Parenting Without Power Struggles

What is like to be you?

2011-08-12T11:15:00.000-07:00

What is it like to be you
Here’s what I know happens whenever I come at someone with my point of view rigidly holding me hostage: I become nervous—will I be able to convince them of the validity of my position?; forceful—do I have the strength to get them to see things my way; and/or passive—defeated before I begin. (And yes, I suspect my punctuation in that sentence was lacking…)

Here’s what I know happens when I come alongside someone with a flexible mindset and willingness to understand the situation from their point of view, or at least consider that they have one equally dear to their heart: I listen with what I call a quiet mind. And most importantly, I come across as genuinely wanting to know: What is it like to be you?
For those of you familiar with my work, you’ll recognize this as Act I. It’s the essential pre-cursor to offering our advice to our kids (or anyone), and our best shot at actually activating their willingness to hear what we have to say, whether it’s a suggestion about how to approach a difficult friend, a critique of their history essay, or an expression of concern about their withdrawal.

When we feel heard and understand, we humans lower our guard and become more receptive. Conversely, when we smell someone’s agenda and their need to inflict it upon us, our guard goes up and so does the wall that prevents us from taking in whatever they’re trying to lay on us.

The next time you have something important to say to your child, your teen, your spouse or your neighbor, try giving them the chance to describe to you the planet they live on. Ask the question, “What is like to be you?” and then keep your lips together and listen. Encourage them to keep talking with, “Tell me more” or “Gosh, that sounds like it was pretty hard when your teacher told you to sit back down just as you were coming to ask for help. What happened then?”

When we give someone we love the chance to show us reality from their vantage point, we offer them the opportunity to be seen and accepted as is. From there, we have a chance of sharing our thoughts, ideas or opinions, without coming across as shoving it down their throats, or correcting their “faulty” thinking or behavior.

Consider this the next time you prepare for a difficult conversation—or when one lands unexpectedly in your lap. Start with the mindset: What is it like to be you? Chances are, the conversation will go in a new, healthy direction.

What Chemicals Bathed Your Baby's Brain?

2011-08-09T18:33:00.000-07:00

And how did they affect his/her personality?

I’ve been reading a fascinating book about the powerful impact that the hormones and neurotransmitters that flood us in utero have on who we become. The author even suggests that when a lot of testosterone washes over a fetus’ brain, it the fourth finger longer than the second finger, and quotes data connecting linguistic skills with significant exposure in the womb to estrogen. In her opinion, our personalities and temperaments are profoundly influenced by the levels of serotonin, dopamine, estrogen and testosterone we’re exposed to before we ever leave the cozy comfort of the womb.

According to the research in the book, we become an Explorer, Builder, Negotiator or Director, based largely on which neurotransmitters and hormones were most dominant during our fetal development. The author makes a compelling case for explaining why some people are more sensitive, some more traditional, some more assertive, and others more attracted to adventure.

When I read theories like this I become convinced that the more we can understand and accept our children as they are, the more cooperative, happy and well-adjusted they will become.

If you somehow were able to discover that your son had been dosed more heavily than his brother with testosterone when he was in the womb, would you be more forgiving of his intense competitiveness, or compare him less to his gentler sibling? Would you judge or lecture your daughter less if you understood that, given the particular cocktail of chemicals that bathed her brain, her excitable tendencies may not be as easy for her to manage as you’d like to believe?

The better we understand the magnificence of each child’s unique design, the better we will be able to nurture his or her ability to be their most authentic self. Regardless of how you get there—whether it’s through spiritual understanding, or hard science—when you take pleasure in who your child is, you give him or her the freedom to become all of who he or she is meant to be.

None of us are defined by our biology; I believe we have the ability to learn to manage whatever bio-chemical tendencies we may have inherited. I’ve seen profoundly depressed individuals do the work that liberates them from living a muted life, and marveled at people who have developed the skills to manage debilitating, genetically-based anxiety.

But I also know what a gift we give our children when we don't require them to explain or justify their inherent personality, and instead encourage them to make the most of their temperament.

Food for thought, not only as we parent our children and teens, but as we continue the journey of self-acceptance, self-love, and self-care.

I Love That My House is Messy

2011-05-21T22:15:00.001-07:00

I love that my house is messy. I love that there are dishes on the coffee table and socks carelessly tossed around the living room. I love that several slightly used tissues are peeking out from under the pillows on the couch, next to my son's ever present guitar. And I love that the smoothie shaker sits next to a mostly empty glass of milk, all conveniently located in front of the TV where a lot of basketball is being watched.

Mostly, I love that wherever I look, I see signs of my boy, that six foot five fella who has been scarce around here because of that college thing he has goin on. He's back now for the summer, and as much as I love the life I live when he's away, something in the universe feels perfect and right, now that he's home.

Don't get me wrong. I like a tidy house as much as the next momma. And truth be told, my kid is pretty great about cleaning up after himself. But I can't describe how much pleasure it brings me to have things out of order, a little askew in a way that only happens when you have kids around.

I can remember--dimly--a time when I found it irritating to clean up after him. Sounds crazy, but with him having been away so much, it's hard to remember how annoying it was to have socks all over the living room and dirty dishes on the coffee table. But I know there was a time when it mattered much more to me that my house was spiffy. And I'm pretty sure I'll start remembering it--and feeling that irritation--once he's been home a few weeks.

But for now, I'm just enjoying the sweetness of it all. This morning we made a big breakfast together--he cooks a lot now, which is a cool. Tonight after dinner, I made the guys a big bowl of my famous popcorn, delighted to partake with them in a old ritual.

It is different--don't get me wrong. And it should be. My son's turning becoming a man, and is leaning much more into his own life--his job, internship, friends and all that. He spends a lot of time on his own, doing his thing while I do mine. I don't know where he is the way I once did, or when he'll be home. It's definitely, and appropriately, different.

But all that is a function of the outward adjustments we're each making as we sort out how to be parent/son while he grows up. Still, we're figuring out--through trial and error--how to be around each other in this new way. (He lived on his own last year in New York, so this is the longest run he's had at home since going off to college.)

What's really going on, for me, is a quiet hum of Momma contentment. There's an unspeakable joy at having my son here, probably accentuated (a lot) because I'm (a lot) more aware of how fleeting this time with him is.

So having the socks or the dirty dishes just doesn't seem like a big deal. It's all so precious to me now, now that I recognize the lightning speed with which my son is barreling toward his own, independent life.

I'm cheering him on, encouraging him as he takes steps further out of the nest. (Strange, how this works.) I love that he's buying an old beater (car) for the summer, and going to Africa in the fall. The whole process of watching him move further into his life thrills me.

But I am also cherishing this time, allowing myself to be more present with each moment, sort of like savoring a piece of chocolate, rather than polishing off the whole box distractedly.

Like anything else, we tend to appreciate most that which is in short supply. When our kids are little, the tasks seem endless, as do the dirty dishes. But when you arrive at the stage where I am now, the edges soften, and the little things--a meal together, a moment playing with the dog--become golden.

I love my messy house, and everything in it. Especially right now.

Six foot five, and still splits my heart open...

2011-02-15T21:04:00.001-08:00

The phone rings, and it startles me; it’s 11:00 pm, after all, and pretty late for someone to be calling. It turns out that it’s my son Ari, calling from DC where it’s actually 2:00 in the morning… calling for a chat!

It still sometimes surprises me that I have a son. I know that may sound strange, but it’s true. There were times, after I birthed him, when I was in the throes of integrating this entirely new being into my life, and with that, an entirely new me that had been born. I can remember walking into a room where he was sleeping, feeling astonished that this miracle had happened in my life. It was as though I had won the lottery, only much better; I had a divine being in my midst, someone whose heart would forevermore be twined around mine.

Still, with Ari no longer underfoot, I sometimes get so into the flow of my day to day life that I forget that for all practical purposes, one of my arms or a significant chunk of my heart exists 3,000 miles away, doing its own thing. Perhaps this is just an adaptive measure my psyche has taken to adjust to his absence. Or maybe it’s part of Nature’s design; as our kids grow up and into their own lives, we naturally shift more into our own.

And then the phone rings, and I’m flooded with a love that catches me off guard. There’s a joy and an ache in my heart and my bones, and a wonder at how this kind of mother love could have been going on for women since forever. How unspoken and gorgeous it is.

