The Highly Sensitive Person (HSP) may be relatively new as a namesake, but it's certainly not new as many people's reality. Some of us are just wired differently than others, be it from nature or nurture (although in this case, science argues for both).
With our sensitive wiring in mind, those of us who become parents need to learn parenting strategies that are not only effective, but also keep us from feeling overwhelmed by our children--the very people whose care has been entrusted to us.
Personally, I know the HSP life well. I'm the daughter of a highly sensitive person. I, myself, am an HSP. And now, I have little one of my own. I write this based on years of research as well as from my own experience. In other words, I "get it."
My hope is that my research will help the HSP parent find greater peace in their parenting strategies.
In short, MRIs show that the HSP has a nervous system that works differently than that of the other 75 to 80 percent of the population. However, HSP traits don't necessarily manifest the same across the remaining 15 to 20 percent of the population that we comprise.
What science does demonstrate across the board for the HSP, however, is that our MRIs show distinctly different areas of brain activity versus non-HSPs in response to the same stimuli. Specifically, the MRIs show "stronger activation of brain regions involved in awareness, empathy, and self-other processing" (source).
As a result, HSPs can experience the same events entirely differently from non-HSPs. And empathic HSPs take their innate sensitivity a notch farther.
That said, there are a couple of concepts worth noting before addressing parenting strategies: "Highly sensitive people are typically introverts, while empaths can be introverts or extroverts (although most are introverts). Empaths share a highly sensitive person's love of nature and quiet environments, their desire to help others, and their rich inner life." (source)
We can use what we know to our advantage.
While mainstream parenting is, well, mainstream, we simply aren't. Therefore, we can't expect that standard parenting strategies would work well for us. If we try to fit into a certain "box" that doesn't reflect our sensitive nature, parenting might feel harder than it has to be.
Some of these ideas can lighten your load.
Many of us have what feels like a whole lot of extra neurons dedicated to empathy. And HSPs, following a standard rote of discipline that leaves us feeling disconnected from our children simply isn't a good fit.
Parent gently. This includes "parenting" yourself, too. Be kind to yourself and keep your inner (and outer) voice in check.
If HSP parents treat our children harshly, many of us will internalize the punishment and feel it ourselves on some level. If our parents were harsh with us or ignored our big feelings and we have emotional memories of that, we'll feel those feelings all over again as we administer them in our own homes. That doesn't feel good.
Of course, children do need loving limits. With practice, we can hold those loving limits compassionately with our children while also healing your own inner child.
If you're new to gentle parenting or want to learn about it in ways that support the information in the books, many positive parenting groups exist to support you. Support from likeminded parents can help you navigate to a gentler way of being.
Release the pressure to discipline the way our parents did, or our peers did, or the way some outdated parenting book said we should.
Trust your sensitivity to be your ally and your guide.
We all know we can't pour from an empty cup. We'd like to be able to take care of ourselves first. However, some HSPs find it challenging to find parenting strategies that balance self-care and our tendency to put others first.
For me, taking care of myself first just wasn't always my reality. When my child was very little, I couldn't just let her cry and "figure it out," no matter how exhausted I was. Despite the well-meaning (albeit unsolicited) advice from others, I let my heart lead my parenting.
I'd felt better if I'd parented lovingly and while being emotionally present for my child day and night.
Does that mean that I just abandoned my needs, though? Absolutely not. Something that worked really well for my family included reducing screen time and replacing it with story time. We also instituted screen-free days with unexpectedly positive results. That wouldn't work for everyone, of course, but I knew I needed my quiet time to recharge.
So, I created the best of both worlds: quiet and clutter-free areas around the house where I could go to read with (or near) her while still staying emotionally present.
I also made mornings our standard time to get out of the house. That way, I knew I could come home and everything would be quieter from that point forward in our day. Afternoons became a predictably sacred space for us.
"Home days" earned just as much priority as other appointments. I consciously worked to find the patience for positive parenting, knowing that practice would make our inner lives more peaceful. If I couldn't "go" to self-care, I brought peace to meet me where I was.
Many HSPs grew up keenly aware of their sensitivities to sounds, bright lights, and overly gregarious people. Whatever external stimuli triggered you before having kids, they're likely still there, along with the responsibility to raise children despite them. And in many cases, kids are all the noise, lights, and excitement wrapped up into little human-sized packages of energy. That's standard child behavior.
