Six weeks into the life of this blog, I’m continuing to experiment with voice: how much or little do I put myself into what I write here? How many words do I use to convey an idea? How practical do I get, or, conversely, how flowery?
I’m very much interested to hear your thoughts on such things (comments or emails greatly welcome!).
I say all of this, though, now, because it feels a little bit like the universe is conspiring against anything other than me telling you exactly what I’m learning about trust as I learn it. So I’m going to try to honor that tonight and jump right into a story I’d rather not need to tell.
It has four parts:
Part 1: Prologue
I’ve been sick this week. Full-body aches, throbbing head and ears, sore throat, low fever. Nothing to keep me in bed all day, but enough to make me feel lousy.
My sleep has been really chopped up lately, too, with my own illness and kids having bad dreams and congestion and one deciding that 5am is a good time to be done with a night.
And the kids have been fighting constantly.
And I’ve had PMS.
Part 2: The Mud
Both my kids attend the same preschool – a play-based coop that encourages as much hands-on, tactile learning as little ones can handle in a morning (for us, a great thing).
Yesterday I arrived for pick-up to find my 5-year-old covered from head to toe in mud. He exuberantly showed me the mud-based contraptions that he and his buddy had been working on all day, and then proceeded to fiercely resist any suggestion that now was the time to go home. His buddy joined the resistance with a dirt clod thrown at my head.
On a normal day, pick-up involves wrangling the following things from school, down 1 or 2 blocks, to my car: 5-year-old, 3-year-old, 2 lunch boxes, two grocery sacks of clean or soiled clothing (one for each kid), muddy boots (if used), and various and sundry art and/or building and/or mixing plans.
On a normal day, this is a challenge for me (I laugh at the understatement of that). And I’ve learned that the challenge is made far greater if my 5-year-old has forgotten to eat his lunch.
Yesterday, with prologue pulsing through my veins, the need to get mud cleaned up enough to not destroy our car, and a dear boy who was enjoying what he was doing, had a friend who wanted to see that he continued doing it, and a case of plummeting blood sugars, it pushed me over the edge.
By the time the boy was in his car seat, scratching at his sister who promptly dumped his open container of fruit onto the sandy floor of our car – a move that ensured the boy wouldn’t get one ounce of the sugar I knew he needed in his system – I lost it.
I took my car keys and threw them hard at the passenger seat. I got out of the car, slammed my door as hard as I could, and picked up his fruit to the tune of something like, “I’m sick of you two fighting, and sick of you wasting your stupid food (yes, I said “stupid food”), and sick of [I can’t remember what all else. Much more was said. None of it pretty.]” I slammed his door as hard as I could, got the 3-year-old buckled in and slammed her door as hard as I could and steamed home, a fire-breathing dragon.
Part 3: The Pee
5-year-old wets his bed at 4:15am this morning. Something he only ever does when he’s anxious.
Part 4: The Park
So today we enjoyed a really nice time at a park. I’m still not 100% well, but enough to get out. It rained yesterday, so there was mud again, and there was a boot lost in it, and a little girl with muddy socks, and her muddy boots, and two scooters, and two helmets, and our day bag, and of course my 5 year old to wrangle back to the car by the time the day was through.
And all of that made it to the car but the boy. Who sat playing in the sand, surely testing whether mom could anti up with self control after so much processing about it the day before.
I sat in the car with my daughter – feverish, frustrated. I honked my horn a couple of times to get his attention. Didn’t get a glance.
So I ran to where he was, picked him up, told him how sick I felt and how frustrated and how much I wished he could come when I needed him to come. How running back for him and carrying him made me feel even sicker. He has a soft, soft heart, and felt bad, and asked me to put him down so at least that part of it wouldn’t add to things, and I put him down roughly. He said that hurt his arm. I hissed, “You hurt my whole body.”
I drove home accelerating to the speed limit after each stop by flooring it.
1. How old am I, exactly?
2. How many years of therapy have I had?
3. How many psychology books have I read and how deeply, is it, that I trust and believe in non-violence?
**********************
Both days, after cooling down, I had good conversations with Eli about all angles of these events. I know, though, that no matter what was said afterward, my anger and my harsh words hurt him. Threads between us were damaged. We will have a few days or more where he oscillates between trying to be extra helpful and “good”, and testing me more fiercely than his normal heart-centered self ever feels compelled to do. There might be more bed wetting. The sibling spats could flare.
And I know all of this from experience.
From one perspective, this would be an excellent moment to dig a nice shame pit and think comforting thoughts like: Wow, look what you’ve done. That may never heal. or Couldn’t you dig just a little deeper here, Kristin?
But here’s what I’m thinking instead: This love thing? And trust? I’m in. I’m so completely in. Which means that when I fall on my face, and lose my control, and do real and lasting damage – on any front, parenting and beyond – I’m committed to standing back up when I’m able. To asking for forgiveness. To owning my limitations. To listening to my son, and anyone else that I’ve hurt, tell me about how they feel, and what they need, and what they really don’t want any more of. I’m committed to sharing the same things with them when they inevitably hurt me.