He hasn’t been feeling well, wonders if I can send him some Wellness Formula. He’s chatty—unexpectedly, blessedly… We talk about our dog, and his job (working midnight to 4:00 am, even when he’s sick) and about grandma, and the weather, and Egypt, and after a while he’s tired so I tell him I love him and he tells me he loves me, and there it is, that holy moment that splits my heart open yet again… and again…

It has—and continues to be—an adventure in holding on and letting go. The dance steps involved with parenting a young adult are complex and unpredictable; I have definitely not mastered them. Sometimes I don’t call and he emails me with, “Where are you? I tried to call you, like, five times last week!” and sometimes I call too often and he’s busy or tired or gotta run. Sometimes I long to give advice but hold back, and other times I jump in with some insight and he actually receives it.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get this right. But I do know that when I stay out of my head and focus on the love, there are some killer moments.

And I marvel, still and now, after 20 years, in awe of the miracle of my son, and the chance I’ve had to be his momma…in all the ways that has looked until now, and yet to come.

Thank you, Mrs. Robinson, for Settling in at the White House

2010-02-23T19:59:00.000-08:00

Tremors of joy-- and relief -moved through me when Barack Obama was elected President, so much so that the night he won, I booked flights to DC for the inauguration (largely at the pull of my politically enlightened teenage son) before I had a clue about the crazy costs of tickets or hotels.

My delight in the Obama family taking up residence in the White House took yet another leap when I discovered that the new First Lady would be helped in looking after her children not by a nanny, but by their grandma.

How cool is that? Way cool.

It really does take a village to raise a child. We are, at heart, tribal creatures, meant to bring our kids up in the midst of aunties and poppas and neighboring kids who wander in and out of our "hut." Children are supposed to move fluidly through generations, hearing the first waaaa of a baby being born in the yurt next door, or witnessing the wailing grief of a neighbor at the loss of their beloved.

Kids thrive when they are guided--and disciplined--by cherished grannies and respected uncles. The notion that two parents (or just as commonly today, one) are equipped to do all of the physical and emotional heavy lifting that comes with bringing up a child is insane. We see proof in chronically exhausted parents feeling disconnected from their kids, and in youngsters whose primary "guidance" comes from friends at school, TV and cyberspace.

As simple as a child's needs appear to be--Feed, Clean, Wipe, Put to Bed, Wake Up, Put in Car, Pick Up, Get Homework Done, Drive Places--it is exhausting to be "on", all of the time, no matter how much you love your children or how dedicated you are to being there for them.

Everybody wins when kids are raised by extended family. Whether we create that by aligning with close friends or neighbors, or by inviting our mother-in-law to share the adventure, it's vital that we recognize that the era of raising kids in a shrunken nuclear family isn't in their--or our--best interest. It isn't working. We aren't meant to raise kids in isolation.

Thank you President and Ms. Obama--and especially, Mrs. Robinson--for reminding us that it really does take a village to raise a child. Thank you for helping parents remember that it's true that we do really get by better-- with a little help from our friends...or from Grandma.

Rosie's love

2009-10-16T23:16:00.000-07:00

My dog, Rosie, worships the ground I walk on. That may be an understatement. When I take the trash cans out to the street, she leaps with unbridled joy upon my return, as if I’d been away for days. If I come home after being gone for a few hours, she runs circles around the back yard, unable to contain her excitement. If I were to go to the airport to pick up my son after he’d been away for a week, she would fall into a state of bliss upon our return---because of seeing me. Her love is constant and uncomplicated.

This morning when I emerged into the living room, I acknowledged Rosie briefly as she greeted me with delight, and then I put the kettle on and went to check my email.

And then I stopped myself. There she was, looking at me expectantly, eyes full of adoration, and there I was, absentmindedly noticing her in my peripheral vision while I got down to the “important” task of checking my email.

She was beside herself with happiness when I got down with her on the floor. I scratched and rubbed and loved her up, and she did what dogs do best—exude pure, unadulterated love. And the funny thing is, although I had originally felt a certain urgency to respond to an important email, my priorities restacked themselves as I sat with Rosie and remembered—again—that what I care most about on any given day is living with a heart full of love and enjoyment.

I got to thinking about how similar kids are to puppies. How often do our children wait in our periphery as we do important (“important?”) things? How many times do they end up going off to do their own thing after seeing that we’re busy? How often are we stingy with ourselves, putting a lid on how much love we allow ourselves to receive?

I’m not suggesting that parents stop to play with their children whenever they ask. It’s essential that kids learn to figure out how to entertain themselves without having a parent who drops whatever they’re doing when their child announces, “I’m bored.”

But I do know that if we want our fifteen-year old to confide in us about how much vodka was at last night’s party, or look to us for help in figuring out how to handle a friend’s betrayal, it’s a good idea to get down on the floor with them when they still believe our attention is a prize.

I’m convinced that the beauty of a child’s heart (and we can throw in doggies, as well) is in large part what keeps the world sane. When you drink in their love and affection, it feeds their sweet hearts, and yours as well.

So today—remember what matters, and see if you can fit in a moment for a scratch or a cuddle. Stretch your heart a little wider and receive that perfect love that might otherwise go unnoticed. It might just make your day.

Holding Hands with my Mom

2009-09-29T08:14:00.000-07:00

I’m sitting in the audience at the Kansas City symphony listening to Hayden, beside my eighty-eight year old mother who is bathing in the beautiful music. We bickered briefly this morning, but I’m proud to say that we both let it go and are enjoying the concert together.

I pat her arm with love and she turns and smiles at me. Then she reaches for my hand and places it in hers. And there I sit, holding hands with my mom and sharing one of the most simple and perfect moments of my life. My heart fills, my eyes fill, and I relax in an unparalleled moment of being at peace with my imperfect mom, as her imperfect daughter, connecting where perfection doesn’t matter.

How often I have believed that my mom made it hard to love her. She criticized, nagged, doubted --all those things that flawed parents do with and to their children. And how often did I make it hard for her to love me—passionately defending and explaining myself in the hopes that she would “get it”, whatever “it” happened to be that day, all the while resisting her efforts because they were so off the mark.

If there’s a more complicated relationship than mother/ daughter, I’ve yet to discover it. Growing up, as much as I resisted her, I longed to feel our love for each other. Certainly it got easier when I became an adult, even more so when I became a mother, but I confess to still having at least one big argument a year as my inner child’s longing for her to “get me” collided with her inability to do so.

Being a parent helped me figure some things out. I began to realize that if I held my mom to an unattainable standard, it would only be fair that I hold myself to one, as well, and I simply couldn’t always be a great parent. I did my best, and in fact my 19 year old son actually called me a couple of weeks ago from college because he wanted to tell me something important. “Mom, I want to thank you for raising me the way you did. You did a really great job.” I was speechless.

I thought about what he’d said—how I’d taught him about being accountable and responsible and so on, and that now that he’s at college he sees that in ways he never could before. But the truth is, I lost my patience plenty of times with him, saying and doing things that were ridiculous and beneath me

But one thing I did do was refuse to incriminate myself or dive into guilt and self-flagellation when I blew it. I acknowledged my mistakes without leaning too much on defending myself or blaming him when I got upset, and tried to make sure he felt heard and understood when things went wrong. Beyond that, I think I also just have a very forgiving son.

My boy has inspired me to become a more forgiving daughter. As I learn to accept my mom with all her beauty and kindness, as well as her neuroses, I find myself better able to put aside my expectations and simply love her. The funny thing is (and maybe this has something to do with the fact that she’s reading my book!) she is easier. Less defensive. Better able to listen.

I’d like to think it’s a result of her reading her daughter’s book, but I suspect it has as more to do with the fact that I’m giving her plenty of Act Ones, coming alongside her instead of at her, making her feel less defensive and better able to navigate our challenges.

Being a parent has to be the most challenging experience we can go through, but if we’re lucky, we get the chance to grow up and into our best selves. I’m grateful to my son for inspiring me to keep growing, and to my mom, for giving me the opportunity to grow even more.

My very best to all of you. Be kind to yourselves, and enjoy the ride.

New year, New Start

2009-09-13T08:32:00.000-07:00

New School Year

Unless you’re living in a cave or you’ve decided to ignore all those school-related emails and hide with your children in some secret compartment of the Disney cruise ship, you’re probably aware that we’re about to launch into a new school year. You’ve downloaded a list of must-have school supplies, read articles on helping your child adjust to his or her new teacher, and depending on how the economy’s treated you, maybe even gone shopping for some new school clothes.

