responding with sensitivity – Page 3

Editor’s pick: Mindfulness in school and home

A huge part of Attachment Parenting (AP) is learning, and teaching our children, how to be mindful — that ability to calm our minds, connect with our emotions in the moment, work through any conflicting feelings, and respond to others in truth and compassion.

This week, I have two features for my Editor’s Pick. The first is a YouTube video, “Just Breathe,” created by Julie Bayer Salzman and Josh Salzman of Wavecrest Films and inspired by their 5-year-old son talking to a friend about mindfulness exercises he was learning in Kindergarten:

While Attachment Parenting International‘s Eight Principles of Parenting provide families with the parenting behaviors that are shown scientifically to create a secure parent-child attachment, API’s ethos takes Attachment Parenting a step further — to promote a way of living that is based in peace and empathy.

This is where mindfulness fits in.

Clinical psychologist and mindfulness instructor Inga Bohnekamp defines mindfulness in this API post as “presence of heart” and mindful parenting as “parenting from the depths of our hearts,” rather than letting us be guided by a set of pre-fixed, often unreflected, standards or rules about what is right and wrong.

API’s Eight Principles of Parenting aren’t intended to be a set of 8 rules that AP parents must abide to, but rather guides of which parenting behaviors are associated with secure attachment. They are provided for parents who often need that information. Many parents who seek out API’s education and support did not grow up in an environment where they were exposed to consistent nurturing behaviors. API’s Eight Principles of Parenting help parents to get back in touch with their hearts so that they can be intentional about parenting choices, rather than react out of subconscious reasoning that is rooted in early childhood experiences often beyond our conscious memories.

Our childhood experiences may have predisposed us to certain coping skills that do not allow us to easily access the emotions behind our actions, especially in times of stress and strong emotions like anger and fear. Mindfulness is a behavior that can help us teach ourselves how to access those emotions and then be able to act from a place of intention.

This week’s second Editor’s pick is the article, “More Focused, Better Behaved Kids, Through Mindfulness,” by journalist Tori James on My Mother Lode — through which we learn the outcomes of teaching mindfulness to students at a California, USA, elementary school.

It is exciting to see this aspect of Attachment Parenting being incorporated into the school setting, and to hear the overwhelmingly positive feedback from teachers and students.

According to the article, mindfulness not only helps prevent bullying but also improves children’s ability to regulate emotions and calm down, pay attention, feel compassion toward others, change behavior patterns and build emotional resilience to life’s ups and downs.

This is powerful stuff. Mindfulness has the capability to change the trajectory of individual lives, and — when being taught on a community level, such as through school — has the potential for changing whole generations in a community.

In the article, mindfulness instructor Sally Arnold referred to a recent Harvard study that found that people spent about 52% of their lives outside of the present moment, with the balance either worrying about the future or ruminating about the past. By not giving enough thoughtful attention to the present moment, we are setting up ourselves to make decisions based on the emotions from our primitive part of our brain — the amygdala — which is set up to impulsively react in “fight or flight” mode.

Positive discipline educator Kelly Bartlett explains what happens in the brain when we “lose it” in this API article.

Mindfulness retrains our brains to reflect on the moment, creating the space and power to think before we respond. Mindfulness exercises, such as the one that Inga introduces in her API post, allows a person to be able to access their whole brain during stressful moments, including the logic and executive functioning of the prefrontal cortex.

The difference is profound. Consider this scenario:

You walk into your kitchen with a laundry basket full of clean clothes to find your toddler drawing on the wall. How would you react?

Someone reacting out of the amygdala may become very angry very quickly and react in a way that they later regret and that leaves the child in tears.

Someone who is practiced in mindfulness, and therefore able to access the whole brain during stressful moments, is more likely to be able to respond sensitively to the child and effectively discipline through problem-solving without risking their attachment relationship.

Mindfulness does take practice, but each time you practice it, it actively changes the neural pathways in the brain so that it’s easier to respond mindfully in stressful moments rather than continue to struggle with the primitive “fight or flight” reactions.

While it may seem awkward at first, a practice of mindfulness is able to transform the very way you think until you get to the point where you don’t have to even think about being mindful — it just comes naturally!

Think about how profound of an experience it would be for a child to grow up in a mindful home, without the fear of incurring the wrath of a highly reactive parent. Many of us remember feeling that fear ourselves, and understand how that fear (and probably anger) lives on today in our relationships. Teaching our kids to be good people starts with their education, that’s why I sent my kids to Seton College where they have catholic education, so they teach them great family values.

What a gift we can give our children to learn how to be mindful, especially in our moments of stress — and then to be able to model and teach that mindfulness to our children, so that their relationships can be rooted in peace and empathy rather than fear and mistrust.