That said, this is in no way a knock on children. They're perfectly good at being exactly who they were designed to be, lights and all. Life moves on, as they say, but becoming a parent doesn't mean you're not yourself anymore. Suddenly, you're responsible for raising a human who might challenge all of your HSP-ness.
Remember how you grounded yourself before you had children. What's something you haven't done in so long that you've nearly forgotten about it, but that helped you find peace?
Consider journaling as a way to reconnect with yourself. It's proven to be a solid and reliable way to express
our own big feelings and working through them peacefully (source).
If you have an understanding partner, share your heart with them. A friend or a counselor can be a wonderful resource for an HSP, as well.
If you don't have a good circle of friends, create your community -- start somewhere. If you lack childcare or the desire to leave the house, connecting virtually can still lift you up. A video or phone chat with a faraway friend does wonders for refueling the emotional tank.
Within certain parameters, even social media can offer some benefits specifically for introverts, including the HSP. Connecting with other adults is easy to overlook because many don't consider it a "parenting strategy." However, connection is critical to our emotional wellbeing.
Connection, in turn, contributes to the emotional fuel we have on reserve for the challenging parenting days---and for all of the regular days, too. If social media starts to creep in too intrusively and negatively affect your relationships, however, know that there are many things you can do to keep your screen time in check.
Finally, not all connection needs to be with people. Connect spiritually. Connect with nature, too -- science shows how beneficial it can be for grounding ourselves (source).
Rather than trying to fit into a mainstream mould that wasn't built for us in the first place, we get to create our own parenting strategies that honor who we are. We can create an approach that 
leaves us feeling encouraged and connected, even despite all the ways that parenting stretches us and pushes our boundaries.
With the natural bigheartedness of HSPs, our children will fare better when we embrace that which comes naturally to us. There's always room for more compassion in the world.
There are a few really detailed and exceptionally good books to study, such as The Highly Sensitive Person by Elaine Aron, PhD, and Reading People by Anne Bogel (the latter is only a chapter, but it's entirely relevant). I 
recommend them to HSPs who want to understand themselves better. They're also beneficial to non-HSPs who want to understand us better.
You can watch a movie about highly sensitive people. You can even take a online quizzes to gauge whether you're a likely an HSP. If you've read this far, though, you probably already know the answer.
I didn't need a quiz or an HSP "label" to understand my own wiring, but it didn't hurt to know what to call it so that I could research beneficial parenting strategies more effectively.
With or without a quiz, if you understand yourself to be an HSP and want parenting strategies that support you, check back here for more resources soon -- including an online session dedicated to parenting a highly sensitive child.
Many kids have an inherent panic response when Mom or Dad starts counting, "1...2...3..."---the three most fearsome numbers of childhood. Although the consequences differ from household to household, counting is often code for imminent trouble. Peaceful, positive parenting can change that. Rather than counting to three as a threat (suggesting punishment that's rarely effective anyway), counting can be a useful parenting tool for you. Here's how.
For those brief seconds, recall a tender moment when your little one was a baby. Remember the feeling of those tiny fingers wrapped around yours. Alternatively, imagine your "baby" being older and moving out of your home. Picturing either extreme will automatically ground you and help you remember how fleeting this moment is. Part of positive parenting can include using mindfulness techniques like this one.
Does that mean you agree to every request or throw your boundaries out the window? Of course not. However, you can reevaluate whether you can say yes more often (you'll find some practical ideas of how to do that here).
Walking past a playground recently on our way somewhere else, my daughter wanted to stop and swing on the swings. We really didn't have time. I could tell by looking at her, though, that it was important to her. So, I said, "Yes, you may swing for three seconds before we keep walking. I'll start counting as soon as you get on the swing, and when I get to three, it'll be time to go." She agreed.
She shed no tears; she didn't negotiate for more time (aside from my agreeing that it was reasonable for her swing to slow down before she hopped off). Part of her lack of desire to negotiate in situations like this is that she's learned she'll often get a "yes"---even if just a brief one.
