Mom Song

Just as every bird has its own song, every mama has her own way, poem, journey of parenting. This is my mom song.

[momsongblog]

The Most Important Parenting Tool You May be Overlooking

Part One: Definition

Laura sat on her knees, her legs folded under her, pressed against the hard gymnasium floor.  Her weight shifted side to side to find comfort just as much as her eyes darted across the room to look for disapproving glances. Instead, whispers came from behind: “It’s so disgusting.  Why doesn’t she shave her legs?” one girl snickered to another.

Laura had thought about her gym grade based solely on participation.  Should she risk failure?  She wouldn’t have to get up—which would draw less attention to her—but then she’d ruin the only thing that made her feel good in middle school: getting straight A’s.  So she let the tension out of her shoulders and stood up to join her classmates during team selection.  More academic than athletic in nature, Laura was often the last to be picked by the jocks on the team but knew that her chubbiness, awkwardness, and unseemly hairy legs also made her the most undesirable choice.  She held her breath until her name was finally called.  “…and I guess we’ll take Hairy Legs,” the team captain announced defeated without looking up.  The entire class laughed on cue like a sitcom.  Laura’s stomach tightened like a fist, hard and throbbing. With pursed lips, she forced herself to smile because it prevented the further embarrassment that came with crying.

*

“Please, can I shave my legs?” Laura asked looking at the floor in front of her mom.  She had seen razors in the shower but was nervous about how to use them without cutting herself.

“You don’t need to do that.” her mom said boldly, plainly.  “You have blonde hair, and no one can see it.”

“But the girls at school can see it.  I can see it.”

“No, you can’t.  Not compared to my thick, dark hair.  If you shave it, it will only come in thicker and darker.  You don’t want that.  Trust me.” Her mom stood firmly planted, thick in stature and dark in the illuminated hallway.

Laura knew what she wanted, but her mom did not hear her as usual.  She swallowed hard and walked away.

There was no point in bringing it up again.  She’d have to find another way.

***

There are many lenses through which to view this story.  One lens is objective: This is a typical teenage/parent situation—the girl is belittled at school and her mother doesn’t understand her plight.  Another lens is through the mother’s eyes: The daughter was exaggerating because she doesn’t understand the bigger picture.  Blonde body hair on a woman is more socially acceptable; dark body hair is definitely not acceptable.  If the mother could go back in time, she would have delayed shaving or wouldn’t have shaved at all.  She wouldn’t have allowed peer pressure to push her into shaving early, causing the hair to grow back thicker, darker, causing her to shave more frequently because of the more noticeable hair.  Laura needed, deserved to know these things; the mother’s parents didn’t tell her these things when she was young.  

Yet another lens is through the daughter’s eyes.  The story, of course, is already her point of view, but there’s always more to a story. Laura felt intimidated to ask her mom intimate questions about handling her changing adolescent body.  Compounded with the typical teen feelings of embarrassment, uncertainty, and peer rejection at school, Laura felt rejected by her mother.  She needed her mother to teach her womanly ways without laughing at her concerns, bulldozing her feelings, and reframing her questions.  Every new issue she brought to her mother was met with crossed arms and condescension.  So Laura eventually stopped talking to her mom and tried to figure things out by herself—including other, bigger health questions and problems as she got older.  She lost both her trust and confidence in her mother.

All these lenses both coexist and overlap.  There isn’t a right way or a wrong way of looking at this story; each person (including the objective outsider) has his or her own experience, own point of view. However, consequences can occur when the lens of one—particularly if it includes strong feelings—is not considered by the other—and particularly in a close relationship such as romantic partners, best friends, and parents/children.

In the brain, emotional pain is processed in a similar way to physical pain—specifically, a chemical pain-inhibitor is released—proving that emotional pain does indeed hurt.1 Further, people react stronger to incidences of emotional rejection than incidences of physical pain, leading them to become more sensitive long-term.2 The girl, therefore, was genuinely hurt by the ridicule and rejection from her peers and turned to her mother for solace and a solution, but her mother also disregarded her lens, her words and feelings—and evidently not just in this instance.  This pattern of social rejection at school and emotional disregard at home continued for several years.  It led Laura into anxiety, depression, and body dysmorphia starting in high school and lasting for decades.

