mama bear, mama bear, what do you see?

I see myself looking back at me.

When I'm talking to groups of parents about my research, there's always lots of laughing AND there are always three or four moments when things get very, very quiet. One of the quieter moments settles in when I talk about the power of seeing ourselves (or our partners) in our children. There is great joy in those moments, but it can also be very difficult when we see the parts of ourselves that we struggle with (or against) emerge in our children.

If we feel shame about a certain behavior or appearance issue and we catch a glimpse of it in our child, we're very vulnerable to feeling more inadequate and even shaming them about it.

If we know that we have an anger or sensitivity issue that can cause problems, we are often alarmed when we see it in our sons or daughters. 

In many ways, 20+ years has turned me and Steve into one funky, hybrid person. When we first got married, I liked the "sleeping temperature" to be 68 degrees. He liked 72. Now we both like 70. For many years, we liked different TV shows, now we like the same ones. That's how it goes.

But, when it comes to our tempers, we're very different. It takes a lot to make Steve really mad, but once he's mad it can take a while before he's "normal" again. He's quick to forgive, but it takes a while to recover.

Me? I can stomp around, yell, and be really pissy, then feel great and be ready to grab a movie and some Thai food. If Steve looks at me weird, I'm always like, "What? It's over. I think you're all cute again." He really loves it when I say, "Oh, I had the rest of the fight in my head. I was right. You apologized. It's over."

If that's not bad enough, I was also raised by an attorney. I can turn an argument into a hostile witness interrogation faster than you can say, "Jack McCoy." While these are lovely traits, I'm pretty sure that both of these things drive him crazy.

I've never understood how my "anger/arguement style" could possibly be irritating. Until now. Enter Charlie. He is a sweet, loving little guy. He's very compassionate, funny, and smart as a whip. He's also 3 - year of the power struggle. Combine this age with my anger/arguement style and here you go:

Charlie: I want to drive by the fire station.

Me: Sure thing, sweet boy. We'll be there in about 10 minutes.

Charlie: Tanks. (my favorite little word pronunciation right now).

Me: Hey Charlie, please stop pushing mamma's seat with your feet.

Charlie keeps pushing, pushing, pushing and I keep asking, asking asking. I'm resisting all of the training that tempts me to say, "Don't make me pull this car over." I don't say it because what would I do with the car pulled over?

Me: Charlie, I don't want to ask you again. You need to make good choices. If you choose to keep pushing my seat, we're not going to drive by the fire station.

Charlie kicks the seat as hard as he can and giggles.

Me: Charlie, I'm sorry, but we're not going by the fire station. You aren't making good choices (my voice is raised a bit and I'm frustrated).

Charlie: You hurt my feelings! 

Me: I'm sorry, but you need to think about your choices.

Charlie: You need to think about your choices. You should blow out your angry words, not use them on friends. Let's both say sorry and start over.

At this point I'm dazed and confused and questioning the entire Montessori concept.

Me: I'm not going to say "I'm sorry." I asked you to stop kicking my seat because it hurts my body when you do that.

Charlie: Momma, it's OK to say sorry. Everyone makes bad choices. You know I still love you when you're making bad choices.

I'm thinking - "Are you kidding me?"

We drive past the turn for the fire station. He screams. I drag him in the house (I'm still confused and getting increasingly tired). He screams more. Five minutes pass.

Charlie: You want to build the biggest fort in all of life?

Me: Sure. Are you ready to make good choices?

Charlie: (In an earnest voice - not being sarcastic at all) Charlie is ready. Is momma ready to make good choices now?

A couple of days later we're in the car again. This time, he's been really hard while I'm trying to get him ready and I'm super frustrated.

Charlie: Are you really angry, mama?

Me: I'm frustrated Charlie.

Charlie: Let's start over. "Hi Mama."

Me: Charlie, I need a couple of minutes of quiet time so I can blow out my angry. It's really hard to go in the car to have fun when you're not helpful getting dressed.

