Column: How and where to push our children to do hard things?

+ How and where to be a safety net?

Installment #3 of the Wondering (and Wandering Column). Read more here about my intentions behind this column. Such a tender tender question here today.

QUESTION: I grew up with a GIANT emphasis on safety, and while I’m deeply grateful for parents who took great care of me, I didn’t feel I could stand on my own two feet for a long time. They tried to make sure I never struggled long, emotionally or physically, and created a sense that our little family of five was the only “safe” place and the rest of the world was big bad scary dangerous. 

My daughter has suffered immensely, physically, in her (almost) 4 years on the planet. On the one hand, I feel the desire to “extra” protect her, because I have seen first hand what she’s gone through, and I don’t want her to struggle where she doesn’t have to. On the other hand, I believe it is vital that she not feel more vulnerable or fragile than she is. She is an incredibly earnest, curious, vivacious little girl. I am more than ok with scraped knees, dirt under fingernails, letting her feel into her sadness or anger when she can’t have something, etc. But she has always done that with me right by her side. I believe it’s time for her to have more regular peer-to-peer socialization facilitated by adults other than me, so she can see for herself that she is well-resourced even in small doses of “no mom” time. I imagine this will be quite the transition for her, even just a couple days a week.

My question: How and where to push our children to do hard things so they grow in resilience and have a strong sense of capability and agency? How and where to be a safety net so they don’t feel they must “hold their breath” and internalize big emotions because their safest people (ie parents) aren’t around for hours at a time? Striking this balance is of the utmost importance to me, and I’m curious how you navigate this with your own girls, and if you have any advice to offer, a bit further down the road than me.

Dearest Mama Reader,

You are such an astute and loving mother—do you see that? You are a few steps ahead of your daughter—sensing what she is ready for and needs, removing the gnarly, unsurmountable boulders with your strong arms and allowing, with your supple heart, the climbable but slippery rocks to stay in her path. You’ve watched her suffer immensely already and she’s only 4 years old. You are already doing it. You’ve already been doing it.

And, I hear your question.

I actually think we can do both at the same time: push and be a safety net.

First, I’m not a parenting expert. I’ve create a lot of safety and made glorious strides with my own children and I’ve wounded them in big ways I regret. On a micro-level, that reality happens everyday: some moments are slam-dunks, and other tingle my spine and the life-force drains out down my feet. I’m am writing this letter as much to you as to myself and all the parents out there.

Let me start with this morning. My girls crawled into bed with us before getting ready for school. We snuggled, laughed and shared dreams and I thought, Damn, maybe we are doing something right. After breakfast, I let my oldest (who is almost 11) know she had to bring her guitar to school because of the pick-up and timing situation before practice. Usually, we come home to get it. For some reason that felt very real and important to her, it launched her. She tried to skirt around it, come up with alternative solutions, and made it clear that she would absolutely not under no circumstances take her guitar to school. I sensed there was embarrassment. What would other kids say? I tried to ask but was met with a large bull energy. I won’t share the details because she’s at the age where her mom writing about her with specifics publicly isn’t cool and I don’t have her permission. BUT, it ended with me holding the line and her taking her guitar to school and her response towards me about it was large and unhinged. I had to decide in that moment: do I push this, or do I cave and rearrange my day so that she doesn’t have to take it to school? It’s not even about the guitar. It’s so silly and it’s not silly. It felt dire to her and I knew she could climb over that rock. Would it have been easier for me to bend? Absolutely. Once they left for school (my husband takes them in the morning), I sat at my kitchen counter and felt the physical drain, the confusion, the wondering about whether I fucked up?

I don’t have the answer, only that if I had followed her initial impulses and assuaged her fears with everything in her life, she wouldn’t know how to swim, attend school, meet a new friend, trying ordering her meal in Spanish, speak up for herself, or anything. I don’t think it’s my job as a parent to make my daughters comfortable, but to be with them when they navigated those uncomfortable moments, even if being with them means beforehand, when they actually have to do it alone.

That usually means increasing my own distress tolerance for their distress (to a point, obviously). There is the meat of your question.