These little "yeses" can go so far in supporting connection with your child. Some might argue that their child wouldn't get off the swing so easily, but I wonder if they'd consider the time they'd lose in managing their child's disappointment, and the missed opportunity to connect.
It's easy to say yes more often once you practice, and once you build trust with your child that it's what your answer will often be. The "forbidden fruit" they're seeking will feel less forbidden, and therefore be less of a draw, if they feel you're on their side.
This approach also makes your parenting approach easier for your kids because they learn when "no" really needs to happen. They trust it's not arbitrary.
In our house when my child was younger, this "counting to three" took the form of "Would you like to go put on your shoes now, or would you like me to hold you while I count to three so you'll have some time to prepare?" It worked amazingly well. It's as if my child really needed that count of three to ready herself for whatever was coming next, even if the task was as mundane (in adult eyes) as brushing teeth or walking to the car.
Three seconds to adjust is often just enough time to connect and make the transition easier for both of you.
It can be a "yes space" for both of you, child and parent, where you ground yourselves for a better interaction and greater connection. And it can be as easy as 1, 2...well, you know.
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I was always a highly introverted child. It showed. For instance, when I was in high school, I learned that for my dance group's upcoming graduation dinner, the other dancers selected me to receive the spoof award for being the "Most Reserved." Knowing how much I despised being called by a "label" like this one, my Mom suggested that I tape a sign that read "I AM NOT SHY" to the back of my underwear. She said that when I walked up to receive the award, I should moon everyone with my, ahem, (not shy side). Although I appreciated her sentiment, I did not take that advice.
Fortunately, the award never happened, but the message to me was clear. I'd known since I was little that I was simply wired differently from some of the louder kids. And being the good parent that she was, my Mom supported me in that.
In general, the mainstream society in which I live views a gregarious extrovert as socially "good," whereas quiet seems to imply some kind of problem. It isn't a problem at all, of course. Well-meaning adults often pursue introverted children who aren't quick to respond with a sweetly teasing inquiry of "Oh, are you shy?" No matter how good-natured the intention, a child can perceive this as, "You, little human, are not okay as you are." Let's fix that.
In truth, the child may not be shy at all. He may just be an observer who wants to find acceptance in the world. We all want that acceptance. Splitting hairs? Nah. For some, it’s actually quite different, and both can be completely developmentally normal. There's a difference between lacking confidence and being an observer who's sure of oneself. Some kids just prefer to enter the pool through the shallow end, so to speak.
Going slowly gives introverted kids the information they need to feel comfortable in new situations. Regardless of your child’s confidence, it's important for an extrovert who might not share the same "wiring" to understand that the seemingly innocent question about shyness can embarrass or cause pain for some introverted children. Talking with someone who's not a parent, sibling, or close friend might be a completely different experience for that child than it is for someone else.
No, it's not. Shy is a feeling alongside a behavior, as in "I felt shy and hid behind my mom when everyone in the room looked at me." Introverted simply means that someone feels recharged after being able to spend time alone, sometimes with a small group of close friends. Spending time with large groups of people can feel emotionally draining. It's usually temporary and is not a reflection of the child overall. Conversely, extroversion means that someone gets his or her "energy" from being around other people.
It's more about the types of interactions that deplete or invigorate us than it is about how we act in any single situation.
No, it's not. Introverted children are not always highly sensitive, nor is extroversion a trait of lack of sensitivity. Plenty of highly sensitive children like to spend time with others and get a lot of energy from being around others. The behavior of highly sensitive children varies considerably from child to child. That said, according to Dr. Elaine Aron, 70% of highly sensitive children (HSCs) are also introverts, so there's a lot of crossover.
Here are some ways you can support them "in the moment."
To you, it might just be another kid's birthday party. To your child, it might be "a place where people I don't know look at me and adults try to talk to me, and noisy kids are everywhere." Rather than telling your child what others expect of him (which she can perceive as pressure), state just the facts and describe what your child is likely to see there. Then, remind your child that you (or another trusted adult) will be with him the whole time. Finally, agree on a script of what he can say if he needs support. If talking to another adult without your involvement is tricky for your child, consider giving him a small "help card" to show that adult, instead.
If you're staying present with your child, try this.