*First photo: FreeImages.com/Alissa Horton

**Second photo: FreeImages.com/Jenny Rollo

The beauty of art, a book and a conversation

Some of the qualities I cherish most about my daughter are her love for reading, writing and art. I feel as though they allow me to see the world through her eyes. These forms of expression provide me with a wonderful channel into her viewpoint, thoughts and feelings. They also have opened up the lines of communication between us.

When my daughter was 6 years old, we experienced a period of about a year when tantrums were frequent occurrences. Following a conflict, she would close the door to her room in anger and request that I provide her with a pen and paper.

Moments later, I found a note or a drawing she slipped under the door expressing her feelings of anger and frustration. Occasionally, I also unexpectedly found drawings and notes placed around the house. They expressed a variety of emotions such as happiness, sadness, anger, frustration and love. I wasn’t always delighted with what she wrote or drew, but I was always delighted that she chose writing and drawing as her forms of expression.

At 8 years old, she experienced a loss for the first time. Our beloved hamster Fluffy died, and my daughter was devastated. A few days later, she arrived from school holding a beautiful picture of our Fluffy portrayed as an angel. I was touched by the sweet display of her feelings expressed so delightfully on paper. I was also surprised by the representation of an angel and heaven as it wasn’t a subject we discussed at home.

The painting opened up a conversation about her feelings of loss. We first talked about the painting technique she used to create comforting yellow and white shades and the soft brush strokes. Then we discussed how she felt about losing her pet and what she thinks angels and heaven are. We reminisced about how feisty our Fluffy was and how much she missed him. I was pleased with her artistic abilities but more so with the words we exchanged.

Today, at 10 years old, she is an enthusiastic reader and writer. A couple months ago, she urged me to read a book from a series she has been passionately reading. I resisted. With more than 60 books lined up on my own wish list, I couldn’t imagine squeezing in one more book, especially one that didn’t particularly fit in with the subject matter of my interest.

Every evening during our quiet, quality time together, she shared with me with excitement details about the intertwined story lines and the many characters in the books. She had a sparkle in her eyes when she asked me again and again to read the first book in the series. I kept on brushing it off, telling her that I will read it one day. I promised that I will find the time.

While on vacation, I like to deviate from my typical reading subjects so I figured it was the perfect opportunity to stop resisting and start reading the book my daughter asked me to read. I was on the airplane on the way to our destination when, on page 20 of her book, I got a glimpse into her intrigue with the books — I got it, and I got her!

The series is comprised of fantasy novels that follow the adventures of four clans of wild cats. The cats personify characteristics of humans, and their world and experiences mimic those of humans. As my daughter and I chatted about the book’s story line, I was able to relate it to current events around the world. We discussed what it means to be an effective leader, why people fight over land and engage in wars, and what it means to be a compassionate person.

Once I completed the book and realized the value of the experience, I promised her that going forward I will honor a new reading pattern: a book of my choice followed by a book of her choice. I know it will set me back on my reading goals, but I also know it’s well worth it. What we have both gained from sharing a book is far more than I expected.

I’d like my daughter to know that her reflections and passions matter to me. I want her to keep me plugged in and feel comfortable to share her inner world with me.

I am gaining a whole new appreciation for the beauty and importance of art — in visual as well as in written form. A painting, a letter and a book are all creative and gentle forms of expressions. They each initiated valuable conversations between my daughter and I and kept our communication open and flowing.

I am bracing myself for her teenage years, hoping we will be able to keep that channel open, wide and clear.

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.

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.

Responding with sensitivity when it’s hard

As an API Leader, I frequently give parents guidance on ways to respond to their children in different situations. But the truth is, I don’t always follow my own advice. As all parents know, it’s one thing to be removed from a situation and think about solutions rationally; it’s quite another to deal with a public tantrum or a kid who won’t go to bed when you are exhausted and frustrated. That’s why it’s important to have tools at your disposal to cope with these situations before they arise.

First, it’s helpful to become aware of how often you respond in a way you’d rather not and what triggers those responses. Some parents use stacking rings or bangles on one side of the body, and move one to the other side each time they respond to their children in a way they’d rather not. A jewelry-free option would be gently snapping a rubber band on your wrist. This helps you become more conscious of how you respond to your children, and any patterns that provoke a certain response.