Last year, I signed them up for swim team. They didn’t know anyone on the team. They had never done it. My oldest could swim but my youngest was a tadpole who had the basics but couldn’t save herself if she fell out of boat. No coaches in the pool. Parents on the side-lines. I had to sit on my hands and let it happen. It was initially a mess in terms of the sister dynamic. Eula, the firstborn protecter, ended up giving me death stares while trolling behind Bo to make sure she didn’t drown. I didn’t ask her to watch over her sister, she just did it. Mom, how could you do this? I could feel her saying. When they told me they were worried, had held their cheeks and said, “I would never put you in a dangerous situation. I’m right here. I trust the coaches. You will be okay.” Eula wasn’t buying it. Bo was splashing her little arms to do the crawl and then holding on to the edge every once in a while to breathe. After a few practices, I pivoted and brought them to separate sessions so that Eula could actually swim and Bo could experience not being saved. I also, privately, thanked Eula for taking care of her sister and also told her that, in a settings with other safe adults, it isn’t her job. At the end of the season, they both felt proud of themselves, like they had gone through “something” and come out the other side.

My point: it is messy.

I’m sharing these stories to put myself in the ring with you and because you asked.

On the flip side, there are time where I haven’t held a boundary I should have. Bo, from the moment she was born, wanted to be on someone else’s body. Mine in particular. It didn’t bother me—probably because at that time I needed some physical comfort myself and she had a mellow disposition so it was easy. But that turned into her sitting on me at playdates for an hour and really struggling with separation on the first two weeks of any school. That has changed (mostly), but a few friends recently said to me, “You were so patient with her” and it struck me that I had missed some possible opportunities. I could have gently encouraged her earlier. At face value, she’s actually a super engaging, story-telling, personable, connecting kid. I could have pushed more and earlier. In other moments, I’ve been too severe too fast (see below). I’m still learning my kids and it comes down to that for me: learning my particular child.

Parenting, to me, feels to be both basic (sort of like morality) and child dependent.

Here are some ideas for you:

• Let her know what the plan is. This one comes from a Flora McCormick. She’s an incredible parenting counselor local to my town. I partook in some group coaching with her when our family was struggling after my blood transfusion. When you introduce a new environment or situation for your daughter, especially one that doesn’t involve you, you can use words like, “You are showing me that you are ready for this. It’s so exciting.” One of my friends demonstrates this beautifully. She will say, This is what we are doing, without any waffling or wobbling on her part. It’s the plan and she sticks to it. But she’s kind when she says it. I learn so much from watching her. One of her children went through a extreme high-anxiety period and didn’t want to go to school (there was nothing or no one at school harming) and my friend said, “Nope, you are going to school.” However, she was gentle in disposition and put in place many supports around pick-up and at school and with counseling—and her child got through that phase and came out the other end. If she had let her child stay home for days or weeks or all year, it would have turned out very differently. Her child is now a resilience kid who knows how to get through a hard thing. But my friend had to be sure and steady in herself and clear with her child.

• Titrate it. Ease in, but you can do it in chunks. Titration is an important way of honoring the nervous system. For your daughter, perhaps begin with concentric circles of safety. Have her test out environments with other adults in small doses: start with a morning with someone she knows who isn’t you. Then lots of positive reinforcement about how she did that. Then, “graduate” her to a larger pool. A larger group. Newer adults. I do believe that kids can also adjust when they are thrown into the middle of something as long as there are enough resources on board so it doesn’t feel too soon too much too fast. Sometimes it will be too much, and you’ll have to backpedal. One of my daughters is super highly sensing of other people: she knows. When she was 18-months, I wanted to start talking about race and our whiteness in context early and read her a bunch of picture books at once. In the illustrations, she saw angry White people chiding and demeaning young Black children going to school and she didn’t understand. Even though I was giving her the story and the words, the images overloaded her. She wasn’t speaking sentences yet so all she could do was slam the book shut and shake her head. I was horrified until I realized that she was scared and confused and I needed to drip (or titrate) that conversation into everyday life instead of have a “sit down dive in” moment. That was an edge for me because I was sitting with the fact that it was my privilege, as a white woman, to choose to dose it for her. There was no indicator or experience in her life of her race affecting her or others at all. Ultimately though, I realized that if I went in full force and shut her down around it, the outcome would be worse for her and the world. Since then, we talk about race all the time, almost everyday (aka small doses instead of “the big conversation”) so now my girls, at least for kids living in Montana, are fairly adept at discussing and being around conversations about race that might make other white people uncomfortable. Religion and sex too. Those are everyday topics. For your daughter, what are the ways you can create building blocks for her as she learns to navigate the world without you have such a close watch?

