Every Thursday, we hope that you enjoy “The Joy Factory: Insights on Joyful Parenting (Among Other Things)” by Ruthie Yarme. More about Ruthie below.
We are in the midst of some big feelings between our kids right now. I am not sure what brings on this cycle, but more and more arguments have been finding their way into our daily play.
I happen to be an older sibling, so I have a natural understanding of Isabella’s frustrations. Her complaints: Andre copies her; he “always” gets his way; he “never” gets in trouble; she “always” gets in trouble. I remember those feelings and “get” that sometimes she feels that her only recourse is to ignore him and emotionally push him away.
As I watch Andre, I am gaining an understanding of the particular challenges of being the younger one. He just wants to be near her, doing everything that she does. To Isabella, it is copying. To Andre, it is adoring her. From that perspective, being ignored and pushed away breaks his heart and infuriates him in equal measure.
As we were driving in the car tonight, I heard the cycle continue as harsh words and some very vocal frustration began to emanate from the back seat. Big feelings afoot.
We pulled into our driveway and tried to talk about what was going on. A year ago (a month ago, maybe even last week), Andre’s frustrations may have culminated in a yelling fit, definitely accompanied by a face squished up to try to appear “mean.”
Yet tonight, he managed to say, “I feel like Isabella doesn’t love me. She says mean things to me and that makes me mad and it makes my heart hurt.”
Adam and I were both pretty amazed that Andre was able to express his feelings so clearly and openly. As we moved from car to house, we told him that we really saw how he was able to share his feelings this time and that we appreciated it.
And then, it happened. Isabella started to cry, feeling that we were giving Andre extra attention and that by praising him, we were criticizing her. Praise for one means criticism for the other; Attention to one means ignoring the other.
Together, we sat on the stairway, all four of us. The crux of our problem lay openly before us. Our children believe that there is a finite amount of attention and love to be had. Each child “knows” that the other child receives the lion’s share. It’s all a zero-sum game to them.
Adam asked Isabella if it felt like we were shining a flashlight of attention on Andre. “Yes, and when you shine it on him, it can’t shine on me.”
I reflected back to her, “Does it feel like there are only ten pieces of love? Before Andre was born, you had all ten; and now you only have half?”
“No, Mom, it feels like he has even more.”
Before having children, I had a similar understanding of love, so I really heard what she was saying. And yet, as a mother, I know that love is limitless. Having Isabella and Andre was like being the Grinch, except that my heart didn’t grow six sizes that day, it expanded to encompass the Universe itself.
It would be so easy if I could just make the Grinch analogy and they would instantly feel loved. But in order for them to feel it, words aren’t enough. I needed to tap into that Universe-sized love that I have for them and wait until it was so present that it washed over us all.
From a place of presence, we reflected back to them, over and over. We let them know that we understood how hard it is to feel like there isn’t enough to go around. We let them know that we saw their sadness and frustration…that we understood from where that sadness and frustration came.
And somehow, through all of the reflecting, through all of the accepting of their sadness and worry, their frustration and anger, the real truth about love started seeping into all of our hearts.
As we listened, as we were still, as we all sat with the moment (which at times was sad and hard), the love in our hearts expanded and grew, pushing and bulging to the surface, filling the space within us and around us. Parents listening to kids; kids listening to parents; siblings listening to each other created the space where ten little pieces of love morphed into a universe filled with the stuff.
Before we knew what had happened, we were snuggling and laughing. Andre wanted me to tickle and hug him. Next to us, Adam and Isabella giggled and played. Words were never spoken about the transition from sadness to glee. We just knew that the transition had occurred and reveled in the love that surrounded us.
Ruthie Yarme is a homeschooling mom, living in Santa Cruz, CA. She delights in walking among the towering Redwoods; watching her dog, Ginger, romp along the Pacific; listening to her husband play music of all styles; and pretty much doing anything with her two amazing gurus, Isabella and Andre.
You can find Ruthie’s essays here every Thursday. She would love to hear your thoughts on parenting, partnering and joyful living. Feel free to contact her at moc.camnull@emray
