Respond with Sensitivity – Page 27

Give your child what school cannot — rest for the brain — and free them to grow into their own

Becoming mature is not inevitable. Not all children enter the adult world able to hold on to themselves while, at the same time, mix with others.

For some adults, the ability to respect the boundaries and values of others, and still keep their own, is not an easy to do. For these adults, having their own opinions and ideas — while being able to listen and consider those of others — is also not something that characterizes their interactions.

Our schools are investing resources and energy into trying to teach children how to behave maturely and get along with others. Movies are being produced to teach about respecting feelings. Programs are being designed to combat bullying. None of these things can produce long lasting results and they can even affect your child’s ability to learn and do well in school. If your child isn’t doing well in school then you can think about getting them a math tutor or taken them to an after school learning program.

No matter how hard we try to work at it, mature character traits that are needed to get along in the world cannot be taught: They grow within, when the conditions are right.

I am reminded of what is missing — and what is possible — when I think of Mark and Dan.

The boys are brothers. Mark is 12, and Dan is 10. They are two years apart in school, and neither one of them was happy when I met their family. Mark had the saddest expression I had ever seen on a child’s face. Dan’s face was hardened, and there was no light reflected in his eyes. I listened to their stories and encouraged their parents to listen to their stories.

It was then that their parents realized that Mark and Dan were lacking the fundamental conditions for growth and maturation, and they set about to provide those conditions. Nature worked its miracles, and within several months, the extraordinary process of emergence was in full bloom. Both boys were filled with vitality, venturing forth energy and a desire to learn. With the start of summer vacation, Mark and Dan had each planned his own schedule of activities that included areas of study they each wanted to explore.

There are many ways to reach this state of creativity, exploring and discovery. We are fortunate if we can be in this state of being at least part of the time in our lives. When we know what conditions our children need in order to be in this state, we can make sure they are being provided.

What Mark and Dan’s parents provided for their sons was…rest. All growth takes place in a state of rest, including psychological growth. They made sure their sons had rest from worrying about results all the time: good grades, academic achievement, keeping up with the standards. They made sure they had rest from activities that distracted them from their own thoughts and creativity, like computer games, iPads and play dates. They made sure they had rest in their relationships, that they could feel a big enough invitation in their attachment to their parents so the relationship would be secure and become deep.

Mark and Dan’s parents found that providing rest was so much better than seeking behavior-modification techniques or psychological assessment. Their parents’ eyes shifted from seeing what was wrong with their sons to what conditions for growth their sons were missing. Their efforts at providing rest were much more fulfilling, natural and intuitive than the standard advice that is usually given. And the fruits were so much sweeter: the blossoming curiosity, emergent creativity and natural love of learning that characterize all children when they are young.

Can our schools provide this quality of rest for our children?

I would like to think that this potential exists within our system. There are good intentions to make school feel like home and to give individual attention to students.

But until the focus moves away from getting the end result immediately through programs that emphasize academic achievement and social and emotional learning, children will not have the psychological rest they need that frees their curiosity, their natural love of learning and the growth of their capacity to integrate well with others.

Our focus needs to move to providing the right context and conditions that make it possible for growth to unfold and for human potential to develop. This is the source of our hope for the next generation of adults.

Being a mother means…

Being a mother: It means…

…to hold and nurture you inside my body until the moment you arrive in this world.

…having unconditional devotion to another being till my last breath.

…to trust my instincts and teach you to trust yours.

…to care for you, embrace you and answer all your cries.

…to endure exhaustion and pain while always recognizing there is much to gain.

…to be elated with your first roll, crawl and step.

…to be there to ease all your fears and mishaps.

…to tell you “no,” even if it makes you upset.

…sometimes you will not like me.

…that, at times, you will be angry with me.

….you may shed many tears and exclaim how mean I am.

…listening to you patiently as you tell me that I simply don’t understand.

…to guide you and teach you right from wrong.

…always telling you the truth, even it hurts, so that you will become strong.