About 7-8 minutes passes.

Me: Charlie, I feel better. Do you want to talk about our day? I really want us to have fun.

Charlie: Nope. I'm in MY quiet time now. Please don't talk to me.

God bless Steve (and Ellen who is a lot more like Steve). Not only are there two of us now, but it kinda cracks me up (if it's not making me crazy).

Please make me feel better and tell me about all those wonderful, crazy-making things that make you think, "Oh no. It's me."

imperfect parenting - forgiveness

Imperfect Parenting Blog Series CD 2 - Track 4 (Post #10)

The more I know, the less I understand
All the things I thought I knew, I’m learning again
I’ve been trying to get down
To the heart of the matter
But my will gets weak
And my thoughts seem to scatter
But I think it’s about forgiveness

These are the lyrics from “Heart of the Matter” by Don Henley (and most recently covered by the amazing India.Arie).

These words beautifully capture my feelings about forgiveness. As a researcher, I’m certain that forgiveness is essential to living with courage, compassion, and connection. It came up across the interviews as critical to authentic living and parenting. But, the more I know about forgiveness, the less I understand.

When I taped the lecture in April (the CD that many of you are listening to), I tried to be really honest about my struggle with forgiveness. On the CD, I explain that, as a researcher, I know that forgiveness is important, but as a person on the same journey as everyone else, I’m not willing to stand in front of people and tell them that they should practice forgiveness. I talk about how arrogant it feels to tell people to do that when my own experiences of forgiveness have been limited – I haven’t survived the traumas that many people have had to survive.

I’m also very honest about how difficult forgiveness has been and continues to be for me. Why? Because practicing forgiveness means letting go of self-righteous anger, blame, and resentment. That’s hard. The combination of self-righteous anger, blame, and resentment is one of my favorites. Umm. Umm. Umm. Drink it up! Unfortunately, I think it’s toxic and eats you alive from the inside. It might go down like a milkshake, but it burns up your insides like battery acid.

A good friend who attended the lecture in April, called me the next day and said, “You might have to edit the forgiveness part of the CD. You went a little crazy.” I was so nervous that I had no idea what I had said. When I asked her, she paused then said, “Well, there was the part when you said that telling people to forgive can be arrogant. Then you said that in our culture, we have a hard time of letting go when we really want to kick someone’s ass and they actually deserve to have their ass kicked. You also said that it’s almost like forgiveness is un-American.”

Believe it or not, I didn’t care. That was the most honest, authentic way I could talk about forgiveness. I’ve spent a decade interviewing people who have survived violence and trauma that I can’t even understand. I’m not going to sing the praises of forgiveness like it’s easy OR natural OR required.

In July, I ran a small workshop with 10 women. I talked about forgiveness in the same way that I always do – I know it’s important, I’m trying to understand it, and I think it might mean something different for all of us. A woman in the group raised her hand and said, “You might be the only mental health professional I’ve heard who didn’t preach about forgiveness with certainty and, more importantly, one of the only ones who didn’t tell me that I can’t heal until I totally forgive. Thank you.”

Then, she told the group that  her son was killed on 9/11. He was very young and had recently finished college. He was killed when the first tower collapsed.

She was amazing. She taught me so much about forgiveness, hope, and resilience. She also helped confirm my suspicions - certainty about forgiveness can be a dangerous and hurtful thing.

At our core, we are more the same than we are different. Or experiences with hurt and forgiveness may vary, but we all struggle. It's important to be aware of difference, but it's dangerous to start ranking trauma (who is hurting more . . . who should have an easier time with forgiveness). When we start thinking, "Hmm . . . what's worse, an affair or losing a parent in an accident or having a parent who was distant or having a child who was hurt" - we move away from connection and toward comparison. We start hearing the shame tapes that say, "I shouldn't complain - look how much worse she has it." Or, "I'm so alone, my situation is so much harder."  No one can heal from that lonely place.