But there’s one thing you might want to think about doing that has nothing to do with conventional school year preparations. Consider the role stress plays in your child’s adjustment to school, as well as your family’s enjoyment of the morning send off and the evening homework experience. I’m going to suggest a few things that you can do to set a smooth course as you begin the school year anew.

Relax. There is nothing, I repeat nothing that will add to morning or homework drama like making it appear to your kids like it’s a life or death issue, leading them to believe that their sluggish behavior has the ability to knock you off your feet.

Use what I refer to as Act I and Act II to come alongside your child when he’s resistance or upset, rather than coming at them with advice, demands or instructions when he or she isn’t yet receptive.

Allow extra time for everything as their bodies adjust to the new rhythm of waking early, getting to bed earlier, and having less free time.

Make sure your kids have adequate unstructured playtime, ideally out in nature. Don’t make homework and/or after school activities so desperately important that you neglect to give your children time to be children. Kids need to play, and that is not the same as organized athletic activities.

Set guidelines at the beginning of the school year regarding the amount of video games/ TV/ Internet use to avoid daily arguments and battles. Some families allow one TV show per night. Others have no TV or video games during the school week. Announce the plan with authority, and use Act I to compassionately handle your kids’ reactions.

Show a genuine and sincere interest in something your child is learning about at least twice a week. Whether it’s looking up the origin of the “+” sign with your 2nd grader, or engaging in a discussion about the pros and cons of drilling in the Arctic with your 11^th grader, demonstrate to your kids that you find their education of value.

Turn off the TV shut down the computer, and put your cell phone on vibrate for at least 20 minutes a day to give your kids real attention that is not related to getting them to do homework, prepare for bed, or do chores. Just hang out with them for a few minutes day deepening your connection, and watch life get easier.

It’s my first year without the back to school rituals having dropped my boy/man off at college about three weeks ago. Instead of school supplies we bought pillows and blankets. I have no idea if, where or when he does his homework, given that he’s 3,000 miles away. And as much as I don’t miss waking up to do the morning breakfast or drive (which were minimal), believe me…I miss him like crazy.

So do what you can in advance to set a smooth course for the coming year, and keep in mind what’s most important: Enjoying your kids, and letting them know that you do.

Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional

2009-08-06T11:50:00.001-07:00

Is this going to be a burden or a blessing?

I was listening to a Dr. Oz radio interview in the car the other day. His guest was a man named Sean Stephenson, and although I’d never heard of him, I got a tingly feeling early on in the interview.

My son was in the car, and I nudged him (he was on his own planet, listening to his ipod) suggesting that he might want to listen in. He reluctantly took off his headphones and tuned in to check it out.

Sean was born with a rare disease. By the time he was 18 years old—long past his original life expectancy—he had broken over 200 bones. AND, he’s three feet tall, mobile via a wheel chair, and unquestionably a remarkable person who has been through a lot of life challenges.

As he’s telling his story, Dr. Oz asks him to talk about the turning point in his life—the moment that changed him from feeling depressed, different and a victim of his disease to becoming the gratefu, joyful man he is today.

Sean described an experience he had in the fourth grade. He was excited because it was Halloween, the one day of the year when he could dress up and sort of “blend in.” He accidentally caught his leg in his wheelchair, snapping his femur and immediately realizing he would have to be immobilized for at least six weeks…again.

His mom came into his room to offer some comfort and distraction, but he was having none of it; he was miserable—as I’m sure we can easily understand. But then his mom gently asked him this question: “Sean, is this going to be a gift or a burden in your life?”

With that question, his life changed. Even while his rational mind was scoffing at the idea that his condition could be anything but a burden, he began to have a kind of mystical experience. His mother continued by saying, “In life, pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.”

From this point on, he recognized that while he had different cards to play than others, he still had a full deck. He went on to alter his diet and include a daily exercise regine when he was 18, resulting in the fact that he hasn’t broken a bone since. He has graduated from college with honors, become a professional speaker, been appointed to serve on the Board of Directors for the National Association for Self-Esteem and worked at the White House as a Presidential Liaison for the Office of Cabinet Affairs.

More importantly, he is a man who is on purpose, rich in loving relationships, connected to his heart, and content.

My son kept his headphones off for the rest of the drive, commenting, “This guy is incredible!”

It’s powerful and humbling to realize how we, as parents, have such power to inspire our kids.

"What I like about you..."

2009-07-23T19:35:00.000-07:00

It’s a funny thing about parenting: We adore our kids (most of us, at least most of the time) but so much of what we say to them is about how they should be different. “Don’t dawdle!” “Be nice to your brother!” “How do you think Susie felt when you didn’t say ‘Hi’ to her?” Our kids so easily become our project—at least it can seem that way. And it can also seem that the majority of our interactions are about how they should change or improve.

So here’s an exercise, for those of you interested. The next time your child walks into the room, tell them something you like about them. “I forgot to tell you that I love your laugh!” or “Did you know how much fun I had with you last night when we were walking the puppy?” And then let the sweet aroma of your love just hang in the air for a while before you move on to something else.

Love is food for all humans. For a child, it’s vital to feel fed at all times. Kids who yank on their parents all day long are often sending the message that they need more than “snacks” of focused attention. A bite of something when you’re really hungry might stave off the shakes for a little while, but it doesn’t have the same effect on your blood sugar as a full on meal with protein and complex carbs. Similarly, when we dose our kids with full on, heart-wide-open loving connection at least a couple of times a day, the nourishment they get from that interaction leaves them feeling sated and full.

Notice the changes in a child’s behavior if you try the “What I like about you” exercise at least twice a day for a week. It can take less than a minute or two, but can fuel a child’s desire to follow your lead better than all the lectures in the world.

If you want to try the advanced version, sit them down in a chair and flood them with appreciations for a few minutes. “I love the way you so carefully play with the kitty…I love how it feels to hold your hand when we cross the street…I love watching you when you’re doing puzzles with so much focus…I love how hard you try to tolerate your little sisters…”

Try offering your child specific things you like about them, and see them bloom even more into the extraordinary beings they are meant to be.

Emptying the nest...

2009-06-22T20:39:00.000-07:00

So, I come out of my room on Sunday morning feeling a spring in my step and a sweet tickle in my heart. Had a lovely meditation and am ready to launch into my Sunday; the house is quiet and there are little projects I hope to get to before heading down to the beach.

“Joni Mitchell would be nice,” I think to myself. For some reason Blue keeps playing in my head and I decide to put it on while I make breakfast. Musing a bit about my boy and his upcoming high school graduation, I head toward the stereo.

“Blue…Songs are like tattoos…” and unexpectedly, my heart breaks apart and I’m on my knees. And there you have it—a wave, in many ways the first real one, has hit. A bit like labor...but this time I'm birthing my son as he emerges further into his own life, rather than arriving into mine.

I’ve been told it can be like this. Wild fluctuations in mood—both for the teen and the mom—as we edge ever closer to departure for college, and with that, the beginning of a new chapter in his—in our—lives. But I’ve been pretty good so far, excited for him and living blissfully in some state of denial.

And there you have it. Denial, apparently, wears off. I’m like the bird in those cartoons, flying along and then smacking into the window, caught unawares.

The sobbing is primal, gut-wrenching. I’m astonished by its force, and the sudden appearance of this grief. I allow it, give it space: Take all the room you need, as if it wouldn’t. It’s impolite and demanding, and takes over the room, my heart and this day.

I find myself unable to breathe; the air is coming in and out, but I can’t feel it. I’m picturing him not here, not at his dad’s, not at his friend’s, but 3,000 miles away, which is where he’s theoretically going to be in two months. I realize he cannot go. He simply can’t go. I’ll talk to him. He’ll agree. He’ll understand it was all a big mistake and decide to go to the nice community college down the road. Or maybe some other little college within a few hours drive.

Of course I realize I’m insane, but I let myself play that scenario out, coming to the inevitable understanding that I’m insane and he is going to the very best place for him—for who he is and what he needs right now to become more of who he is, out from under my watch.

As it happens with grief, it subsides after a time and allows me to eat something. I wander around for a bit, considering who I might call—what friend who’s going through this right now, or what seasoned mother/ friend/ sister who has already been where I am and lived through it. Instead I just stay present with the waves as they come and go, not wanting to engage my left brain enough to actually try to talk about it.