…letting you make mistakes, as you will learn and grow from them all.

…learning, growing and evolving — with you and from you.

…allowing you to be your own unique being, whichever path you choose.

…always reminding you that you are loved and I am here for you.

…letting you spread your wings and fly away, though I really want you to stay.

…taking a deep breath, shedding happy tears and marveling at the beautiful, wholesome person you became.

Being a mother. I’m in awe. How grateful and thankful I am.

He just wants to be held

By Julinda Adams

I am the mother of two boys ages 15 and 9.

Earlier this year, when I read the APtly Said post, “Using presence to raise independent children,” it reminded me of my own experience, and I left the following comment:

“I, too, had a grocery store experience with a stranger’s advice, but mine was the opposite of yours and had a major impact on my life. My firstborn, as a newborn, needed to be held a lot and nursed a lot — almost constantly. At home, I held him constantly, but when I was out, I thought he would just lie in his car seat or carrier like other babies I’d seen. (I also thought he would sleep peacefully alone in a crib, but that’s a different story!)

So I was in the store, he was in the carrier in the child seat area of the cart, and he was wailing. I was trying to console him, but he didn’t stop. Two older ladies came upon us, and one of them said, “I think he just wants to be held.”

He just wants to be held. In that moment, I realized that it didn’t matter where we were or what other babies did or how other parents acted: My baby wanted to be held. From that time on, he was only in the seat if we were in the car, he was asleep, he was content or I couldn’t hold him for some reason. Many times, I walked through a store holding him — or later his brother — sometimes attempting to nurse, while trying to push a cart.”

The images we see in the media often show a detached form of parenting. Babies only appear when needed for the story line, or even as props. On the screen, they are quiet and require minimal interaction, unless the script calls for something else. When they are not in a scene, they are out of sight and no thought is given to them. So the baby lying quietly until the parents are ready to interact seems normal.

Some babies may do OK with that. My firstborn made it known from birth that he expected to be physically attached, and we complied most of the time. When we were out, though, I expected him to act like those media babies and lie quietly. When he didn’t, I didn’t know what to do. The comment of the older lady in the grocery store surprised me, and then I thought, Oh, of course. He always wants to be held.

And far beyond realizing it was fine to hold him whenever he wanted, I realized I could listen to him — and my instincts.

I wish I could say I never again worried about what people thought about my parenting, but of course I did. I still do. And while many people find responsive parenting in infancy produces socially independent kids, that didn’t happen for us. Our son remained “clingy.” He needed us by his side as he ventured out. We supported him by being there when we could and “weaning” him from our presence gently.

He’s 15 now, and honestly, new situations still throw him off balance. And we still support him when he needs us.

Editor’s note: Some children are more likely to be “clingy,” or slow to warm to new situations. This is due to temperament, an inborn personality difference. Attachment Parenting works for these and other “spirited” children, because this parenting approach can more easily adapt to each child’s unique abilities. Learn more on “Different, Not Disordered” and “Emotions, Limits and Spirited Kids” on The Attached Family, the online magazine of Attachment Parenting International (API). Or read a collection of API’s articles for parents of spirited children in the “Loving Uniquely” issue of the print magazine.

There’s a monster under the bed

When I was a little girl, I was certain there was a monster hiding under my bed, waiting to grab my feet and drag me under the bed! To fool him, I would take a running leap onto my bed at night. Sometimes I thought that I jumped too close to the bed, so I would do this over again, until I was sure I jumped from far enough
away. This little ceremony would repeat itself every night.