For those of you that may not know me, I will introduce myself.  My name is Laura—and this blog is my story of motherhood looking through the lens of my childhood.

The starting line for all parents is the way they were raised, and that path will continue unless an intentional detour is made.  When my son was born I made a swift turn down an uncharted road and haven’t looked back. Informed by parenting books, articles, blogs, and mom groups, I noticed a resounding message, a language, and a tool that not only informed me how to work through the emotional pain of my childhood, but also how to be a better friend and spouse and be the kind of mother my son needs.  It’s something we actually all need.

Empathy.

According to Dr. Brené Brown, LWSW, research professor, “empathy is feeling with people.”3 Empathy leads to connection; connection leads to trust; and trust builds secure relationships.  That is not to say that a relationship is impossible without empathy. Empathy is the language of the highest quality human interaction and relationships. It diffuses tension and simultaneously creates or strengthens the connection between strangers, acquaintances, neighbors, friends, or family.  Simply, it is the language of perfect love, sometimes referred to as agape.

The problem is most people do not understand empathy.  Most people are uncomfortable with negative emotions (whether within themselves or encountered by others), so we associate emotional support with minimizing and toughening, saying things like “This is your life right now” or “Cheer up! Things could be worse.” or “You’ll get over this eventually.” when someone approaches us with his or her troubles. This response most often stems from good intentions as we naturally prefer to live positively and so we remind others to “take the high road” and “seek the silver lining,” yet this technique can be toxic: at the micro level it can perpetuate an unhealthy emotional pattern of shame (I am a bad person for feeling or doing _____); isolation (I don’t feel like sharing); and avoidance (I don’t want to feel _____, so I’ll do _____ instead), and at the macro level it can stigmatize mental illness as an emotional choice perpetuating the belief that happiness is everyone’s personal responsibility.4

In contrast, empathy often uses validation or the communication of acceptance which calms the emotional storm that rages inside us.  It does not eliminate our feelings, yet it turns down their volume and its hold on our logical brain whether we are empathetic with ourselves or with others. The irony is that acknowledging negative emotions and giving it space to exist results in emotional resilience and overall increased psychological health.5

If the quality of life mostly depends on the quality of relationships, imagine the power of empathy in your life.  Imagine an understanding boss who “gets you”—wouldn’t you be motivated to do more? Imagine family and friends who validate your feelings when you confide in them—wouldn’t you feel wholly supported and loved?  Imagine a partner who reflects your emotions more than s/he rejects your emotions—wouldn’t your love, your bond grow stronger?  Now imagine your child[ren] cooperating, listening more and having fewer emotional episodes—that’s because you meet his/her/their emotions with empathy and modeled emotional intelligence.

In past generations, society was expected to follow authority blindly; children were expected to be seen and not heard.  Although we are overall more critical of authority today, the residue of strict obedience is still found in our parenting expectations: whenever we set a boundary—“Don’t do that!”—and are ignored—the child does that anyway—we are offended; our authority feels challenged; and we push back by yelling, punishing the perpetrator, making stricter rules.  In older children, our reaction can lead to a dead-end power struggle, so-called rebellion, and negative emotional patterns.  Paradoxically, the parenting shortcut to child cooperation is crafted connection, not compulsory compliance, and that connection is forged through empathy.

The knowledge of empathy presents a great tool for those who want to apply it to any relationship.  The next article (Part Two) will discuss what empathy in parenting looks like and how to use it.  Stay tuned!

