I eat a variety of foods, and I eat foods that nourish me in mind, body, and soul (Nourishment, by the way, can come in the form of a salad or in a gooey chocolate chip cookie). I don’t look at food as good or bad but simply as choices. I listen to my body, I pay attention to how things make me feel, and I don’t berate myself for having a piece of cake. Sometimes needs are best met with an egg, and sometimes they’re best met with a handful of Skittles. They’re just choices. And if I happen to make a choice that disagrees? My body lets me know by getting cranky – in a variety of ways…. bodies are useful like that – and I make a different choice next time. Simple, and certainly not something to count, weigh, measure, or stress out over.
Trying to be happier – Off the bat, this sounds like an odd one (why would I not want to be happier??), but hear me out. First, for people with mental illness, you cannot just choose to be happy. You just can’t. They’re called mood disorders for a reason. Trying to just decide to be happy when you have a mood disorder is a lesson in frustration and futility. Meds, food, rest, and exercise can all help of course, but there’s no magic bullet. Beyond that though, much like with the black and white thinking of the diet industry, there is a black and white push for toxic positivity that tells us that we MUST be happy. But it’s not realistic. We were given a wide range of human emotions, and they’re all valid. Every one of them. I don’t want to try so hard to be happy that I deprive myself of the growth that comes from sadness, or the resilience that comes from heartbreak, or the resolve that comes from anger. Our emotions teach us things, lessons that we’ll never learn if we squash them down in an effort to be happy all the time. My caveat is this: I do believe in gratitude. I do believe in self care. I do believe in service to others. I do believe in love. I believe in looking for rainbows and ice cream with sprinkles and bubble baths after a long day. All of those things, when done well, will naturally lead to more happiness. Happiness is the fortunate byproduct, not the destination. Because don’t get me wrong, I want to be happy…. I just know it won’t always be the case. And that’s okay.
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So what then WOULD make my list, if I were to make one? Right now, it’d simply be this: To be me. To live loud, to work and play hard, to make mistakes, and to learn from them. And to know, in my heart of hearts, that that’s enough.
This morning on Facebook, I was called ableist, elitist, classist, and racist. In the interest of “When you know better, you do better,” I deleted the post that had prompted it, but I can’t stop thinking about it. It spoke to a larger issue that’s been on my mind the past couple of weeks, and helped some loose edges of a thought fall into place.
A week or two ago, I read a post about kids and water. The mom was encouraging other mothers to get their kids to drink water (as opposed to drinks such as juice and/or soda) and said that it was easy if you just led by example. Her kids, she said, have never had anything but water, and it was all because it’s what they’d been exposed to. Fair enough, I guess, but the way the post was worded felt steeped in judgement. I am not at all proud that that was my first thought. Because my very NEXT thought was, “Is this how I’ve come across for the past 15 years?” The thought was swift, and real, and visceral, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that I stopped just short of pulling down my blog altogether.
Judgmental is a complaint I’ve gotten a lot, along with sanctimonious, self-righteous, and holier-than-thou. I’ve worked hard at learning to share my own truth, and letting other people’s opinions of my words be just that: their opinions. But the thought is there now, and I can’t let it go:
What if they’re right?
What if I have been judgmental? What if my words have been unkind, unwarranted, or ungracious? Last year someone said that I wrote as if I thought I was better than everyone else. It wasn’t the first time someone had said that (and, if I continue to write, likely won’t be the last), but for some reason this time it cut extra deep. And when I had to see that person and smile and act normal and make conversation at our conference? It was one of the hardest face-to-face interactions I’ve ever had. It hurt.
I didn’t ever want to be afraid to voice opinions, but this year I’ve become afraid. I’ve deactivated my Facebook more times than I count because I’ve gotten my feelings hurt, because I haven’t been able to handle the backlash, because I just get so tired of saying the wrong thing. And some of it is just people looking to start conflict to be sure. Some of it is just people being, well, jerks. But…
What if they’re right?
As we close out this dumpster fire of a year, I’m finding myself questioning everything. I feel genuine remorse for the times I’ve missed the mark, for the times I have been judgmental, or arrogant, or elitist, or ableist. It was never my intention.
So what does this mean moving forward? Where do I go from here? What do I do with my writing? Do I hang up my hat? I don’t know. I really don’t. I’m discouraged, and I’m tired.
I have no neat and tidy way to wrap up this post. It was a brain dump in its purest form. And I don’t know if it’s because it’s the end of a hard year, or because I still have some seasonal depression going on, or because I once again got my feelings hurt on the internet, but damn. I am feeling all the feelings. And I am sad.
If you’re still reading, I’m sending peace, love, and best wishes for a calmer, healthier 2021.
Last week, Elliot Page, the actor known for Juno and Inception, came out as a trans male. At first what I saw was positive. People sharing his Instagram post and articles, voicing their love and support, and generally showering him with respect and acceptance.
And then I read the comments.