• Narrate her to herself. I love doing this with my kids: Whoa, you are so capable, you figured out, you asked for help when you needed it, you didn’t give up, you listened to your body. As your daughter learns to test herself without you right by her side, you can tell her what you’ve heard. “I heard from x adult that you did y all by yourself. You really are such a brave kid.” Of course, there is nuance in here because there are many definitions of brave. She could also be brave because she opted out of something that didn’t feel good for her. You get to help her build that idea of brave for herself. Last week, my youngest Bo came home telling me that one of her Christian friends at school told her that she should be a Christian otherwise she would go to hell. Her friend was honestly concerned for her. On the playground, the other Christian kids started agreeing and Bo stood, the only non-church going kid, surrounded by kids telling her she would go to hell. Bo didn’t know what hell was. I explained and we chatted and she talked with my Mom (who raised my brothers and me on a combo of Catholic Church + convo about reincarnation as fact and ascended beings). Then Bo went back to school and sorted it out. She told her friend, “We’re different and we’re the same. I’m like you. I’m kind and loving and I believe in a great spirit. I don’t believe in hell but you can believe in hell and we can still be friends.” Her friend actually responded by saying, “Wow, I’ve never thought about it that way.” I was so proud of her and I narrated back to her the she is the kind of kid who is curious and open and strong enough to have hard conversations and get to the other side of them. One other example that might relate for your daughter is around having gone through medical hardship. I recount to Eula all the time how the nurses thought she was going to be born blue and not breathing. When she came out, she was pink and solid and one of the nurses said, “That’s a strong baby.” Same thing when we took her to the ER for a significant burn on her arm. Maybe there’s a way you can narrate for your daughter the ways her body has been so resilient. Specific stories help because they create images and the brain latches onto those and creates a felt-sense in the body.

• Yes/and. In terms of pushing, here is one of my favorites, learned from Flora also. It’s similar to the first one above. Essentially you are saying that you are acknowledging any resistance from your kiddo and then saying we are going to do it anyway. Recently, we had to go into a new social situation and Eula was groaning about how she wanted to make herself invisible in the glovebox of the car. I kept rubbing her back and saying, “I know, it’s normal to feel afraid in this situation, that makes total sense to me, [pause, pause, pause] and we are still going to do it.” Someone gave me the phrase, That makes sense. I use it all the time and pair it with, “and we are going to do it anyway.” Yep, you really hate having to the dishes, yeah, that’s true, [pause, pause, pause] and it’s what has to get done. *I’m not always that measured. Sometimes, when I’m tired or digging super deep myself, it sounds more like, “I don’t care if you don’t want to do the dishes, do them.”

• Notice the shifts out-loud. Anytime you see her negotiate something without your help, notice it aloud but casually.

• Trust. I also learn about the sweet spot between allowance and encouragement by watching my husband whose timing is impeccable. I tend to move in more quickly to manage or fix and he just knows. He can wait, wait, wait and trust.

Ultimately, our children are humans too. We aren’t any different from them. I keep reminding myself that.

I hope those stories were helpful.

I meet my children’s edges everyday and have to adjust and then decide whether I have the capacity in the moment to encourage them past their edges. Some days (or months) I don’t. Other times, I do.

Also, watch others and track yourself. Do you like how another parent is handling a situation? How do you know you like it? What sensations in your body feel pleasing to you? When people say to trust your own intuition as a parent, I think we can’t do so in a vacuum. That intuition comes alive by watching others and responding internally.

My cousin always tells herself in challenging moments, “You’re doing a great job.”

I offer that to you and everyone else.

You. Are. Doing. A. Great. Job.

Love,