Sources:

1.       https://www.pnas.org/content/pnas/108/15/6270.full.pdf

2.       https://www.forbes.com/sites/nicolefisher/2015/12/25/rejection-and-physical-pain-are-the-same-to-your-brain/#5c35ab934f87

3.       https://youtu.be/1Evwgu369Jw

4.       https://themighty.com/2016/04/happiness-as-a-choice-meme-feeds-stigma-around-mental-illness/

5.       https://www.thecut.com/2017/08/youll-be-happier-if-you-let-yourself-feel-bad.html?fbclid=IwAR2R0Ypzq-VCoSFI2zsZWCqzFdq82jmQ18Na9Y19tAU1-fNrSHszIiO9QTo

[momsongblog]

Part Two: How to release your angry mama button

One evening as I was shopping by myself in Target, I overheard and saw a mom with two littles, a boy and a girl, both probably under the age of four.

The girl, the younger, wailed. The mom pleaded with her: "Why are you crying? What do you want?!"

Then later, to both children she shouted: "No, stop doing that. Put both hands on the cart. No. Both hands. No, okay then we're not buying the pajamas!" as the mom flung the clothes on the ground.

The boy in the cart sat frozen, blankly staring. The girl started to cry again and reached her hands out to mom.

"No, I'm not picking up you. Sit down," she commanded with crossed arms.

As I walked into the next aisle, I started to cry.

I cried for the nonreactive little boy, cold and afraid. I cried for the conflicted little girl, longing for connection. I cried for the exacerbated mom, frazzled and alone. I cried for myself because I have been there.

I have been that little boy. I have been that little girl. And now some days I am that mom.

I grew up in an angry household.  No, my parents were not always angry, but for a portion of my childhood, it felt like they were.  My mom’s anger was like a bubbling cauldron over a fire, sometimes simmering, but always hot and ready to pop.  My dad’s anger was like a gunned sports car at a traffic light, zero to sixty in three seconds, but only when pushed. Consequently, I remember my childhood home as tense, loud, uneasy.

Neither of my parents meant to live in anger—one struggled with Borderline; the other with Alcoholism—so when I became a parent, I wanted to be more mindful of my anger.

The problem is that the more I fought against the anger, the more it won.  I would tell myself, I’m not going to get angry today or douse it with gratitude, What do I have to be angry about? I have a beautiful home, a loving family, and a comfortable life.  But still, I would explode at my almost two-year-old son—yelling, spewing four-letter words, acting hastily and harshly—sometimes several times a day.  A situation would set me off, and the angry mama took over.  I felt powerless to stop the demon inside.

Sometimes I shamed my son for triggering me: “If you’d only just listen!” and “Why do you do that?!”

Worst of all, I hated seeing my baby boy’s reactions: panic, pleading, or paralysis.  I condemned myself as a horrible mother and person. I couldn’t bear the thought of my anger hurting him since I was once him—on the receiving end. I thought, my son would be better off without me.  I don’t deserve to live.

Exploding.  Stuffing.  Ignoring.  Projecting. Self-Shaming.  Despair.

It was a horrible cycle.

I had been in psychotherapy on and off for years which did help to diffuse my anger temporarily, but that was before my son was born.  Starting with my son’s arrival I felt almost continuously on edge like my anger button was permanently turned on.  

“I think you have post-partum depression,” a good friend suggested after I confessed the alternating feelings of raging fire and engulfing water inside me.

That label didn’t feel right.

For the first year of my son’s life, I read parenting books and articles trying to collect the strategies that would help me respond to my son in constructive ways.  Finally, I found a blog article describing childhood trauma triggered as a form of PTSD.  Becoming a parent evidently brings back all those subconscious memories and feelings from childhood, so children literally do activate their parents’ anger buttons (albeit inadvertently for the first few years). Further, a person does not have to survive childhood trauma for this psychological mechanism to occur; many people are unhappy with aspects of how they were raised, and that frustration can be triggered just as readily in the form of anger (instead of PTSD).