Eventually, there’s a peace—that depressed sort of peace where you’d like to lay on the couch and stare out the window. But I rally, and set about cleaning out a box of papers, periodically coming across something like a Mother’s Day card or Ari’s selective service notice and the waves come again. Knocked over until it subsides, and then another fragile hold on acceptance.

The sadness follows me around most of the day, but it’s kind enough to let me function reasonably well, and even go down to the beach for a time. I watch the six foot five version of my heart play volleyball; he’s arrived not long after me after being in town with his dad. I leave him be, grateful simply to watch him from a distance after exchanging the proverbial head nod, feeling a little like a stalker.

Six pm or so I’m reading, puttering around the house. Ari comes in the front door and his appearance is so ordinary and blessed; my heart does a quiet little twirl. And then he tells me “a bunch of people are coming—is that okay? We’re gonna watch the Laker game” and my heart does somersaults and I lie through my teeth and say “I was about to go to the store—can I get you anything?”

I hop to the market picking up burger fixings and hot dogs and skip home and my heart is fully bandaged and intact and life is good and as it should be. They watch and eat and at half time go outside, the nine or ten of them, and play catch with a big rubber ball (really.) The game ends, the Lakers win the finals, and the seventeen and eighteen year old guys and gals go out in the driveway and play basketball, like they did after watching basketball when they were ten.

And grief has left the premises for a while.

I guess that’s what it’s like…These days I'm happy for him, thrilled at the adventure that awaits him. I guess you could say I'm in between contractions...

What is it like to be you? Or how to avoid a power struggle...

2009-06-09T11:19:00.000-07:00

Here’s what I know happens whenever I come at someone with my point of view rigidly holding me hostage: I become nervous—will I be able to convince them of the validity of my position?; forceful—do I have the strength to get them to see things my way; and/or passive—defeated before I begin. (And yes, I suspect my punctuation in that sentence was lacking…)

Here’s what I know happens when I come alongside someone with a flexible mindset and willingness to understand the situation from their point of view, or at least consider that they have one equally dear to their heart: I listen with what I call a quiet mind. And most importantly, I come across as genuinely wanting to know: What is it like to be you?

For those of you familiar with my work, you’ll recognize this as Act I. It’s the essential pre-cursor to offering our advice to our kids (or anyone), and our best shot at actually activating their willingness to hear what we have to say, whether it’s a suggestion about how to approach a difficult friend, a critique of their history essay, or an expression of concern about their withdrawal.

When we feel heard and understand, we humans lower our guard and become more receptive. Conversely, when we smell someone’s agenda and their need to inflict it upon us, our guard goes up and so does the wall that prevents us from taking in whatever they’re trying to lay on us.

The next time you have something important to say to your child, your teen, your spouse or your neighbor, try giving them the chance to describe to you the planet they live on. Ask the question, “What is like to be you?” and then keep your lips together and listen. Encourage them to keep talking with, “Tell me more” or “Gosh, that sounds like it was pretty hard when your teacher told you to sit back down just as you were coming to ask for help. What happened then?”

When we give someone we love the chance to show us reality from their vantage point, we offer them the opportunity to be seen and accepted as is. From there, we have a chance of sharing our thoughts, ideas or opinions, without coming across as shoving it down their throats, or correcting their “faulty” thinking or behavior.

Consider this the next time you prepare for a difficult conversation—or when one lands unexpectedly in your lap. Start with the mindset: What is it like to be you?Chances are, the conversation will go in a new, healthy direction.

For more information please visit www.passionateparenting.net

Happy Parenting!

Imperfectly Parenting

2009-06-05T21:56:00.000-07:00

Imperfectly parenting

A month or so ago I received an email from a young woman who had attended one of my parenting presentations the evening before. She enthusiastically told me how excited she was to start using what she’d learned, confident that things in her family’s life would be changing for the better. She went so far as to email me a week or so later to thank me again, telling me how valuable the ideas were and how she had already seen improvement.

Last week this same woman set up a phone session with me; she was discouraged about the fact that she had failed the utter transformation she was sure would be easy in those first few days after the parenting talk. “I understand so much better what I should do when my kids act up-- but there are times when I catch myself doing the very things that makes situations go from bad to worse. Help!”

I often say that there’s nothing that more inspires a person to grow up and into their best self than raising a child. On any given parenting day we’re offered hundreds of opportunities to be childish rather than mature, sarcastic instead of polite or judgmental versus tolerant. It’s not easy choosing the higher ground, or acting like the grown up.

The love we have for our kids has the potential, however, to motivate us to stretch beyond our habituated ways of behaving. Even when we’re hungry. Cranky. Having a headache, PMS’y. Sad. Overwhelmed. Or just plain tired.

But as determined as we might be to do our best, most of us will inevitably keep stumbling as we learn the steps. And that has to be okay.

What I recommend to parents as they try out new approaches to parenting is that they set the clear intention to try one new thing for a few days, focusing on one specific behavior they’d like to improve.

Here’s what that looks like. First, identify the behavior you’d like to change. It might be setting a more loving tone in the mornings, or less uptight when the kids get up from the dinner table again…and again…and again. Announce--to yourself, your journal, or your husband/ wife/ cocker spaniel—how you’d like to handle potentially triggering situations.

“When I go into my boys’ room to wake them up, I’m going to have warmth in my voice, a friendly smile on my face, and a sweet connection that lingers as we move through the morning…

“When the kids get in the car for the drive home from school, I’m going to focus on letting them know—by my words and a quick hug—how glad I am to see them…”

As simple as it is to set an intention, don’t underestimate its value. By giving attention to what we want to happen with our kids, we set in motion an undercurrent of possibility for that to come about.

Focus on any successes, however small. If you nearly scold your son for talking back but you catch yourself before the full blown lecture spills out of your mouth, pat yourself on the back. If you end up delivering half the lecture and then stopping yourself, congratulate yourself for that, as well.

And if you blow it altogether? Pick yourself up, acknowledge your imperfection with humility, and keep on keepin’ on.

Do your best, and join the club of imperfect-but-ever-improving parents, growing into our best selves, and guiding our kids to do the same by our example.

2009-04-23T14:41:00.001-07:00

Those of you with babies, toddlers, or extremely cute little children--perhaps the kind missing their front teeth--may not want to read any further. I'm about to talk about the process of letting go, which happens to be something I'm learning a lot about right now as I integrate the fact that the best college for my son (of the ones he was accepted to) is 3,000 miles away.

First, don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of those parents who doesn’t want my son to grow up. (“Ha!” those of you who know me well are saying.) Okay, I haven’t exactly been thrilled at the idea that he will someday move on and out, but still, all of my parenting has been aimed at helping him develop autonomy, maturity and a commitment to becoming the young man he’s meant to be.

Well, that’s all well and good in theory, but when you see The Departure looming around the corner, this letting go thing becomes very real.

So here we are. He’s still a high school senior. I still made him something to eat before he went to school and a lunch to throw in his back pack. I canceled dinner plans because I found out he had a home volleyball game and we both wanted me to be there. I’m still parenting in that sense, at least for another couple of months.

But I’m also far less aware of where he is at any given time. He stays up later than he should and I’ve generally accepted that when he goes to sleep is his business. He makes—and often eats—strange foods, like the two bags of pasta he made with his buddy the other night with pesto and alfredo sauce, accompanied by bread. (Ugh.) He went to the weekend Coachella concert in Palm Springs and I didn’t know exactly where he would be staying (on the floor of a motel room with friends.)

I have a deep love/hate relationship with this process. Like most parents, I rather savored the phase where I was a mini-god in my son’s eyes. As annoying as it was to have him follow me into the bathroom when I took my shower (one benefit of which was that I learned how to write little sentences backwards on the shower door to enhance his reading), I loved that he could hardly bear to be apart from me.

Fast forward to now. He can, shall we say, handle being apart from me. He loves being with friends, and he loves his solitude.

And…we are, in a sense, closer than ever. It’s hard to describe. Those of you who know what I’m talking about, know what I’m talking about. The moments we’re in the same room may be fewer, but there’s a depth and quality to our connection that’s extraordinary. The love is deeper, in a way. There are actually moments where I suspect he even appreciates me a little. And most of all, he tells me things about his life and his experience which bring me straight into his heart.

It’s a dance, this holding on and letting go. I am for sure a neophyte, still learning the steps, stumbling a whole lot and probably making a fool of myself out on the dance floor.

