The Hardest Child to Parent

– by Penny E

 

“I didn’t mean to break it!” KRB was cowering before me, waiting for her punishment to come crashing down. Clearly in fight or flight mode, she was waiting to see what I would do.

A year ago, I would have spanked her. I would have yelled. I would have sent her to her room for time out and fumed the whole time that I cleaned up that broken plate. I would have roared with all the frustration and anger I was feeling at that moment, and I would have TERRIFIED her.   Then, I would have felt guilty.

Today, I gritted my teeth and breathed for a few minutes. I felt that familiar rage well up inside me, and I dug deep, trying to let it go. I reminded myself of the “RIE” steps to take, and then, when I was ready,  I turned to KRB and told her “I know you didn’t mean to break it. Next time, please be more careful when handling the dishes. Why don’t you help me clean this mess up by going and getting the broom?” and we cleaned it up together. It was a moment of connection, a lesson of personal responsibility learned by watching me.

I am a reforming parent. I used to spank. I used to use time-out. I used to yell, and rage. I let out all my feelings onto my children without exactly knowing what they were or why they were there. I was a loving parent, but I was also a guilty parent. I held a lot of anger, and had nowhere to direct it but at the innocent children who were in my care.

Parenting can be a very therapeutic experience. It has a way of shining a light on your deepest darkest secrets, and giving you the choice of hiding in the darkness of your past by repeating it, or pulling yourself and your child into the light. While ABB was in middle school, she and I would fight constantly. One major point of contention was her grades. I was constantly nagging her to do her homework and turn it in. I would get angry when she would not do what I considered to be her best. I would stalk her facebook, snoop through her text messages and self-righteously yell at her when I found something “inappropriate”. I thought that I was doing a good job by encouraging her to reach her full potential, and by “protecting” her from “getting in trouble” on the internet. And then one day, I looked at her and I saw myself.  I saw in her eyes the frustration I felt when my mother told me I hadn’t done my best, and I had legitimately tried. I saw on her face the anger at the violation of privacy I felt when my own mother had looked through my personal messages.  I don’t share a lot of my life with my mother for the way she judged me, stalked me, and belittled me. Was I doing the same thing to ABB? Absolutely. No wonder our fights felt oddly familiar. I was hurting ABB in the same way that I was hurt. I was continuing the cycle of abuse.

I have many examples like this.  Many of them are embarrassing, both for me and for the child. I wasn’t being kind to them, that was obvious. It was easy to look at my behavior towards them and feel guilty. It was easy to say “I need to do better.” What wasn’t easy was figuring out what needed to change. I thought maybe I needed more patience. Maybe I needed to be nicer. I thought that maybe I just had a fundamental flaw in my personality, and we were all simply doomed.   It took me forever to realize was that in order to be kind to them, I had to be kind to myself.

I am angry. I am angry that my mother hit me. I am angry that my mother violated my privacy over and over again. I am angry that I was never allowed personal boundaries.  I am furious that despite me begging for help, no one heard me. I am angry that even now, no one will acknowledge that what I went through was abuse. That my mother can’t admit that my childhood was anything less than perfect. I am feeling the rage bubble up as I’m writing this. There are so many old wounds that never healed. So many feelings that were never validated. What I want is the people who lived my childhood with me to see it as I saw it. I want my mom to apologize for hitting me. I want my dad to admit that he should have stood up for me. For my brother to ask if I was ok, instead of why I didn’t just go along with what my mother said. For the countless counselors to hear me, instead of just telling me that clearly my mother loved me and I was just ungrateful. I will likely never get any of that. So I have to learn to heal those wounds myself. Like a toddler struggling with walking, I need to let myself struggle with these memories. Slowly, I am learning to give myself that emotional space to experience the emotions, and let them go.

The gift of RIE is that you get to consider yourself. Most philosophies are polarizing, prioritizing the parent or the child and sacrificing the other, but with RIE, both are prioritized. In order to take care of your child, you must first take care of yourself. In the end, everybody’s needs are met. For me, the most important application of this comes in times of stress. It comes when the kids “mess up” or “act out”.  RIE gives me the space to step back for a minute, and tell my inner child -who is raging-  that its ok. It gives me a minute to dig deep and create space for the feelings. I can cry. I can rage. I can whine. I need to be kind to that inner child, so that I can turn around and show the actual child in front of me that same kindness.

If you are struggling, all is not lost. Each day, I am presented with new challenges. These challenges often bring to light some of my darkest moments. I am struggling too. So often, we get caught up in the facade of wanting to be the “perfect parent” and not wanting to admit defeat in the eyes of facebook, twitter, or our children, spouses and parents. I am not a perfect parent. Instead, I am a growing parent, a healing parent, a reforming parent. As I gently parent my inner child, I am learning to be a respectful parent.