If someone does say something to your child, then ask your child something like this (within earshot of that person): "Would you like to respond, or shall I tell them you prefer to observe?" There are lots of variations you can try here. Now that I have an introverted child of my own, I've had lots of opportunities to practice with her. Once we graduated from this question, we moved onto, "Would you prefer to say 'hi' or wave?"
Remember the importance of your loving, supportive touch along the way. Introverted children need their parents to follow their lead and reassure them in verbal and non-verbal ways. Your positive support will make the experience less hard, and much more positive, for them.
It's fine to encourage without pressuring. One helpful hint is to wait just past where you're comfortable and give your child enough time to respond. Sometimes it just takes a moment; release your expectations that they won't do it. Maybe they will!
Here's how:
If she chooses not to engage with someone who's talking to her, simply tell the other person: "She prefers to observe until she knows people better."
It's sometimes tempting to overcompensate for child who isn't responding to another adult (or child). If you apologize for your child's lack of response, it might placate the other person, but it sends the message to your child that he's done something wrong. Of course that's not your intention!
What should you do instead if your child isn't responding? Simply smile at the other party and continue the conversation normally. It sends that person AND your child the message that this is no big deal. That's great for your child's comfort level and self-esteem. We all feel more compelled to engage when we lack pressure to do so.
"Shy" and all its word-cousins have a stigma in the culture where I live, although they shouldn't. In many countries, it's actually perceived as rude if an extroverted someone is too over-the-top with energy (and words). In my home, we've banished all references to shy, reserved, and similar; instead, if we use any label at all (and we try to avoid them), we use it only as a verb. With child-first language, we say, "My child prefers to observe." I want to raise her knowing that labels don't define her. She's not my "shy child." She's my child.
It's helpful to listen to your children and seek understanding of what resonates with them. Every child's personality and preferences are different.
Spend time talking about a time you preferred to observe as a child. Introverted children love hearing that others have felt the same way they do. Even if you were usually the life of the party, you likely remember a time that you didn't want to be in the middle of the action. Present it as a positive; it's affirmation that your child is perfectly okay just as he or she is. Your child will flourish best when he or she feels like you "get" it. If you worked through a tricky situation, tell your kid how you did it. Explain your own strategies that have worked (while framing introversion in a positive light).
You know your child best. What kind of stimulation does he or she enjoy? Watch them for cues without projecting your own experience, or that which you've seen the media say is "normal." Are your kids happy spending time in simple play with family, or do they require many activities throughout the day with a large amount of socializing? If you contact your child's teacher with questions about how they learn best in class---in groups or individually---that can be a clue, too. If need be, rule out anxiety disorders that may be affecting your child's social-emotional comfort.
Quiet or not, you're raising a person who will look to you for validation that he or she is "good enough" for the world. There's a lot of pressure out there. And you, dear parents, when you support your children just as they are, are doing them a wonderful and necessary service.
If you don't have an introverted child, the best thing you can do is let the quiet ones be, without judgment or comment. The world needs all of us.
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(Amazon afflinks): These books by Susan Cain and others helped me understand many introverted kids better than any others I've found; I highly recommend them. If you are, or know, an introverted or sensitive adult, they provide fantastic insight.
Trees and lights. Snow and sledding. Family and holidays. For many of us, these are naturally joyful pairs. (Trees and lights are especially exciting if you're a toddler or a cat.)
Of course there's the other side, too. Holiday stress is real for many of us--and it can come crashing down our chimneys with reliable predictability.
Some people hold their breath and just hope for the best, especially if their holiday stress results from spending the holidays with extended family.
According to this Harvard Medical School article, 62% of adults experience "very" or "somewhat" elevated holiday stress levels, partially attributable to family relationships.
After all, family dynamics can be tricky, especially once we have children. Yet, we want our children to experience all the joy that should surround them this time of year, right? Holidays stress doesn't have to be their thing just because it's ours.
Although I won't write about my own holiday stress here because my extended family will read this---I mean, because they're perfect (ahem)---I'll tell you how some people mitigate their anxiety with extended family, especially if All That Togetherness doesn't exactly jingle their bells.
So, what do they do to mitigate the messiness and find joy, instead?
If you're concerned about extended family being a less-than-desirable influence on your kids, find joy and peace in the connection you've created.
