My kids have had their own lesson in perspective.
Growing up with a parent who had died provided a healthy dose of perspective. Meaning, anything bad that happened in my life was never that bad. It sounds dark and twisty, but in reality I think this is one of the aspects of myself I am most proud of as an adult. For every anxious meltdown I have or depressive episode that occurs, I am able to refocus my attention on all in my life that is good, and turn myself around to continue working on joy. So far, this has kept me on track, mostly happy, and to this point, mostly off prescription drugs. I never say never, but so-far, so pill-free.
Yesterday, my Middle One had a serious attack of The Monday. He started the day upset over a perceived injustice at an awards’ ceremony and ended it in a full on lather over the inequity caused by a mishandled town baseball team.
In both cases, I did my best to provide my son with perspective. In the case of the award I reminded him how deserving the winner was while also commending him for his efforts which were still great, even if he didn’t catch what he thought was the ultimate prize. At baseball, I quickly sympathized with the feeling one gets when a bad coach nearly ruins a good sport. (Been there, done that.) Then, in both cases, I tried to point out all that was good about both school and sports and talk him out of his continued pity spiral so he could go on with his day.
Both times I drove away, back to work, fretting over whether I had allowed him to feel enough. Sure, it’s important to focus on all that is good, but not if it means ignoring the feelings that are bad. After all, every time I refocus on the positive in my life I have typically melted down into a full two or three choruses of Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen. I don’t often wrap others up in my Whoa is Me moments, but they exist and they have a full sound track. Trust me.
The funny thing is, in both cases I wanted nothing more than to pick him up and carry him home for a good snuggle on the couch. Maybe that would have been best. I certainly would have liked it better. But instead I chose to provide the perspective I got when I was four. The one that reminds me that while this is tough, life is mostly good so let’s move on and get back to living.
In the end, he had a great time at baseball. I got a report from the babysitter that because he saw his friends from soccer at the tryout too, it was great (talk about perspective). When I got home late last night, the award that he did win was proudly hung on the bulletin board, so I suspect he’s found his way out of that too. Neither of these things stopped me from curling up next to him in bed and whispering into his ear how fine it is to feel bad, how he was right to be upset and how no matter what, I would be there in the morning to help sort it all out if he wanted.
I’m not sure he heard me but at least I said my peace. My fingers were crossed that those are the words that seeped into his dreams, not the ones about how long he should or shouldn’t feel. Next time, I may just give him more time to hurt before I push him toward perspective. I just hope I get another chance, even though it means he might have to be disappointed.
I once heard parenting described as wearing your heart on the outside. Mine broke twice yesterday, so I think that description is pretty spot-on. Good thing I can refocus on all the ways it also swells with pride and joy or I may try to stuff my heart back inside.
Perspective.
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Sometimes, a little pity party is the best kind of party. And little parental perspective is the best way to end that party when time is up.
As always, you sum it all up perfectly Nancy!
Judging from the unabashed display of love between your three yesterday at said awards ceremony, you’re clearly doing something right. There’ll be highs and there’ll be lows. We learn valuable lessons from both. Sadly, one of the most lasting lessons one of mine has learned was courtesy of one of those award ceremonies. Sometimes life hurts.
It’s true, it does hurt sometimes and I have to get over letting them learn that. Or maybe I don’t because do moms or dads ever get over a hurt kid? Probably not!
What I learned from my oldest… first, let her wallow. Listen to her blame everyone, everything, what ever she needs to do. It’s so hard to do, but I keep my mouth shut until she stops, starts repeating herself, or it’s been an hour (she’s a teenager now, so it tends to go on and on). If she’s calm, I do offer a different way of looking at it- or part of it- careful not to ever say she was wrong in her perspective. If she’s not calm this comes later. Then, we can always revisit and talk about it more later, but for her, the most important thing is that she feels heard. I remember that from my own days, how I just wanted to be heard and supported.
Agreed, Katey! I say that about adults a lot too-everyone just wants to be heard.
Love this reminder. I often am quick to encourage my daughter to “get over” hurts and move on. But, I also want her to know it is okay to feel things…even hurtful things. Such an important thing to teach children (and remind ourselves).
Thanks. I think the reminding myself is key.:)
The problem with a good writer is that I am a sap and reading a piece like this, thinking about my own slices of heaven has me crying like a baby first thing in the morning. Thanks. And while that’s just a fine cleanse it gets hard to explain when you’re still damp as you walk into a meeting. “Oh that’s just Jeffrey, he’s cries at everything.” I’m so glad my boy is graduating from the charter school in a few days. I have cried for every child at every charter champion event we’ve attend for nine years now. After one such jag years ago my third grader gave me a hug and said, “dad maybe you shouldn’t come to these things anymore.” So naturally I started weeping. Nice work Cristie.
Apologize to your coworkers for me Jeff! Oh, and I cry at every charter champ too-often before it even begins and always for kids that aren’t my own!