But I love it. I love watching him interact with people, coming across as a young adult rather than a boy, only to see him goof around like a seven year old a few minutes later. I love watching him handle disappointment with the grace of an adult, and then reach for comfort from his mom when things get rough. I love seeing him argue politics with someone three times his age. I even love that he found the right school to further his passion for politics and international studies, despite the fact that it means I'll be seeing him less.

I know we’ll stay in touch, because we’ve been working on figuring out how to do that for eighteen years now.

But then again, ask me how I’m doing come September.

Every 15 Minutes

2009-04-21T10:40:00.000-07:00

Last week I was involved in a program at my son’s high school called Every 15 Minutes, based on the fact that every fifteen minutes someone dies of an alcohol related accident. The program, which involves many agencies, is nationwide and has proven to have a remarkable impact on reducing drunk driving in teens who have been exposed to it.

Day 1 began with a simulated car crash involving eight students, many who I’ve known since toddlerhood. The CHP, fire department and paramedics were all on board and played their part with haunting realism to 10^th, 11^th and 12^th grade students who sat transfixed in bleachers as events unfolded, from the moment of the “crash” (with mangled cars and participants in place behind screens which parted when the viewing audience was assembled) to the departure of ambulances with the “wounded.” As the “drunk driver” was handcuffed, she looked at two of her friends covered from head to toe, and there was pin drop silence among the crowd of usually rowdy teens.

That night I helped lead a retreat for the students involved in the simulation. As I sat there listening to each of the kids share their experiences of the day—watching them simultaneously shaken up and transformed by what they’d gone through, I felt that I was witnessing one of the most extraordinary moments of my life. These kids—and what they said from such a vulnerable and honest place—brought me to my knees.

The second day a simulated memorial service was held in the gym for those who had “died”, including the reading of letters from students and their parents who had the experience of peering over the edge of life and death. A film showed the events leading up to the crash—kids celebrating an anticipated team win that night with vodka and OJ on the beach before heading off to school—and we watched each of them as they innocently said goodbye to their parents that morning as they did every other day, believing it would be an ordinary day. Kids in the audience watched their peers express the myriad unspoken feelings towards their parents and friends, and the hopes and dreams for their lives that would not come to fruition. Even the hardiest of kids was silenced by it all.

In the days since the event, I’ve spoken with many kids from the high school, and the feedback has been unanimous; this was a major life experience, both for those who watched, and of course for those who took part and have been talking with their friends about what they went through.

To say that those days were powerful for me and the others who put on the event is an understatement. When we met a few days later, we were all still reverberating, honored to have been allowed to walk alongside our kids as their adult selves begins to emerge, and to help even a little as they learn life lessons that might spare them the agony of true loss as the result of someone driving under the influence.

I share this with you because I saw firsthand what an exceptional program Every 15 Minutes is, and want to encourage you to look into hosting it at your child’s high school. Teen after teen told us at the retreat how easy it is for them to tune out speakers who drone on at assemblies about drinking and driving. The Every 15 Minutes experience, on the other hand was real; while not truly turning lives inside out the way an authentic accident like this would do, it impacted our kids enormously.

For more info please visit www.every15minutes.com

“It’s Not Fair!”

2009-02-15T21:39:00.000-08:00

If you're a parent, chances are extremely high that you hear this phrase regularly. And if you haven't heard those exact words, you have heard their cousins: "You're the meanest mom in the world...", "You're the only dad who refuses to...", or "I hate you!"

For most of us, these dramatic statements are guaranteed to trigger a defensive comeback. "Fine, hate me then. But I love you..." or "Some day you'll thank me." Regardless of what words you deliver, I can assure you of this: Your children will not hear what you're saying if they're upset, and they will certainly not back off from their accusations just because you came up with a clever retort. Angry children can't process words very well, making your comeback either useless or inflammatory.

What to do? Should parents allow their children to fling hurtful remarks in their direction without trying to diffuse things? Should we allow our youngster sto say things that are obviously untrue...and mean?

Of course not. But if you’ve heard me speak, you know that I believe it’s vital that parents hold the role of Captain of the ship in their child’s life. This means that regardless of the storm you might find yourself sailing through, it’s essential that you hold that role of confidence and sanity that will get the ship through rocky seas.

A child who delivers the “It’s Not Fairs” is in need of feeling heard far more than getting their way. (Although naturally they would disagree with this assessment.) Even as adults, despite often feeling desperate to prevail in an argument when we believe passionately in our position, what we need more than the other person giving in or agreeing is to feel understood, heard and respected for how we feel.

If (or should I say, when) your child is so upset that they make these kinds of declarations, my suggestion is that you avoid engaging with the content (I call this the “Neck Up” part of their message) and avoid taking their words personally. I don’t know about you, but when I’m upset or off center, I am very capable of saying things that aren’t very accurate or true. When someone challenges me on the accuracy of my words, I feel deeply misunderstood, and my frustration only gets bigger as I scramble to justify what I’ve said.

Instead, focus on the feelings behind their message. (But please, don’t say, “How do you feel about that?” Most of us hate it when the people around us use therapist-y language.)

“You desperately wanted to stay up later to watch that show, honey. I get it.”
“It’s tearing you up that you can’t go to that party when most of your friends get to go.”
“Finding out at the last minute that the movie we were going to see isn’t suitable for kids your age—and telling you after you’d told your friends you were going to see it…that was pretty awful…”

Start by helping translate the message behind the accusations and hurtful words, and you’ll usually find the hysteria and drama will subside fairly soon. If it doesn’t, there are other issues at play.

Remember: rather than taking a child’s angry words at face value and entering into debate about them, hold on to your position as the one they can lean on to help them through the storm. You—and your child—will be glad you did.

With son at inauguration in D.C.!

2009-01-27T16:57:00.000-08:00

Up at 5:30 (that’s 2:30 in the morning, California time, where our bodies still think we are.) We’re on the train by 6:00 a.m. amidst throngs of people all going to the same place, for the same reason.

We get off the train near the National Mall with throngs of others, the light in the sky shifting from a dull grey to a hint of blue and rose. The atmosphere is electric already; people of every age, shape, color and demographic all having pushed through some obstacle—or many of them—to be here for what they feel is a once in a lifetime experience.

Ari and I wait for several hours in the tunnel on 3rd street surrounded by thousands of fellow adventurers, sharing stories with whoever we’re beside for those few moments until the movement of the crowd separates us and we find ourselves with a whole new group of friends. That’s how it goes. Helping someone find a lost glove. Giving our hand warmers to the teenage girl who wasn’t quite prepared for twenty degrees. Sharing with the young man from New Orleans or the older ladies from Memphis why, despite the crowd and colds, we each felt we should come.

The day unfolds magically. We eventually emerge through security, believing we’ll now be able to move onto the Mall, but instead we’re told we have to walk 15 blocks to another entry point. Finally, five or six hours after setting out this morning, we find “our spot” and the people within our fifteen feet radius become our family for the next few hours.

The night Obama won the election, my son looked at me after his acceptance speech and said, “We have to go.” As a political junkie and a kid passionate about history and international relations, I saw this as a chance to stoke his fire.
But a power outage in my neighborhood the night of the election meant that I booked airline tickets sitting in front of someone’s house, stealing internet access with their signal and my laptop. Tickets I held while looking for a better deal disappeared by the time I came back to compare them with my new find. I leapt, and booked flights; it wasn’t until the next day, when I could research the whole thing, that I discovered two interesting things: One, hotels were $500.00 on up and two, you needed tickets to go to an inauguration.

But it turned out to be one of those “leap and the net will appear” experiences. Pamela offered her parents house; her folks picked us up and took care of us like we were their own, until we moved to a friend’s empty apartment in Silver Springs.

So we had our adventure. And now I sit in the Baltimore airport, watching Ari chat with a young man who worked for Obama’s campaign in the Asian-American contingent. Across from where they sit are two ladies covered in Obama buttons, hats and scarves. Ari has on his “I Witnessed History” t-shirt. I have my “I Was There” button.

When my son was little, I used to think that when he got older, parenting would invariably be a lot less fun. I considered the idea of having a teenager sort of like a consolation prize; they haven’t actually left home yet, but it’s a lot less sweet than when they’re little boys who run to the door when they hear you come in.