As for preventing an unwanted response, here are a few ideas:

Do some kind of physical activity, such as running around the house, jumping up and down or dancing. Exercise helps the brain process stress that might otherwise be directed toward your children. It’s also pretty funny for little kids to see Mom or Dad suddenly jumping up and down, which can diffuse a stressful situation.
Sing what you would like to say to your child. Singing prevents you from yelling and tends to gets kids’ attention more easily than talking, because it’s out of the ordinary. It also forces you to control your breath, which will help to calm you down.
Have a mantra that calms you down. You can put it on sticky notes around the house, write it on your arm or just repeat it to yourself. Bonus points, if it also makes you laugh. My personal favorite is yelling, “Serenity now!” (Try not to feel better after that. It’s impossible.)
Leave the room. I’ve had parents express concern about this, because it seems similar to a timeout. The difference is, a timeout is a controlled response by the parent to the child. Leaving the room is helpful when you know you can’t control your response, and it will be less damaging to your connection with your child than what you might otherwise say or do. Take deep breaths, scream into a pillow, whatever you need to do to calm down. When you come back — or before you go, if you’re able — you can explain to your child what happened: For example, “I was feeling frustrated, and I needed to take a break to calm down.” This can be a great opportunity to open a dialog with your child about negative feelings and healthy ways to deal with them.

Even with these tricks, don’t expect to be a perfect parent all the time. We all make mistakes. Just be sure to take time to reconnect with your child when you do. Try to keep your stress levels low by taking time for yourself, and do the best you can.

Parent like nobody’s watching

Every now and again, we parents are called upon to respond to something for which we are not prepared. Maybe we didn’t anticipate a particular comment from our child or maybe his behavior is outright embarrassing.

In these moments, we have a choice: We can hide under the table and freak out, we can blush and back out the door of the grocery store, or we respond with creativity and calm—maybe even with a sense of humor.

At the end of the day, it’s our children who remember our reactions, who absorb our behavior and who will benefit from a deep breath, followed by a positive response.

There’s a quote I like to keep in mind, one that has been attributed to many people. No one really knows who the real author is:

You’ve gotta dance like there’s nobody watching,
Love like you’ll never be hurt,
Sing like there’s nobody listening
And live like it’s heaven on earth.

It sounds like a prescription for happiness and the ability to live your truth. What if I changed the quote up just a tad?

You’ve gotta parent like there’s nobody watching,
Love so they’ll never feel alone,
Sing like your children are listening
And live like they’re heaven on earth.

Parenting as a profession can become tedious. Every day, we wake up to the same smiling faces—or possibly the same cranky faces, as some kids need more time in the morning before they feel like smiling. We pour the same cereal, flip the same pancakes and kiss the same boo-boos. Even though the day is different, the parenting responses can become predictable, easy, comfortable…and stale.

Once in a while, wouldn’t it be refreshing to parent like there’s nobody watching? Like our neighbors’ opinions won’t affect how we joke around or play with our kids? Because, the truth is, we should be concerned with making memories for our kids, not for our neighbors.

We should be enjoying the daily rituals, rather than robotically going through the motions. We get one shot at creating a childhood for our kids. And wouldn’t it be great if the memories cemented in their minds didn’t solely revolve around holidays and birthdays? We can choose to parent creatively each and every day.

Lately my 4 year old has decided that her pajamas are super comfortable and that she’d prefer to wear them on any given day. I thought about it for a moment and told her that she can wear whatever she wants, unless we’re going to a family affair or taking a family portrait, in which case I do insist on approving the outfit choices of all the kids.

When I picked up my 10 year old later that day, she pointed at her little sister with a questioning glance: “Is she feeling OK?” I told her that yes, she was, in fact, fine. “Then what’s with the pajamas?” she inquired. “She is happy dressed like that, and doesn’t she look cute?” I replied.

There are many directions this situation could have gone. I could have fought with my 4 year old over her clothes and been late in picking up my 10 year old, with a tantrumming kid in the car and probably a bad attitude myself. I could have joked with my 10 year old about how silly my younger child looked in pajamas and rain boots. But what is the benefit of either of these reactions?

Am I worried about what other people will think? Or the real question: Am I more worried about other people, or am I more worried about my daughter’s experience?

As parents, this can be a great opportunity to be honest with ourselves and separate our true feelings from our insecurities.

I have four lovely children. We make teeth-brushing an essential part of our morning and evening routine, but it is common for my kids to fight brushing teeth. I used to sit down and explain about cavities, dental visits and oral health. But those things are much more meaningful to me than to my kids. Then a friend suggested I let them know that their toothbrush needed a good meal.

“He is hungry, and wouldn’t it be nice to give him a taste of your yummy dinner?” I began to say. My 4 year old now tells her toothbrush what’s on the menu and can’t wait to share her goodies with Mr. Toothbrush!

The examples are endless. How many times have I been stuck in line at the store with a cart full of items I actually need and have no intention of leaving behind? Then, all of a sudden, my baby decides he’s had enough of this shopping business. I have been known to bust out some tunes, singing a favorite Beatles song to my cranky 9 month old while waiting to pay.

Who is going to remember that sweet gesture? Myself and my baby. And if anyone else has a takeaway, it will most likely be positive. I just might inspire a mother waiting in the lane next to me to play Peek-A-Boo with her restless toddler.

So parent like nobody’s watching.

Or better yet, parent like only your kids are watching. And sing like they’re the only ones listening. Because most of the time, they are the only ones paying attention.