Everything from flat-out hate and bigotry, to the more insidious “I disagree with the lifestyle, but ….” comments. Judgment, unkindness, and disrespect for this person who just …. what? Dared to live his life? Had the audacity to be true to himself? Allowed himself to be happy? What exactly did he do to earn or deserve your ire?
To those who are in the camp of, “She was born a female, so she’s a female, period:” you are not only being close-minded, you are scientifically incorrect. Sex and gender are two different things. Yes, you are born with a certain set of sex organs, but gender is a separate and complicated construct, one that does not always align with the organs assigned at birth.
To those who use religion as their shield: “God made male and female! He doesn’t make mistakes!” I would argue that if He doesn’t make mistakes, then Elliot Page and all of the other 1.4 million Americans who identify as transgender are not mistakes either. Also, if you feel it’s somehow wrong to identify as anything other than cisgender, then don’t. No one’s forcing you to do anything.
To those who are threatened or disgusted or otherwise freaked out because it is “different”: Life is full of people and concepts and identities that we may not understand. I can’t honestly say that I completely understand being transgender myself. I am not transgender, and I don’t know anyone in my close circle who’s transgender either. But I do know it’s not something to fear. It’s not something to be threatened by.
Because here’s the thing. Elliot Page coming out as transgender is not about you. It’s not about me. It’s about him, and his own life, and his own identity. Full stop. And you don’t have to agree with someone, or understand someone, or even relate to someone in order to respect them. In order to show them kindness, in order to show them compassion. His words and his actions are not hurting you, in fact are not affecting you at all. It’s not hard to just let other people be happy.
The way I see it, when we’re faced with news like this, we’re given two main options: To respond with distrust, bigotry, and fear; or respond with love, acceptance, and compassion. Keep in mind too that the issue at hand isn’t dealing with someone who’s murdered someone or robbed a homeless person. It’s not complicated. This is simply a fellow human, living his fellow human existence, and telling the world, “Hey, this is who I am.”
You don’t have to agree to be kind. You don’t have to understand to be compassionate.
When Elliot Page told the world he was transgender, he wasn’t asking for your approval. He was simply being Who He Is. It doesn’t matter if you don’t agree. It doesn’t matter if you think it’s wrong. It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand. It really, truly doesn’t. People are allowed to live their lives. All people. Famous people, your neighbor, your uncle, the guy that fixes your car or cuts your hair or does your taxes. If they’re not somehow hurting you (and they’re not) it’s their literal right as human beings to live their lives on their own terms.
One of the most beautiful things we’ve been given in this life is choices. For Elliot page, and other transgender individuals, he gets to choose how and when and for what reason he decides to tell the world that he’s a man.
This is Spencer. Spencer has a huge heart, a goofy sense of humor, a knack for solving problems, and a love of interesting facts.
Spencer also has autism.
Spencer has always had autism. But up until yesterday, there’s never been an official diagnosis, never been a piece of paper stating those words. And now there is.
One might wonder, if we knew all this time (and to be clear, we all, including Spencer, knew) why we’d wait until he was 23 to pursue a diagnosis. It’s a fair question. And the answer is complicated.
For one thing, it didn’t feel necessary to have a formal diagnosis. Having the diagnosis wouldn’t have changed how we treated him, wouldn’t have changed how we parented, wouldn’t have changed the decisions we made about school. Wouldn’t have changed who he was as a person. He was, is, and will always be Spencer.
Beyond that though, was the fear of starting to view him through the lens of a label. I saw too many people viewing their atypical kids through that lens, to the point that they were no longer people who had a diagnosis, but actually WERE that diagnosis. I didn’t want to be a parent who referred to her child as “my autistic son” or “my aspie daughter” when that information was irrelevant to the conversation at hand.
I learned a few things as time went on though. Having a label, official or otherwise, was not mine to claim. It was Spencer’s. It was his right to decide what he did and did not want to embrace and accept and share. It was his right to decide what importance he placed on the label, and what its presence meant to his identity.
I also learned that denying him the formal diagnosis would mean I was denying him services, support, and information that would be not only helpful but potentially life-changing. Especially as an adult, opening this door means he’s eligible for SSI and support and services such as job coaching and life skills training.
So now he has the diagnosis. And while we were all expecting it, it still kicked the wind out of me. It just felt real and official and BIG, along with its accompaniment of a host of new appointments and evaluations and hoops. So many hoops. (More hoops than there would have been if we’d done it when he was younger.)
While I’m resigned and optimistic, I’m also a little bit overwhelmed. Not because of the autism, but because of what it’s going to entail.
But Spencer? He’s the same as he was yesterday. Same as he was the day before. Having a diagnosis doesn’t change him from the unique and complicated and perfectly imperfect person he’s always been. He will deal with the next steps with the same formidable determination he’s dealt with everything else. He will rise to the challenges with strength and dignity and a sense of humor because that’s who he is.
For his part, he is glad to have the diagnosis, so I am following his lead on this. There will be bumps and missteps and headaches as we get the next steps sorted, but we’ll be okay.
And at the end of the day (day, week, month, year) he’ll still be perfectly Spencer.
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.”
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!