But I have to say, despite the yucky moments and teenage attitude, my son’s adolescence is in many ways the best part of raising him so far. I get to see him discover parts of himself that are just waking up. I get to watch him start exploring what he’s passionate about.

I get to see him turn to the older lady from Saint Louis he’s been standing beside for hours on Inauguration day and give her a big hug as the the crowd goes wild. I get to listen to him discuss Obama’s speech with the history professor from Rhode Island on our airport shuttle. And I get to see the look on his face as I see him listen to the speech of a man he so deeply admires.

Many have said that they went to the inauguration to witness history. As true as that is for me, what I can say even more fervently is that I went to witness my son take one more step along his journey towards becoming the fullest version of he is meant to be.
I Was There. And it was pretty cool.

Trapeze flying and peer pressure

2008-11-08T17:51:00.001-08:00

She Flies Through the Air With the Greatest of Ease…Almost!

One of my secret childhood fantasies was to fly on the trapeze. I imagined how thrilling it would be to sail gracefully through the air, the wind in your hair with the a safety net below. When I found out there was a trapeze school down the road in Santa Monica, it stayed in the back of my mind as something I would eventually have to try.

As luck would have it, a friend of mind finished our phone conversation recently by asking me if I knew anyone who might want to join a trapeze class the following Saturday. She was involved in a fundraising event for cancer survivors that included ten spaces at the trapeze school in Santa Monica, and her friend had asked her to help fill the remaining openings.

“Are you kidding? I am there!” I marveled at my good fortune, and couldn’t wait till Saturday arrived. That morning I dressed in what I considered my best “trapeze outfit”, as excited up as a five-year old. I could see myself swinging, maybe even doing a flip, and thought I might even try the catches!

I arrived relaxed and ready to take the literal leap of faith. We were given a short training on the ground, and the first few people took their turn. Some of these were women who had survived cancer; they were brave in ways I couldn’t fathom. A couple of them went all the way, while one or two just managed to grab the bar and swing once before gently dropping into the safety net. No one was judged, and everyone was cheered on for whatever they did.

Before I knew it, my turn had come. I climbed the ladder and quickly realized it was a heck of a lot higher than it looked from the ground. But I moved through my fear and made it to the top, scooting around the tiny platform and getting re-hooked into the cables that would follow me along my swing.

But there was one problem: I suddenly didn’t feel good about it. First of all, I remembered—interesting timing—that I am pretty afraid of heights. Secondly, my one initial concern about the whole trapeze thing—that it might tax a shoulder that had been dislocated years ago—suddenly loomed large. I thought about how great my life is right now, and the memory of the pain of that shoulder being out of its socket and the months of recovery I endured started to weigh heavily on my infatuation with briefly sailing through the sky.

I knew it wasn’t the right thing for me to do. It wasn’t a matter of pushing through my fear--- it was clearly not the right thing for me to do. And more important, I knew that it was fine to say so, and to climb back down the ladder. There was no shame or sense of apology, no long explanations to my buddies back on the ground other than, “It didn’t feel right.” I watched the others for the rest of our time there with great enjoyment, and without a twinge of remorse or embarrassment.

Could I have “Just said no” years ago,? I don’t know. I think I would have felt the need to do a lot of apologizing and explaining. I think I would have felt I’d blown it somehow by climbing down the ladder, or that I should have tried harder.

But not listening to my inner wisdom is a thing of the past. As I drove home, I considered the changes that had happened in my life that enabled me to feel fine about how things had gone.

This got me thinking about kids and peer pressure. We so frequently tell our kids not to join others on the playground when they tease other children, to not cave in when their peers are egging them on to try drugs or alcohol, and to resist the pressure to be sexually active when they’re encouraged to do so.

But do they see us holding our own when our peers are putting pressure on us to take action we don’t feel is right? What do our children observe us doing when our wiser instincts are telling us not to join another committee, offer to take the kids to a movie when we’re worn out by a bad cough, or when we get drawn in to unfriendly gosspi behind a friend’s back.

As we make the choices about what we stand for, who we vote for, and how we conduct ourselves in our daily life, it’s important to remember that our children are observing whether we make decisions based on what looks right to other people, or based on what feels right to us.

An unexpected parenting lesson

2008-10-14T15:35:00.000-07:00

Yet another lesson in parenting...
My son and I are in the Goleta gas station an hour and a half into our drive to San Francisco to look at colleges, and the car decides not to start. I try it again, and it apparently still believes it's a good idea to pretend it has a dead battery or some such thing. We wait a few minutes and it resolutely holds its ground: Not starting.

So here we are, one of those parenting moments where I get to either act worried and upset ("It's already late--I'm too tired to fold this drama in to the end of a long day!") or roll with it and handle the unexpected in a way that yet again shows my son a saner path to take when plans go awry.

We try and try--the car almost turns over and then announces (via electronics) that there's a key prevent issue and to try again. Trying again does nothing, a jump start does nothing, a friendly guy who messes with fuses does nothing, and basically nothing does nothing. We sit. We call a towing company. We call friends who rally with advice and offers to come get us. We make jokes. We eat. Most importantly, we just roll with it and remember that life is good, even if we have to get towed and drive home and miss our trip.

It’s in these real-life moments that I most fully understand how it is our children learn about dealing with life’s inevitable challenges. All of us find it easy to espouse wise counsel when things are going well; it’s much harder when we get thrown a curve ball in real space and time. But the truth is, the way we handle the curve balls matters most. Because the truth is, we aren’t raising children; we’re raising adults.

I want my son to have a fantastic life. And as much as a good education and a wide repertoire of life and people skills are important, as I sat in the car for two and a half hours with my just turned eighteen-year old boy, I saw yet again that what may count the most is his ability to enjoy each moment of life, even when it doesn’t look the way he thought it was supposed to.

We sat, we snacked, we listened to music, and of course periodically tried to start the car, which continue to adamantly believe it should stay right there. Finally, the tow truck driver arrived. He squatted beside me as I sat in the driver’s seat to show him what the car was doing. I turned the key and…the car started.

!!

Having discovered there was a Volvo dealer down the street from our destination, we hit the road, a little like Bonnie and Clyde—determined to drive straight through without turning off the car, with the wind in our hair and a new spring in our step (figuratively.) We had fantastic conversation in the wee hours of the night, listening to interesting things on the radio, playing each other music, talking, and being quietly alone with our thoughts. We had a blast, spurred by our gratitude that we could make the trip after all, and the newfound awareness of how cool that was—where just hours earlier we’d taken it all for granted.

Who knows the mysteries of these things. My left brain understands that it was an intermittent problem with the ignition antenna that Volvo fixed the next day. The rest of me believes it was a gift—a chance to have a little adventure with my son, and to yet again do my best to show him that it’s not the events outside of us that determine our happiness, but what we do with them.

We both agreed that this was one of the best trips we’d taken, and I think that had a lot to do with the two and a half hours in that gas station.

Another reminder to live like our kids are watching. Because they are.

Water Deeply

2008-09-12T08:40:00.001-07:00

Water Deeply

By Susan Stiffelman, MFT

Confession: I’m a hypocrit.

In my book, I illustrated the importance of building a strong attachment with our kids by talking about the importance of watering a plant deeply enough to ensure its strength and resilience. I gave the example of my son Ari routinely claiming he had fulfilled his watering duties by splashing the leaves of the plants so they looked wet.

If that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black!

At the beginning of the summer I planted some vegetables in the patch under my kitchen window. Ever optimistic, I hoped that by putting them where I couldn’t help but see them dozens of times a day, I might remember to water them. (I don’t have a great track record when it comes to green thumbing, despite being from Kansas where one would think I’d have gotten an extra farmer gene.)

My tomatoes, squash and beets have been feebly clinging to life most of the summer. I figured it was the lack of full sun, poor soil, or just plain bad plant karma.

And then one Sunday I made little wells around each plant and watarted playing in the mud, making little rivers that meandered around each well. I left the hose on low for about an hour, letting the water flow from one plant down to the next. Something miraculous happened just one day later. I had healthy plants!

The truth? The plants needed to be watered deeply, not just watered.

It’s exactly the same with our kids.

Those of you who are familiar with my work know that I refer to the six stages of attachment that a child moves through in their first six years of life. A child who is connected securely in these six ways is happier, more resilient, and far easier to parent. Without a solid connection, a child’s instincts to take their cues from us is weak at best and non-existent at worse, leading to resistance, misbehavior and the absence of cooperation that sends parents on an endless chase for a good behavior modification program.