However, since my childhood felt traumatic, I found a PTSD specialist who has helped me address the root of my anger.  Using the emotional tools she gave me, I created a three-step technique at home that has helped me tackle the anger triggers individually.  Whether your childhood had a few rough patches or was mostly rough, I would like to share this with you.  Each time I have used the technique on a particular trigger, that anger button has been released.  The tiny two-year-old cannot push it anymore.

First, I picked out a special journal and bought a box of my favorite pens to make this action feel purposeful, intentional.  I also asked my husband not to read this journal because its purpose is for me to process, not to inform.  Writing this way also requires utmost privacy so that all emotional guards can be dismantled.

Then each time I got mad, I went to write in my journal.  Sometimes my son would only be self-entertained for a moment, so that’s all the time I had to write.  I would finish during nap time or during free moment spurts throughout the day.  Sometimes I had to finish despite my son’s pleas for attention, so I could get the “angeries” out entirely before engaging with him.

Here’s my three-step journal writing sequence:

1.       Venting

Everything I’m thinking and feeling, I let it out by writing: the expletives, the accusations, the name-calling, the negative emotions, all the things you don’t mean to say when you’re angry but you sometimes do—and then regret it.  I stop myself from feeling bad about feeling bad. This stuff needs to be acknowledged—just not said out loud.

2.       Validation

Next, if I can recall how this trigger is connected to my childhood, I emotionally go back in time and tell myself as a child what I needed to hear: I write to my younger self that it’s okay to feel ________ about ________.  I acknowledge every feeling and reason behind it.  I verbally give my younger self a hug and permission to cry.  I don’t judge or punish my younger self.  I give my younger self space and support, compassion and kindness.

3.       Verity

Lastly, using a bird’s eye, neutral view, I speak the truth: what is objectively happening here?  I see my son as misbehaving, being obstinate, willfully disobeying.  But at two years old, he is still impulsive, gaining independence, unable to emotionally regulate.  Then I try to put myself in his toddler shoes: why might he have reacted that way?  Is he hungry, tired, frustrated, or needing reconnection?  Is he in the middle of an intellectual leap? Reading about early childhood development is helpful when trying to empathize with a little person. My education is in adolescent development and I’m an only child, so this information is entirely new to me.  Some books I’ve found invaluable are:

·         Little Hearts Series by L.R. Knost

·         Positive Parenting books by Rebecca Eanes

·         Any parenting book by Daniel J. Siegel

·         Positive Discipline books by Jane Nelsen

It’s normal for our kids to push our buttons and arouse our anger.  Often these feelings of frustration and powerlessness stem from our own childhood whether we struggled with a few aspects or with most of our young life.  It seems ironic that optimism and gratitude do not extinguish the angry flame; instead acknowledgment and self-love are the fastest routes to inner peace.  It takes courage, and it takes effort; however, the three-step journaling process has been my shortcut to being a more balanced, happier mommy.  If you struggle with anger more than you’d like, I invite you to grab a journal and start writing!

[momsongblog]

Mindful Parenting Series Part One: How to ‘Let them be little’ for longer

“Don’t wait for Prince Charming; live your life.” vs. “When are you going to have children? Your biological clock is ticking!”

“Breast is best.” vs. “Fed is best.”  

“Working moms should not be shamed.” vs. “Your husband shouldn’t stay home.  He needs a job.”

Women face a barrage of conflicting cultural messages about standards for being a worker, wife, and mother. When a working woman becomes a mom, she is often asked “how will you balance it all?”

As a relatively new mom (to a just-turned-two-year old only-child), I not only struggle with the cultural roles I’m supposed to/want to play, but also with the conflicting cultural messages I’m giving my son.

Parents start parenting from the place they were raised, but culture also informs those expectations. These are unconscious lessons and messages we give our children, but mindfulness can awaken these hidden ideas, and psychology can inform and guide us how to strengthen or alter them.

In this series I will share aspects of my journey with mindful parenting: my frustrations, mistakes, and victories.  