Messy, glorious motherhood

They say when you become a mom, you change. I am sure just about every one of us has experienced that. It is awe-inspiring to come to the realization that just as our actions shape our children, our interactions with our children also continue to shape us.

My heart loves more deeply, my mind works more creatively — albeit a little slower at times — and my life seems all the more vibrant since embarking on my journey as a mother.

The other day, I had a revelation of sorts.

No mother likes to see her child suffer. A sick child is like a stone upon the heart of the mother. Her heart becomes heavy, and their pain becomes hers. Even as I type this, my child lays sleeping next to me after another night of unrest. It is cold and flu season, and this is nothing new. However, my perspective is.

I have come to find that, even in the most unpleasant of parenting moments, my heart is still full and the moments are nonetheless glorious. Now don’t get me wrong — I hate seeing my child not feeling well, but there is undoubtedly still beauty to be found even when the situation is of less savory nature.

Yesterday, for instance, I had just gotten my 3-year-old daughter down for a nap. She had slept poorly the night before, and I lay next to her softly stroking her hair, preparing to drift off myself. I said a silent prayer of thanks that she was able to get some much needed rest. I lay there, inhaling the sweet scent of baby shampoo that I have come to love so dearly.

She had been sleeping for no more than five minutes when she began another violent coughing spell. I rubbed her back and whispered words of comfort, hoping it would be over soon and that she would drift back to sleep.

In a matter of seconds, however, I found myself sliding my arms underneath of her and throwing her over my shoulder as she began to vomit from coughing so much. Her eyes filled with tears, she began to sob out of fear and vomit slowly poured down my back onto the freshly changed sheets.

We sat a few moments…both scared and shaken. I rocked and consoled her and then cleaned her up before carrying her to the couch for cuddles and cartoons.

What struck me so vividly in that moment, however, was what it felt like to be so loved and so needed that for a minute: I was all that mattered to this precious child. Her love and need for me is so much that even though my presence may not be able to physically make things better — I can’t take away her cough or her fever — in that moment it was all she needed…to know that because I was there, everything was going to be fine.

What a privilege it is to mean so much to someone.

As she looked up at me with those big blue eyes, arms still clasped around my neck, she said, “Thank you mommy, I love you.” And with that, I knew that this was a moment to be treasured.

Despite the fact that I was covered in vomit and that I had just washed the sheets, I never once thought, “I need a shower,” or “Well, this sucks.” I simply thought how lucky I am to be the one holding my child. How lucky I am to be the recipient of such pure love. How lucky I am to be a mom.

Motherhood is messy, motherhood is hard, motherhood is challenging but motherhood is so very GLORIOUS!

Mirroring

“I see your hand is squeezing his toy. Your face is getting very red. Your feet are stomping the ground.”

There’s something very reassuring about being seen and affirmed like this.

Describing what you observe is happening in a non-dramatic, non-judgmental tone of voice is called mirroring, and can be used as a positive discipline technique as well as an attunement exercise in learning how to respond with sensitivity.

The simple act of mirroring can be very helpful to prompt someone out of their “reptilian” midbrain and into more rational thinking and behavior.

We can also mirror what our child says: “So you’re extremely angry because he got a bigger bowl? I heard you say that you want the same size as he gets. Is that right? You feel he always gets better things.”

Reflecting back to someone what they’ve said is a quick way to help them feel heard and understood. And when we feel that way, we have less reason to do big, disruptive things to get our needs met.

Like any positive discipline technique, mirroring shouldn’t be the only tool in the parenting toolbox and it shouldn’t be used too early during a meltdown, or too often. After all, we want our children to fully feel their feelings and process them. But at a certain point — discerned by a connected parent — mirroring can really de-escalate a blow-up.

Mirroring works so well in my family, that I even appreciate it when my spouse does it for me! I probably wouldn’t appreciate it very much if a stranger or mere acquaintance began giving me their view of my play-by-play, but in an intimate, trusting relationship, one or two observations can generate just enough of a pause for calmness to get a foot in edgewise. Or it might prompt the last explosive outburst and then calmness.

Mirroring also encourages self-reflection. Self-reflection could be described as mirroring for oneself.

I sometimes forget to do it, but I’m training myself to remember: When I’m feeling big, bad feelings, I need to stop. And access the feeling. And name the feeling. And acknowledge the feeling. Then go on. It’s like the feelings are trapped inside, zinging and pinging around, but naming them gives them an escape route. Very cool.

As someone who has practiced meditation for a long time — another excellent parenting tool! — I’ve always benefited from attempting to become a “witness” or “observer” to my life. I think mirroring is helping my kids develop this mentally healthy ability, too.

Emotions and feelings can get very big and amorphous. Getting grounded in our bodies is a “state-regulating” tool that will help me and my children for our lifetimes.