At a young age, children can become obsessive and compulsive, behaving in ways that are quite illogical. I’ve spoken to parents whose children’s compulsive behaviors are baffling and appear in many different ways:

One 4-year-old girl obsessed about the star behavior chart her mom made for her. She talked all day long about winning stars. “Will I get a star?” “Will you remember to give me star?” “If I do it again, can I get another star?” Her efforts to win those stars became quite compulsive.
One 5-year-old boy became obsessive about the color green, the same color as his table in kindergarten. He insisted on wearing green slacks, eating from a green plate, drinking from a green cup, and on and on.
One 9-year-old girl developed an obsession about a girl in her class. She had to play with this girl exclusively in and after school every day, she forbade her to have other friends and her life focused around activities with this girl.
One teenager was obsessed about not gaining weight. She studied herself in the mirror regularly, checked the calorie count on food packages, and counted her calorie intake over and over again throughout the day.

What all of these children have in common is a persistent feeling of alarm and insecurity. Our brains are equipped with a delicate alarm system that is intended to alert us to things we should be cautious about. But we can only be careful and cautious when we know where the threat or danger is coming from. When we’re not aware of what is making us anxious and alarmed, our brain invents an explanation.

Sometimes the true source is camouflaged, because it’s too much to bear and the mind has to make up something because the real thing is too overwhelming. When “Mommy has to go to work” is too much for a child, her brain may invent the monster under the bed. When “The teacher doesn’t notice me” makes a child feel unsafe in kindergarten, the green table he sits at each day is the “safe zone” and the color green becomes the “safe color.”

These obsessions and compulsive behaviors provide cognitive back-fill and keep the true source of our alarm and anxiety at a distance. But then they keep repeating themselves, because they only give some temporary fleeting relief from the alarm and anxiety rather than address the true source, and so the alarm and anxiety keep returning and the obsessive-compulsive behavior repeats itself in another attempt to find relief.

Little by little, children discover that they can’t always hold us close, that Mommy or Daddy have to leave, that bad things can happen, that things we care about can spoil or get lost, that death is part of life. Children can’t really explain why they feel unsafe, and we should not try to force them to talk about their insecurities. We should certainly not use these things to scare them into being good for us, such as, “I’ll give you the green shirt as soon as you put your toys away.” This only serves to increase the alarm.

We need to normalize our children’s worries and fears and help them express these vulnerable feelings. Children need plenty of room for this within the context of a safe and secure attachment relationship. We need to let them know we’re here for them and that we’re on their side.

One of my favorite stories is about a father whose daughter couldn’t fall asleep, because she was afraid of “the monster in the house.” He brought out his tool box and held the hammer in his hand while he gave her a screw driver to hold. Hand in hand, they went all around the house to search for the monster. Then they went outside and circled the house together. No monster.

“We must have scared him off,” the father concluded. Then the two of them sat down together, and he told his daughter about the monsters he confronted when he was a boy and how courage grows. At least for a while, this little girl slept soundly. The experience helped her feel that her strong father was holding her close in his heart and protecting her.

And that’s the best thing we can do for our children — not only when they get obsessive, but all the time.

Diaper nostalgia

I thought I kept my car clean and tidy…until my husband walked in the door, waved a diaper in the air and said, “Hey, look what I found in the trunk!” It was quite a surprise — with our kids being 10 and 7 years old, the diaper era is long gone for us.

I placed the diaper on the kitchen counter. I stared at it and felt a sense of relief and a hint of joy. Memories started to flood my mind, and I thought, Boy, how I don’t miss those diapers. How I don’t miss the sleepless nights. I used to joke around and say that my babies had a unique “no sleep” gene. It was a period of five years that my nights were occupied by breastfeeding, changing diapers, rocking babies, monitoring fever, cleaning vomit and such — basically, constant interrupted sleep.

I then felt a tug in my tummy and other memories started to stream into my mind: Aww…how I miss the warmth of their little bodies next to mine. How I miss opening my eyes in the morning to the sight of their beautiful, peaceful faces. How I miss their sweet baby scent, their glowing smiles and their innocence. How I miss the monumental milestones that engulf a parent’s heart with pride and joy.

A few days earlier, my husband and I went on a rare road trip with just the two of us. After about an hour of an unusual quiet drive, he looked at me and said with a tone of concern in his voice, “Wow, soon the kids will not want to spend the weekends with us. What are we going to do?” It was a startling realization. I replied that I didn’t know and added that we will figure it out and maybe we should just do what we used to do before we had kids.