 Part One: How to ‘Let them be little’ for longer

Some moms feel guilty for working outside the home full time or part-time. Some moms feel liberated for keeping their career: “It makes me happy, and that makes me a better mom.”  As a stay-at-home mom, I feel conflicted.  My husband and I decided that one parent staying at home was preferential because my lesser salary would only pay for daycare, and we would rather spend the time raising our child[ren] (instead of a caretaker).  I also realize that we have the luxury of this choice; however, giving up my stake in the workforce has been a sacrifice to my identity and self-esteem.  (How else did I define myself before I became a mother?  I was a wife and a teacher.  When meeting someone for the first time, what is one of the first questions asked?: “What do you do [for a living]?”)  Staying at home has also made me stir-crazy: I’m an extrovert, so interacting with a non-verbal or semi-verbal mini-person does not fill my emotional cup.  I need playdates with other mamas or social, alone time with girlfriends.

When I tell others mamas that I stay at home, I cringe that they’ll find my perspective uppity, like I’m looking down on them as a working mother, but regardless of how we see each other the most frequent reply is: “Oh, you are so blessed.”  

So I feel stuck.  Stuck in a role that does not outwardly contribute to society and give me the stamp of a liberated, strong female.  (Think Rosie the Riveter.) Stuck looking like the privileged and/or morally correct mother. Stuck feeling like I must be lucky to just be a housewife and mother.  Stuck in the house and feeling alone.

So I try to stay busy. I try to contribute more to our household.  Both while I try to balance being the me before I was a mom (that is my interests, social life, and health), with being a mom (that is teaching and playing with my son), and with being a wife (that is spending quality time with my husband). But that busyness is tricky when I feel better working at home (cleaning, maintaining, decorating) than when I am raising my child.

So my antidote has been to focus on the here and now.  “Oh, I love this age; it’s so sweet.  They’re only little once, so cherish it,” say the elderly, wise ladies at our church when we bring Noah to services, their eyes twinkling and smiles broad.  “It goes by quickly.”  Not quick enough, I have to stop myself from thinking.

But in those moments I am not thinking about my tangible, household contributions—the laundry, the dishes, the yard, the bathrooms—I am those older women: I relish the bubbly baby giggles; his tiny hand that fits in mine; the sloppy, whole-mouth kisses; the absolute enthusiasm for everything; the meltdowns from tiredness, frustration, or hunger; the need for independence one moment: “I do it!” to dependence the next: “Mommy, hug, hug, hug?”

One day while my baby boy, almost two years old, and I were at the playground, his eyes watched an older boy, either three or four years old, playing.  Noah’s body soon followed him too around the ramps, ladders, and slides. When my boy caught up with the other boy, my son ended up in his way.  I intervened.  “Let’s let this little boy go first,” I said.  The older boy’s head immediately snapped back at us; his eyes became dark and serious.  “I am NOT a little boy.  I am a BIG BOY.”  I was corrected.

What also struck me was the contradictory messages, “let them be little” and “you’re a big boy/girl now.”  How are we as parents supposed to appreciate our children as children when we simultaneously sell them the idea that being older is better?

That’s when I took “big boy” out of my parent bag of phrases and praises.

When Noah showed aptitude for a new skill or word, “You’re such a big boy!” became “I love watching you learn new things!”

When Noah cried to get something he wanted (but was not getting), “Big boys don’t cry” became “I see you’re upset about that.”

When taking a long car ride or going on a long errand, “Are you going to be a big boy today and behave?” became “This trip is going to be long, so mommy needs your help.”

Changing my vocabulary helped me to change my perspective.  It hasn’t taken away all my frustration as a stay-at-home mom, but it curbs my desire to stay busy by reminding me to stop, to slow down, and to see my son as little; appreciate his littleness; and overall be more mindful as a parent.

[momsongblog]

I have a confession to make.

I have been a mommy-shamer.

I have had the best intentions: to help, to educate, to inspire others “the best way” to do something. I take pride in how I research my parenting methods and how I consistently follow those methods. I like being seen as an educated person of integrity, an example to others. I like giving advice. (My first career was a classroom teacher, after all.)