I love what my plants have taught me. They couldn’t have done a better job of demonstrating the need to go deep when we build connection with our kids, rather than superficially putting in “quality time” with the occasional conversation, usually precipitated by a problem.

Building attachment with our kids is the key to raising them well and enjoying the ride. As they head back to school, make sure you’re not just spending time buying new outfits and school supplies. Hang out with them in ways that naturally create opportunities to listen to them and find out how they’re doing. Listen. Listen some more. Laugh together. Have a mini-adventure. Hang out in their room without being in a hurry to leave.

Water deeply.

When Parents Disagree

2008-06-29T14:17:00.000-07:00

When Mom and Dad don't agree on how to handle a parenting issue

In theory, the idea of parents presenting a united front to the kids makes all kinds of sense. It’s far less confusing to children to know that “No” means No, regardless of whose mouth proclaims it. There’s a wonderful feeling of solidarity that fortifies parent’s relationship with one another other when they back each other up over an issue with their child. And of course, much has been written about the value of consistency in dealing with children.

Still, in the real world, parents don’t always agree on the right course of parenting action.

What to do?

I’ll start with the simplest answer, and work up to the situation that’s often prefaced by, “I can’t believe you told him ‘Yes’ after I told him ‘No’!”

If the issue is not terribly important, my general feeling is that whichever parent is alone with the child at the time the issue occurs, that parent is viewed as the Captain of the Ship, and their decision sticks. If the second parent disagrees, I strongly urge him or her to discuss their feelings away from the child, and to chew on their lip rather than pitch a fit about the first parent’s decision in the presence of the child.

If the issue is a serious one and Parent Number 1 suspects the child is asking an important question in the hopes of a New! Improved! Answer, it’s best that they let the child know they want to confer with Parent number 2. (If the child says, “Never mind,” you can spare yourself consulting the other parent since it’s pretty obvious that Parent Number 1 has indeed already been approached and you are the child’s backup plan.)

What about those situations where you and your partner passionately disagree? One of you feels she should try out for the tennis team, and the other feels you should leave it up to your daughter, who doesn’t want to join. Or you feel your son should go to summer school, and your spouse strongly disagrees?

The most important thing to remember here (and keep in mind, this is a short article, by no means exhaustive) is to have these discussions away from your children. Listen carefully to their feelings on the subject, and then talk it over without them overhearing.

When the parents are alone, they should allow one another to speak uninterrupted for a few minutes, each acknowledging the other’s point of view with respect.

In a sense, this is more a marital issue than a parenting one. In a healthy marriage, ideally partners listen and absorb one another’s feelings about a subject that they see from very different vantage points. If sorting through disagreements is a chronic problem between you, recognize this as an area to strengthen the marriage (or in the case of divorce, the co-parenting arrangement), and the willingness of both partners to have the difficult conversations that create positive outcomes for everyone.

Most importantly, by practicing respectful conflict resolution with your parenting partner, you set an example for your children that as long as respect and kindness are in the equation and the need to be Right is overshadowed by the desire to stay lovingly connected, disagreements can indeed be solved.

Avoiding Power Struggles

2008-04-10T20:59:00.000-07:00

Are power struggles optional?

Call me crazy, but I think the majority of the power struggles we find ourselves having with our kids (and yes, our teens) are avoidable.

The interesting thing about us humans is that we're wired to push up against anything that's pushing up against us. In other words, we have an almost knee jerk reaction to being bossed around, controlled, or given advice we haven't asked for.

In and of itself, that isn't a bad thing. We want our kids to refuse the direction or requests of strangers, and we also want them to learn to think for themselves, rather than indiscriminately following their peers, as they grow up.

But what most of us don't want are kids who become aggressive attorneys, arguing their case whenever we tell them they can't have a sleepover at their friend's house or when we ask them to take out the trash.

As most of you know who are familiar with my work, I tend to focus more on preventing problems than suggesting what to do once things have fallen apart. While I do offer lots of advice on getting out of trouble once things have deteriorated, I'm far more interested in helping parents avoid situations that create problems in the first place.

So if a child is chronically resistant or the power struggles are constant, rather than focusing on their behavior, I'm going to be asking the parent to take an honest look at how the relationship between them can be strengthened.

But for the purposes of this article, let's say things are generally good between you and your child, but now and again, they get in one of those phases where they challenge everything you ask or suggest.

It's not possible to have a power struggle unless both of you are participants. So one of the first steps I ask parents to do is to avoid giving their kids something to push against.

How do we do that?

The most important thing to remember is to avoid pushing. Come alongside your child rather than at them when making a request. Work from connection. Stay in your Captain of the Ship mode--calm and confident. (For more on this, please see some of the online booklets and downloadable interviews under "Parenting Tools" on my site.)

Power struggles happen when we get caught into what I call the Neck Up part of a dialogue with our kids. This has to do with focusing on the words, versus the feelings behind the words.

Child: "Why can't I sleep at Tony's?"

Parent: "Because you've been tired and need to catch up on your sleep."

Any child in their right mind is going to start creating a compelling case for why this is blatantly untrue.

Child: "No I'm not! I just seem tired to you because you're tired." or "I only looked tired this morning because I didn't want to go to school." or any number of other great arguments.

If you respond to the logic of their argument, you'll find yourself in a power struggle. So avoid focusing on the content, and instead help them feel understood and heard.

Parent: "I understand you guys want to do a sleepover, honey. Tomorrow night looks good for that" or "I wish I could give you the answer you want--and tomorrow night should be fine--but I'm afraid a sleepover isn't happening tonight."

Stick with acknowledging their upset or frustration. Avoid getting into a discussion about the reason, unless you honestly feel your child will be able to hear it and move on. With many kids it's fine to explain why they can't have what they want, but with kids who tend to move quickly into Attorney mode, it only fuels those power struggles you're trying to avoid.

Another key point: Try to avoid using the word "No." Instead of, "No, you can't have another cookie", try "Sure you can have another cookie--in fact you can have two cookies tomorrow!" One of the quickest ways to awaken a child's inner lawyer is to use the word "No." Be creative and use other words to convey the same message.

Remember: He who is most attached to a particular outcome has the least amount of power. Stay cool and in charge of your own reactions so you can remain the Captain of the Ship, even when you're sailing over stormy seas!

For more insights, ideas and suggestions, please check out my site at www.susanstiffelman.com

Difficult Conversations

2008-03-22T21:52:00.001-07:00

I've just returned from a trip to Boston with my 17-year old to look at colleges.(Yikes! Major, big-time yikes!) While we were there, we attended a lecture at MIT based on the great book, Difficult Conversations. (I highly recommend it)

I've read the book and referred it many times to clients and friends, but it was especially interesting to sit in this lecture with my son and his buddy. The speaker talked about the observable data--what a video would impartially record-- of an event, and then the selective data--what we choose to emphasize versus leave out that supports our beliefs and assumptions.

The coolest thing was to see these two hulky boys over the next few days as they referenced moments in our interactions where one of us was acting on selective data. It was amazing to watch them become more aware of how we all tend to overlook certain elements in an interactions or situation in favor of the ones that support our particular assumptions.

The long and short of it is that i continue to marvel at how great it is when kids can learn early on how to approach the events and people they encounter without the bias that tends to get us tripping over ourselves. When we can be present and see things as they are, without the filters that distort, we become far better able to deal with life effectively.

What was sweetest of all was being able to show my son that I was willing to have him point out moments when I was jumping to conclusions: I actually thanked him a number of times for reminding me to resist being ruled by my beliefs and predetermined ideas about how things are.

Our kids really do have the possibility of skipping so much of the nonsense and dysfunction we went through. Probably not all of it. But even a little bit of awakening does wonders for improving ones ability to learn, grow and enjoy life. And that's what it's all about, as they say in the Hokey Pokey!

Part of my Guilt-free Parenting article

2008-03-13T19:16:00.000-07:00

Following is part of an article that I wrote for my latest Passionate Parenting newsletter:

Guilt feeds shame, and shame does not motivate humans in a healthy way. Guilt and shame promote defensiveness, numbness and rationalization. People who feel chronic guilt are masters of deflecting responsibility and blaming others. They have trouble learning from their mistakes, because they don’t fully feel them.