A part of me felt a sense of liberation. My husband and I made countless memories traveling and exploring away in our pre-kids days. Recapturing those days sounded appealing. Another part of me felt very sad and nostalgic: I couldn’t imagine our weekends not revolving around our kids. I could only imagine how much I will miss their constant presence.

A few days later, I found myself staring at the long lost diaper. It was a stark reminder that the only constant in life is change. It is the essence of life. Clearly, we witness our kids grow, develop and change right in front of our eyes. The challenges, the rewards and the joys of parenthood never cease to exist. They only change.

Today, with the exception of infrequent nights occupied with worry or our nocturnal pets keeping us up, our nights are quiet and restful. Gone are the sleepless nights, the separation anxiety and what at times felt like suffocating dependency. Nowadays, hovering around are challenges of a different kind: Discipline, sibling bickering and school. Today’s priceless rewards include: observing our kids become independent and confident beings, watching them foster their own unique personalities and forge strong friendships, and most of all, I marvel at their ability to face their own challenges, strive and overcome.

Every age and every stage bring a unique set of challenges and blessings. Much like a rose, with all its beauty and blossom, it has thorns. I am facing the challenges comforted by knowing that they too will pass. I am experiencing the blessings and rewards recognizing that they will likely be nostalgic in the future.

The one constant frame is the unconditional commitment and love that comes with the role of being a parent. And, possibly if I can embrace it all, I can endure and treasure the present as well as the future with all that it has to offer.

What does your family’s attachment look like?

Editor’s note: Attachment Parenting International (API) advocates for a parenting approach rooted solidly in research, and continuing research further validates and builds upon API’s foundation.

Please complete a brief, anonymous survey (access using your API Forum login) regarding your experiences with family members and relationships. It is hoped that the information gathered will help move the psychological research and therapeutic community forward regarding the complex needs of today’s families.

The survey should take no more than 10 minutes of your time, and will contribute to a more detailed understanding of what helps — and hinders — familial relationships. Should you desire, the principal researcher will be happy to share the findings with you.

In addition, if you know of any other individuals who could offer input through participation, please feel free to share. Email me with any questions.

Thank you for your time, consideration and help with providing a more current and detailed understanding of family needs today.

Jenn Lewis, MS
PhD student at Northcentral University in Arizona, USA

All of this…is motherhood

Before my son arrived, I didn’t really understand or even think about what becoming a mother would mean. I wanted to be one, but I didn’t know that once my child was here, for me there would be no separation between the person I have always been and the one I became. The line between being me and being a mother blurred almost as soon as I met him, and from there, there was no going back.

It wasn’t just about love, either. There’s this unbreakable, unshakeable bond of course. But there are worries, too, plus an achingly overwhelming desire to protect him, and a physical pain when I cannot.

And at times I have felt overwhelmed by this — who was I now? How had my priorities in life changed so hugely? What was left of me?

People are out changing the world while I’m lost in our little one, and I sometimes wondered if this was okay…if I was important enough?

Yes, it is…yes, I am.

There are many ways to define motherhood, to describe it. For me, capturing each and every grain felt important, because being a mother and loving your child can feel so extraordinary…insignificant…tiny…and huge. To me, all of this…is motherhood:

It is early rising and midnight waking. It is wiping noses and kissing bumps. It is the park in all seasons. It is water, sand and crayons. It is traveling heavy and never “nipping out.” It is laughter — so much laughter.

It is a shift in your relationship. It is rare evenings out. It is talking in yawns and gestures. It is discussing diaper rash, weaning and sippy cups — with gusto. It is toys in the living room and a prayer for more sleep. It is different than expected and more than you hoped.

It is making sacrifices. It is rushing home for bedtime. It is another trip to the doctor. It is potty training and battles with medicine. It is making mistakes, then making them again. It is guilt — so much guilt.