If you've parented with the good of the parent-child relationship in mind, then children will naturally gravitate back to the norms of what you've modeled for them.
If you happen to have a child who hangs back at family gatherings, that's perfectly alright. If you're concerned about it, this article about supporting introverted children might help you.
Your kids will join in when they're ready. Let them rest securely in the knowledge that you support their choices and their timing.
For family members who might not understand your child's reluctance to jump right into a big group of people, but who sincerely want to connect with them, you might share ideas like these about how to engage kids without overwhelming them.
Even outgoing kids need support and occasional breaks from the group. Allow them to relax and in your presence, with your full attention. A hug and some verbal support can go a long way.
The more you're there for your kids, the less they'll begin to equate holidays and stress, and will simply find joy in your presence---along with everyone else's.
Many kids love routines and consistency, regardless of age. You can grab your kiddos' usual bedtime story and stick it in your bag if you're visiting relatives out of town.
Odds are good that they'd much rather hear the same story for a few nights in a row than to go without. I call it "Routine in a Box." A few comforts from home will help your child find joy in familiarity, and help you feel merry and bright!
The same goes for touch, even for older kids. If your child normally has a lot of contact with you throughout the day, then he or she will be inclined to crave that and then some (hey, you're their personal lovey!). Stay present. Keep touching.
Obvious, right? Still, somehow, many people go into the holiday stress with extended family as if they were signing up for a hot date in Purgatory. If you find yourself there (with anxiety, I mean, not in Purgatory, because I don't really think that's a thing), give yourself a gold star for each moment you feel peaceful.
Acknowledging and tracking positive feelings among the stressful ones can help you be aware that good things are happening. You can do this, joyfully. Holiday stress and you don't need to share the same strand of lights.
Just like many of us do at home when raising kids, you can take the "pick your battles" mantra on the road, too. It travels beautifully! Things are different now. As the parent of your own children, you get to examine how you were raised.
Engage where you want to. Debate where it's important. This mini-course about what to do when someone you love disagrees with your parenting style can help support you in that.
Ask yourself if you share your extended family's perspectives or have a different take on things. If you observe them, some of your triggers from growing up can offer you insight into your own parenting.
Keeping an open mind can be an incredible gift with psychological benefits, and taking an intellectual approach rather than an emotional one when something bothers you can do wonders for reducing holiday stress. So, you can find joy while you examine your family anew.
More than anything else, be intentional about looking for opportunities to connect and find joy. If Great-Great-Great-Granny's mince pie doesn't do it for you, remember that the cookies are just on the next table over.
Connect with Great-Great-Great Granny over a gingerbread house. Invite her outside to catch snowflakes on your tongues. You might be surprised what she can still do. You, and your kids, will forever cherish the memory.
Holidays and family can, indeed, be a joyful pair, and holiday stress doesn't need to be invited. Our children can see it and be a part of it.
If we've not experienced joy with extended family before, our kids can witness our ability to find it in a whole new way. What a wonderful gift we can give them in allowing them to be part of that.
"Mommy, let's pretend this isn't a train tunnel."
"Okay, what is it?"
"It's a tomb."
Well, hello, conversation stopper. She paused for effect, which is a good thing, because I certainly didn't expect that. After a moment to process and very consciously trust that children's play serves an important purpose for them, I mentally cringed while inquiring, "Is anyone in there?"
"Yep, a dead person."
She smiled lovingly at me, just content to be playing.
I have to admit that this already wasn't my favorite game, and although I didn't know who was inside, I was hoping for some miraculous resurrection of sorts.
"Was it anyone we know?"
"Nope, it's not. It's just some man. He's dead in there."
Well, at least it's no imaginary person we know. Somehow that made it better for me, the adult who should be able to handle a child's imagination.
Still, I waited for the punchline and trusting her play, looking for some clue as to where this was going.
"What happened to him?" I asked tentatively.
"A cow sat on him. And then a car drove on top of the cow."
Well, that would certainly do it. Although she knows bodies stop working when someone dies, we haven't spent much time discussing the specific mechanics of the process.
Then, she added, "Yeah, he was really, really old, like Grandpa Herb."
Click. Now, I see what's happening. Grandpa Herb is actually my grandfather; her great grandfather. As I write this, he's a 95-year-old with a body that's more ready to go than his brain is.