Here’s a popular definition of forgiveness that I've used in my lectures. I don’t really agree with all of it:

“Interpersonal forgiveness is a willingness to abandon one’s right to resentment, negative judgment, and indifferent behavior toward one who unjustly injured us, while fostering undeserved qualities of compassion, generosity, and even love toward him or her." (Dr. Robert D. Enright, author of “Forgiveness is a Choice”).

I’ve been sifting through my data and I’m not sure that forgiving means the same for everyone and I also question the requirements of fostering compassion, generosity, and love toward the person who hurt us.

On the other hand, I see absolutely truth and grace in the definition given by Archbishop Desmond Tutu (Chairperson of South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission). He says,

To forgive is not just to be altruistic. It is the best form of self-interest. It is also a process that does not exclude hatred and anger. These emotions are all part of being human. You should never hate yourself for hating others who do terrible things: the depth of your love is shown by the extent of your anger.

However, when I talk of forgiveness I mean the belief that you can come out the other side a better person. A better person than the one being consumed by anger and hatred.

Remaining in that state locks you in a state of victimhood, making you almost dependent on the perpetrator. If you can find it in yourself to forgive then you are no longer chained to the perpetrator. You can move on, and you can even help the perpetrator to become a better person too. (Read more here).

I’ve also learned so much from The Forgiveness Project.

From a parenting perspective, I do think it’s essential that we teach our children the dangers of self-righteous anger, blame, and resentment. Of course, like every other guidepost in this series, we have to believe it and practice it first. Damn it. 

Our children need to see us practicing forgiveness and I think it’s essential that we let them watch us struggle with letting go of anger, blame, and resentment. On several occasions, I’ve told Ellen, “So-and-so made me so mad and I don’t want to get over it because she was wrong. It feels good to be right, even when it’s keeping me angry and tired.”  Watching us struggle gives them permission to struggle. Talking openly about the difficulty of forgiveness is an invitation to them to talk openly to us.

And, in parenting, isn’t struggling together and talking about it, “the heart of the matter?”

What do you think? What have your experiences with forgiveness taught you?

imperfect parenting - have hope

Imperfect Parenting Blog Series CD 2 - Track 3 (Post #9)

Hope is learned. Hope is learned. Hope is learned.

It’s taken me a long time to get my head and heart around this concept. I’ve always considered myself a “naturally hopeful” person. When I started wading through my data and stumbled on the importance of hope, I felt a little anxious.

How do I tell people that having hope is essential to living with courage, compassion and connection? How will this information affect people who struggle with hope?  Will knowing the importance of hope actually fuel hopelessness in folks who aren’t naturally hopeful?

Then I found CR Snyder’s theory on hope. His research changed everything. Hope is learned. Hope is ours for the taking and teaching.

Hope is about goals, pathways, and agency:

Goals - I know how to set goals
Pathways - I know how to reach those goals (I can handle disappointment and be flexible enough to find alternative paths)
Agency - I believe I can do it

I’ve spent a lot of time using this information to reflect back on my childhood. My parents absolutely taught me hope.  They were constantly saying things like, “Then make it happen” or  “figure out how to do make it work” or “try it another way” or “it’s going to be a lot of work, what are you willing to do to make it happen?” And, I was absolutely raised believing that I could make it happen if I wanted it.

The good news is that I’m not naturally hopeful, I was taught to hope. The better news is that I can teach Ellen and Charlie. I can help them set goals, teach them to be creative, perspective, and persistent, and I can model the power of believing in yourself.  

Hope is practical, but it can also be magical. As I was typing this I was thinking, “I need a hope quote for this post.” Right as I started to search Google for a good quote, Jen Lemen walked up and handed me this quote from her art book. She had no idea that I was working on this post. She just walked over and said, “You should have this.”

So, in turn, I’ll share Jen’s hopeful magic with you:

“You are more capable than you realize. Meet the challenge with hope in your heart. You have everything you need to cross the finish line.”  -- Jen Lemen