It is living all over. It is excitement at planes…and diggers…and dogs. It is hours in the garden. It is a tantrum at the store. It is forgetting half of what you knew. It is learning so much. It is feeling clueless. It is guess work. It is crossing your fingers.

It is milk and laundry — more, more, more. It is overwhelming, amazing, heart filling. It is nursery rhymes and counting. It is please and thank you. It is the same book again, again, again. It is the everyday. It is the mundane. It is the extraordinary.

It is cuddles in the dark and company in the bathroom. It is a smile. It is home. It is discovering strengths and recognizing weaknesses. It is persistence. It is holding your breath. It is victories. It is losses. It is holding on…and letting go.

It is changing priorities, a shift in perspective. It is odd socks, smiles and worry. It is a million photographs. It is crying and screaming. It is giggles and soft snores. It is losing you and searching again — new, old, different, the same.

It is slow walks in the sunshine and splashing in the rain. It is moments of pure happiness…the highest of highs. It is consuming…bewildering. It is making a mess. It is new friendships and resealed bonds. It is finally understanding your parents. It is marks on the walls and stains on the sofa. It is rejected dinners. It is love. It is love.

It is long days and short years. It is exhausting. It is exhilarating. It is everything.

All of this…is motherhood.

Choose to respond with love

It was getting close to time to leave the park, so I told my 5-year-old son he could do one last loop around the trail on his bike. We’d talked before going to the park about how he was allowed to ride along one loop of the trail, where he was constantly visible to me from where I was at the playground with my two younger children, but not on the other loop that was farther away and partly out of my view.

Still, as he came around the back part of the first loop, he decided to veer in the other direction and take the second loop. My 3-year-old son then decided he wanted to follow his brother on foot but couldn’t keep up. Neither could I, far behind my son’s head start and carrying my heavy 12-month-old daughter. My oldest son couldn’t hear me calling to him to turn around and didn’t know we were trying to catch up to him.

I was angry. He knew he wasn’t supposed to ride there. He was making things difficult for me, for all of us. It was hot, and I was already tired. My purse and wallet were in the back of the stroller all the way across the park.

The whole way around the trail. I was thinking about what I was going to say to my son when I finally caught up to him. I wanted to yell at him for not listening to me, to talk about how dangerous his actions were, to threaten that we were never going back to that park — ever!

As we neared the end of the trail, I could see my son up ahead at the playground. I had no idea how I was going to handle this. I was starting to calm down a little, but I still didn’t know what the right thing to say was.

Then my son started walking toward me, and I could see that he was crying. When he’d gotten back to the playground, he’d expected to see me there and was scared because he didn’t know where I was. Seeing those tears made my anger go away. Teaching a lesson could wait. At that moment, I just hugged him and acknowledged how scary that was for him.

Later, after everyone was calm, we were able to talk about what had happened and what should have happened. He was so upset that he said he never wanted to go back to that park. We talked about how that wasn’t necessary and that we’d just plan better in the future. I was so glad I’d calmed down before forbidding him to go back to the park, like I almost did.

My son also told me how he hadn’t understood what I’d meant when I’d told him he couldn’t ride on the back part of the trail. It was a good reminder to me to be clear in what directions I give him and not assume that he knows exactly what I mean just because it makes sense to me.

I hate that he was so scared and upset, but I also know that he learned a lot more from his experience than he would have from me trying to convey how his actions had scared me.

There was a lot that I learned from this experience also, including that:

I need to calm down before responding. This situation would have played out completely differently if I hadn’t had the time walking around the trail to cool down before reacting to my son’s behavior.
I don’t need to have it all figured out — whether in the moment or in the grand scheme of things. I had no idea what I was going to say or do. I had no plan, and yet it somehow all worked out.
Always choose to respond with love. What my son needed in that moment when he was scared and upset was not a lecture or a lesson. It was a hug. It was love. The other stuff could wait, and even when we did talk about what had happened, it wasn’t about punishment or anger. It was with love.