There is a buoyancy to love and trust that gives me so much hope. A resurrection power. Constant feel-good emotions and trust-filled action, in my experience, aren’t part of their deal. But given enough cool-off time, and whatever other time a person needs, there they are, waiting in the wings. Ready to be tended again. And again. And again. And yes, yet again.
This says nothing of whether the people I’ve hurt or who’ve hurt me are ready to engage again. But, when I’m ready to engage it, my trust that it’s okay to be who and what I am is. And, too, my connection with a love that, without judgment or scolding, invites me to live into ever more Life (wholeness, connection, soft-and-unguarded-heartedness, self control…).
Love and trust cannot stay dead. Maybe they can’t ever die. Maybe they’re only ever hidden behind my ego, and once I can soothe her and calm her and catch a glimpse beyond, I see that love, and therefore every reason to trust, are really all there is.
Everything Belongs
Seasons are universal. Treat yours uniquely.
Kristin,
Don’t be hard on yourself. Sometimes things build up and get to a point where you’ve had enough. I think it’s good that you share this about yourself because it shows others (like me) that there’s someone out there with similar situatons, etc. I have a 9-year-old whom I love sooooo deeply, but sometimes she’s so maddening and then I lose it and feel horrible, really horrible, like Wed. night before dance. You sound like a caring a sensitive mom so feel good about that. Feel great about that.
Comment by Jill — February 18, 2011 @ 6:16 amOk. This is really, really good – the writing part, that is.
And you know what, the rest of it is even better. Not the mud, and the words you might not have picked out at the “Good Mother” store, but where you landed.
The love and the trust are there – and you really know that. And the more you stick to your commitment to live this way, the better off everyone is…. truly.
Bravo, Kristin, bravo. The Best Mom of the Day award goes to you…
And love to you…
Comment by Christa — February 18, 2011 @ 6:42 amThat was the most beautiful thing I have ever read. I am a Mom of 3 boys: 14, 11 and 7. I have been in so many similar situations I could cry a river over the flashbacks to the throwing of the keys, the car door slamming and the overwhelming, gut wrenching, life threatening frustration and anger that can overtake you as you wait paitently in moments like waiting on the 5 year old sitting in the sand. Ohmygoodnesskristin. I get it. And I also get the part about progressing. Amen. To finally getting around to losing the ego and forgiveness. And to love. I think that it is hard enough for us just as women; that alone is enough. And then you throw in the Mommy hat and, well, it is just plain a real huge lot for one body and only 2 arms and 2 legs to handle. Every single minute of every single day. I am progressing just like you and I am so happy to have found your blog. One of the best things I have found is that I finally understand that it is OK for our kids to know that Mommys and people are not perfect. That we make mistakes and we forgive. And best of all, how wonderful it is for kids to learn that people are broken, and how wonderful it is becasue when you make mistakes and forgive that is what love is. Right there in the middle of all of it, the mistakes are what teach my kids the definition of love. Thank you for sharing. Oh, one more thing. To the part about how flowery or how open or how deep you should get. My suggestion is to be yourself because if you don’t you won’t be able to hang on very long. Just say what your heart wants you to say and it will be perfection.
Comment by Jen — February 18, 2011 @ 6:58 amGod Bless, Jen
Jill, Christa, Jen, thank you so much for the love. It’s really good to know I’m not alone in these experiences, as much as I wish no kid EVER had to deal with super angry parents.
Comment by Kristin — February 18, 2011 @ 8:07 amThank you for writing about your experience. For sharing and for being able to be honest. You are a beautiful Spirit Kristin. Also, thank you for creating a space online for a community of women to learn, share and grow together. Keep the honesty flowing!
My son is 7, his father and I split up just before he turned 4. We have 50/50 placement and I am lucky that his father and I have a healthy friendship and work together to do the best we can to create as normal as possible a life for our son in two households.
To only have him half of the week is tricky, and when moments like you wrote about happen it seems incredibly hard to deal with the ‘shame’… I will not go into it, but I am doing my best and your blog has been a helpful haven to visit.
I was wondering how (I don’t mean to pry) the interaction with your husband/partner is after feeling and experiencing a day or two like you did with your kids/self?
Thank you for your time and kind heart!
Comment by Angela — February 18, 2011 @ 10:03 amKristin,
Thank you so much for sharing this and for your candor. You are not alone, unfortunately. However, I tend to fall into the shame cycle, which only makes me more unhappy and less fun to be around. Thank you for your example of forgiveness of self (the hardest kind) and your bravery.
Once, when I “lost it” I called my mom sobbing, and I said, “you never yelled at us. You never got mad.” What she said was, “Are you kidding? Don’t you remember the time I hurled the tray of cookies at the wall?”
I didn’t remember. I only remember the love. All moms lose it. Not all moms forgive themselves. And I do believe the forgiveness of ourselves gives our children the gift to forgive themselves too.