No, I wasn’t a Facebook-groups-for-moms troll who sniffed out the perfect opportunity to make disparaging or know-it-all comments.

I was even worse: I mom-shamed my own friends.

Secretly in my heart I thought “my way is better than yours” and I gave unsolicited advice before I knew their story: what they tried, why they tried it, and what they finally decided. “Because,” I thought, “they couldn’t have possibly taken the time to research ________ if they ultimately decided to go with it. They must not have all the information to make a sound judgment.”

Then it happened to me. Although I had already researched ___________ and was confident in my decision, another mom-friend questioned my judgment before she knew my story: what I tried, why I tried it, and what I finally decided.

First I was irritated. I went back to the person and justified my actions again and again and again.

But that didn’t dampen the fire. “She cannot put me this issue in a box. It’s more complicated than that. She cannot peg me for someone I’m not. She doesn’t know me or what I’ve been through,” I hammered on and on. “I don’t know why I’m so mad about this.”

“Maybe it’s because she so innocently inserted her opinion as the authority,” my husband suggested.

Reality check: That’s EXACTLY what I had been doing.

I wasn’t taking the time to

LISTEN

EMPATHSIZE and

SUPPORT

So I wrote this Ode to Mothers about parenting choices. But because I can only write from my own story, I needed to ask my friends to share their story.

This was my silent redemption, my second chance to do what I should have done.

So when I called my mommy friends, I made sure that I really listened instead of waiting to talk. I put my feelings and experiences aside and just acknowledged theirs. I made sure that they felt heard and understood.

This is my tribute to them –and all mothers.

***Just Because: An Ode to Mothers***

Just because I don’t sleep train my baby,

that doesn’t mean I am creating a rod for my own back

that doesn’t mean my child will never “sleep through the night”

that doesn’t mean I am allowing my child to rule me

that doesn’t mean my baby—or I!—will never get enough sleep

that doesn’t mean my sex life or marriage is ruined

*

Just because I sleep train my baby,

that doesn’t mean I am a cruel parent

that doesn’t mean I have little time for my child

that doesn’t mean I care more about myself

that doesn’t mean my child will be scarred for life

that doesn’t mean I just let my baby scream; (there are other forms of sleep training)

*

Just because I breastfeed my baby,

that doesn’t mean I look down upon those who formula or bottle-feed

that doesn’t mean I have to be attached to my child 24/7; (I pump and use bottles!)

that doesn’t mean that “came natural” or was easy for me

that doesn’t mean I’m a hippie or love everything natural

that doesn’t mean I will cover up when I feed my baby because you are uncomfortable

*

Just because I formula-feed my baby

that doesn’t mean my child gets poor nourishment or will get sick more often

that doesn’t mean I think breastfeeding is unimportant

that doesn’t mean I refused to breastfeed; (I tried and it didn’t work out!)

that doesn’t mean I think formula-feeding is easier

that doesn’t mean that I have trouble bonding with my child

*

Just because I cosleep with my baby

that doesn’t mean I will roll over on him/her

that doesn’t mean he/she will fall out of bed or die from SIDS

that doesn’t mean I will forever

that doesn’t mean we share the same sleep surface; (that’s bedsharing)

that doesn’t mean I can never have sex with my husband

*

Just because my baby sleeps in a crib in his/her own room

that doesn’t mean we never coslept or bedshared

that doesn’t mean I used sleep training or “Cry it Out”

that doesn’t mean I am selfish

that doesn’t mean my child is lonely or afraid

that doesn’t mean I felt pressured by society to do it

***

This is what moms have in common: we have all felt shame from our choices.

Just because you parent in a particular way doesn’t really say anything about you as a mom.

Let’s have faith that the choices other moms make were made in the best interest of their families.

How have you felt shamed, misunderstood, judged for doing something you felt right?

The mom-shaming ends here.