Instead, when parents behave in ways they later regret, I recommend the following:

1) Rewind the scene from the moment you lost it. What elements were in place that contributed to your becoming temporarily possessed by your alter ego? Were you tired? Hungry? Or did you have a story in your head about your child’s behavior that triggered your reactions? (See my booklets, interviews and other articles for more about looking at what we make our children’s behavior mean.)

2) Own your mistake courageously. Acknowledge specifically where you started going off track. Notice if you ignored a little voice in your head that suggested you leave the room or keep your lips tightly together until those waves of anger or frustration subsided. We often allow the intensity of our emotions to make us do and say things we know we’ll regret even as we’re doing and saying them-- and that little voice is telling us to STOP.

3) Apologize to your child. Step into your adult role fully and show them that people make mistakes, and that you can imagine it may not have felt very good to hear Mommy or Daddy saying or doing those things. Make it clear that regardless of how you behaved, it was not their fault, nor is it their responsibility to act in a particular way so that you can keep your cool. It is always your job to manage your reactions, not your child’s, regardless of whether they’re naughty or nice.

Guilt, blame and shame are emotional cripplers. They inhibit our ability to fully feel our feelings when we make mistakes, and therefore prevent us from really learning when we’ve gotten it wrong. By owning our weaknesses with an intention to improve, and by committing to remain kind and accepting of ourselves, we give our children the freedom to do the same.

Next time you channel a version of yourself that doesn’t reflect the mom or dad you genuinely want to be—the one that’s patient and kind and manages your impulses—recognize that you’ve gotten off course, brush yourself off, and apologize. Feel your sadness and consider how you might avoid getting into that situation next time. You’ll then be ready to move on, forging a new path towards being the parent you truly want to be.

Susan Stiffelman, MFT does parenting teleclasses, telephone and private coaching, and is the author of the upcoming, Passionate Parenting: How to Raise Kids Who Are Joyful, Resilient and Authentically Themselves. She can be reached at osusannaji@gmail.com

If you’d like articles like these twice a month, please visit www.susanstiffelman.com or http://tinyurl.com/yvumul and sign up for the free Passionate Parenting newsletter.

Gordon Neufeld

2008-03-03T22:35:00.000-08:00

I had the wonderful and rare opportunity to hear one of my mentors, Gordon Neufeld, this evening, and once again I marvel at how well he articulates such critical components of what makes parenting work.

Here's one of my favorite Gordon quotes: "We need soft hearts to grow up." He talks a lot about the importance of feeling and emotion as, "the engine of maturation." Our job as parents really is to hold that place in our children's lives that feeds their innate need for connection and attachment, so we can help them feel the full range of their feelings instead of them hardening their hearts to protect from the risks that come from being open and vulnerable.

I love Dr. Neufeld's work, and his book (Hold On to Your Kids.) Highly recommend it!

Now, time to go check in with my own kid, which may just be sitting in the same room and doing my own thing while he finishes up homework. Staying connected...

More to come!

Susan

Radio Show

2008-02-27T00:28:00.001-08:00

This Thursday, as most Thursdays, I'll be doing an Internet radio show at www.blogtalkradio.com/passionateparenting I hope you'll check it out, and call in if you get the chance.

Being the Captain of the Ship in your child's life

2008-02-14T12:29:00.000-08:00

Today in my Internet radio show I addressed a caller's question about how to be the one calmly in charge when your kids are annoying each other at the kitchen table, day in and day out, while you attempt to make dinner in peace. One of the points I made was that as long as we, as parents, are resisting what IS--in favor of believing things should be different than they are--we experience stress. And stress is what throws us off our game, and causes us to lose it.

Soooooo, when the kids are chewing on each other at the table while they pretend to do homework, the first step is to come alongside the reality rather than resisting it.

The Captain of the Ship doesn't spend time explaining why the storm shouldn't be happening-- he/she looks for the best way out. Afterwards, he or she looks to see how they might have AVOIDED the storm altogether.

When your kids are messing with each other at the homework table, ask yourself: "What are they getting out of it? How is it serving them?" Kids--people of all ages-- do things for a payoff, even if what they're doing is a lousy way to get what they want.

For a continuation on this topic, come back and read more in my next blog! Don't forget to visit my website, www.susanstiffelman.com and sign up for my newsletter.

Cheers!

Susan

Woman writes in for help because son won't clean room! Imagine that!

2008-02-12T21:21:00.001-08:00

My eleven year old routinely throws things in the closet and claims he’s cleaned his room. How can I get him to do the job right? Help! It’s starting to stink in there!

What a clever young man you have, and how optimistic of him to hope he’s going to get away with the old closet trick!

The truth is, we all do the bare minimum when the task in front of us is something we don’t enjoy. So let’s start by helping you be less upset and reactive when you have to bust your kid, since your own anger and judgment does nothing to inspire your son to go the extra mile when it comes to doing things that aren’t fun and have no perceived payoff.

Remember when you were eleven? I do. I remember that when my room got really messy and my mom told me it was time to clean it up, I’d sit down in the middle of the floor and start to cry. (Don’t worry. I’m better now.) Looking back, I realize that I simply felt overwhelmed, and the lack of having any interest whatsoever in the task made it impossible for me to come up with a strategy for starting the job.

Those of you who have heard me speak know that I talk about the pre-frontal cortex and its role in motivation, focus and impulse control. When we’re engaged and interested, the PFC is activated and quite helpful in keeping us on task, but without it being fully ‘switched on’, we humans have a lot of trouble staying focused and sticking through something from start to finish.

Here are a few tips that might help:

1.) Ritualize the cleaning of the room. Build it into your son’s schedule so you don’t discuss and renegotiate every time his room is dirty. This might mean he does it every Saturday for 20 minutes (see below) or every night before bed for 5 minutes. Or both. Create whatever schedule makes sense and is realistic for you both.

2.) Set a specific and reasonable amount of time for him to devote to the job. Twenty minutes for most eleven year olds is good because a lot can get done if he stays focused, and it won’t feel to him like forever. (We always want kids to see the light at the end of the tunnel when they’re doing something they strongly dislike, if at all possible.)

3.) With your son, create a list of 5 to 10 cleaning tasks that hit on most of the things you want him to do when he’s cleaning his room. This might include: Throw dirty clothes in laundry room, vacuum, make sure T-shirts are in the drawer rather than spilling out of it, hang up sweatshirts, wipe off the windowsill, etc.

Finally, approach this with a bit of lightness, but be clear that the job has to be done. Don’t engage in long discussions about it. (Although if he’s frustrated, please do help him; see my website for the booklet or interview on Helping Kids Deal with Frustration.)

Be empathic and kind; let your son know that you understand it’s not something he enjoys, and don’t lecture him about how it’ll make him a better person, or how it’s preparing him to live with college roommates, etc. From my experience working with hundreds of children and teenagers, very few kids are motivated to clean their rooms by considering how much character they’re building. Be honest. Let him know you’re going to help him make it tolerable, and then put on some great music and help him get the job done!

Susan Stiffelman, MFT

Does parenting have to be stressful?

2008-02-12T20:24:00.000-08:00

I'm becoming more and more aware of the moments when stress starts to creep up behind me, and one thing I've noticed is that it only happens when I'm resisting what's going on. As I pay attention to those moments when I start to get hot and bothered, I notice that there really is a common denominator, regardless of what the trigger is. Whatever the issue might be-- my 17 year old digging in his heels about his chores, or my dog tracking mud all over the house-- I really do have a choice about where to take things. I can be present and move forward with a commitment to keep feeling good, or I can get stuck in trying to make things different from the way they are.

Take today, for example. I woke up a little after three in the morning to tape a segment on Fox News (about teens who party and drink heavily. You can see it on my website under "media" if you're interested) I got in a short snooze when I got home, then worked and picked up boy and worked and so on. Around 3:30 in the afternoon I finally got my chance and fell linto a delicious sleep.

A few minutes later I was startled awake by the sound of voices outside my window. When I took a look, there were four boys (one who looks a lot like me and had been told not to wake his mom if I got the chance to catch some Zzzzz's.) They were playing golf--sort of-- outside my bedroom.

Choice: Get upset about my sweet sleep being disrupted, or enjoy those four hulking goofs in the back yard.

I chose the latter, and ended up having big fun watching them muck around.

I know we all have experiences like this, and that this example isn't anything extraordinarily. But if it reminds you to do what you already know--enjoy your kids as much as possible-- it will help you keep that commitment to choosing to accept what's going on, rather than resist it.

More to come!

Susan