Gorgeous post and beautiful writing – don’t change a thing!
xoxo
Comment by pamela — February 18, 2011 @ 5:17 pmAngela, no, ask away. I’ll hold close whatever cards I need to, and will share freely otherwise. My husband and I are on the very same parenting page in terms of what we aim for in our interactions with our kids, and in terms of understanding the challenges inherent to the job (and to our particular wirings). When experiences like I’ve written here happen, we talk after the kids are in bed, trying to find that sweet spot of self compassion and helpful, strategic thinking about how to avoid these kinds of situations in the future. We’re getting better and better at finding that mix, and are feeling s t r e t c h e d every single day as we navigate together.
As for when I feel shame, that, too, has been a process we’ve come a long way in. We’ve both done a lot of inner work, which has had huge costs involved, but one of the benefits is both of us being capable of empathizing with and treating gently feelings of shame in each other. Lest that sound too tidy, the process of exploring said feelings most definitely isn’t. I’m not too keen on *anyone* seeing me blather in such a state. :)
Comment by Kristin — February 18, 2011 @ 5:33 pmPamela, I really love the point you make about shame only making our moods and behavior worse. Whether it makes us more grumpy or makes us fall all over ourselves to try to show that we love our kids, I think it does them a real disservice (and of coarse, not one we always have control over stopping).
Every once in a while I’ll get an unexpected flash of insight and an accompanying opening of a door inside to walk through, though, and this is one that came yesterday after my outburst at the park: I can numb myself, to a large extent, to the shame that’s trying to encircle me, and walk into something else entirely. Something that’s not negating the damage that’s been done or the work I want to put in daily to try to avoid losing self control. It’s an emotional state that’s humble and vulnerable and somehow more light (as in not weighing me down) and more powerful (look! I can interact with my kids as though I’m the mother they need!) than the state that shame puts me in.
And tray of cookies at the wall indeed. Parenting is really, really, *really* hard work.
Comment by Kristin — February 18, 2011 @ 5:46 pmFirst of all I love your talent and simple messages thru your beautiful sketches. Thank you for sharing.
I like that you highlighted ego in green at the end. That ruminated with me. Sometimes when I am sick (Mother of 3) and run down, my ego needs are asking for someone to take care of me. My needs get grand and I can’t grasp pouring into others. This is human. I love your courage to be honest and can relate to days like that. To me it is all part of being human. Give yourself a hugs and rest and thanks for being real not superhuman:)
Tami
Comment by Tami — February 19, 2011 @ 4:06 pmThank you for sharing this much of yourself! There are so many Moms that need to read this and be able to forgive themselves. That is the only way to move past it. I have older boys (11 & 14) and they trust me and know they can be themselves, and they know I will forgive them when they mess up…because they’ve had to forgive me when I’ve had “muddy days”. I’ve actually gotten to the point where I can stop in the middle of upset and laugh, and regroup and ask forgiveness.
Comment by janice — February 21, 2011 @ 6:04 pmWhen your kids are older, you’ll get more sleep, I promise.
Tami, thank you for your words. Wow, I can hardly imagine having more than 2. Here’s to hugs and rest where we can find it!
Janice, thank you, too. Your words about sleep mean the WORLD to me. You have no idea. (or maybe you do… :)
Comment by Kristin — February 21, 2011 @ 10:42 pmThe nice thing about your story is that you certainly aren’t alone. You already know that. We’ve all been there and done that. I seriously doubt that there’s a book that’s been published that talks about the feelings parents have and how sometimes you just can’t take it anymore and you need to let it out on the ones (even little ones) that have pushed you over the edge.
The great thing about kids is that they love you no matter what and few moments in their lives will not scar them forever more. They know that 99.99999% of the time you are there supporting them and loving them during their toughest moments.
Great posting.
Comment by Barry — February 23, 2011 @ 11:10 amBarry, I think you’re so right: parents have all been pushed to and past their limits. We’re human, and the job is objectively one of the toughest ones there is. I have to say, though, that kids loving us no matter what and kids getting wounded by our words and actions feel like two different things to me. The arguments we have with parents, the intensity of their anger, the drip, drip, drip of the annoyance they have with our needs: I think these get into our bones, and are things that effect us – even if largely subconsciously – for lifetimes when left unaddressed.
I’m trying to hold both of these things in tension in my work as a parent – the idea that I’m human and can’t be anything other than that, and the idea that my words and actions are intricately shaping the lives and worldviews of these kids in my care. I don’t want the former to make me lax in the effort I put into growing self control, and I don’t want the latter to make me uptight and afraid about my humanness and the inevitable blow-ups and melt-downs that accompany family life.
Truly, tending trust, on all fronts, is the best prevention and salve I know for any of this.
Comment by Kristin — February 23, 2011 @ 11:41 amThank you so much for creating this space and sharing this story. It is such an inspiration, especially today.
Comment by Alicia — February 28, 2011 @ 8:57 amAlicia, if I hear you right, I hope your day continues more gently than it started. Thank you for your presence here.
Comment by Kristin — February 28, 2011 @ 12:39 pm