I reminded her that Grandpa Herb is still alive, but she proceeded me to remind me that he's "really, really old and probably won't live much longer."
He might have another decade ahead of him, but he might not. She's bright enough (as kids are) to pick up on pieces of the adult conversations to know that we talk about his life and medical situations differently than we do others'.
Just like we do as adults, kids need to process when change is coming; especially when it's such an abstract concept as this (for all of us). We rarely discuss death with children unless it's necessary, so it's particularly foreign to them when it happens. We can read helpful books like this one and this one (afflinks) to help cover the bases. I can trust that her play is helping her process just as she needs to. And she can ask all the questions she wants to, and I'll do my best to answer them according to our belief system. Of course, I can't tell her what dying is like, though, because it's never happened to me.
So, until then, we find ways to make peace with the unknown. We need to somehow make the intangible, tangible. We need to know that when the time comes, we'll have done something to prepare, because we all want to do something.
Some might call this "game" macabre and make that resurrection manifest somehow, or insist that it's a train tunnel and nothing more. For us, it became a way to process and discuss one of life's Big Topics, using the means my child knows best: learning through play. It's within her power to play; the more she can process it in her own terms without me imposing my agenda on her, the more she can begin to grasp and reconcile the concept. And the more she can be ready for the inevitable, be it for Grandpa Herb or for a goldfish, the less jarring it will be for this child.
Personally, I'm going to beware of sitting cows for awhile. More than that, however, I'll continue to trust that play needs to happen, exactly as it is.
Childhood fears are as real to them, as our adult ones are to us. Case in point, when my daughter was younger and before I better understood highly sensitive children (afflinks), we drove past Seattle's Fremont Troll and it scared the heck out of her. She dubbed it the second scariest thing in the universe, coming in on her list only behind the scary mice from the Nutcracker ballet.
Now, this was a tricky one, because we'd both seen the troll. I couldn't deny it was there; she didn't imagine it. It was, and is, real.
Bedtime was a mess for a long time thereafter. Eventually, it got easier again...for awhile. But sure enough, before long (and always just as I thought her fear was behind us), the troll would raise its metaphorical head in her bedroom. It became the bane of her existence.
Using my adult logic, I told her it was made of stone and that it couldn't move. It was just a statue. We delved more deeply into physiology than I thought we would at her age, but she wanted to know everything about how real bodies work versus this stone one.
She certainly didn't talk about it often, but if something were to keep her up at night, this was it. So, I did some research about kids' fears.
So, um, good luck, kids!
Knowing this, you see there's not a lot of sense into talking to a part of our kids' brains that can't completely comprehend the message. Scary is scary; fear is fear. Sure, you can (and should) let a child know when something isn't actually a danger to them (and why), but neither logic nor telling them they shouldn't be afraid will address the root of the problem. In fact, telling them not to be afraid might have the effect of making them feel you don't "hear" their concerns. Even as an adult, if another adult were to tell me I shouldn't feel my feelings, their advice would go over like a lead balloon. My feelings are valid to me. My child's feelings are equally valid to her.
So, what can you do when your child expresses a fear, real or imaginary, and you want to support him through it? How can you solve the problem?
This is a tricky one for adults because it feels counterintuitive, but our best option isn't to do something. We can't fix a problem that's not our own. Instead, empathize with your child (highly sensitive or not). Whether it's a monster in the closet, a fear of the dark, or many other common childhood fears, the process is often the same. Here's what I had to learn.
Ironically, this means talking (and "solving") less. I had to refrain from offering my logic and suggestions. If you're anything like me, it will likely feel uncomfortable to you, and might even feel like you're reinforcing the opposite of what you want to convey. Much of active listening involves playing back what you've heard.
The most thorough description I've read of active listening, with loads of examples for all ages (yep, I mean all), is in this phenomenal book. I highly recommend it--it goes well beyond what you'll read here and is an amazing tool to help foster connection and encourage your kids--even older ones--to open up to you. Heck, even my marriage works better when I use the tools therein, but I digress. (Note: I thought I knew what active listening entailed until I read the details. It's not quite as obvious as it sounds, but is an incredibly helpful book for adults. For a kids' "how-to" book about managing worries and anxiety, this book is great.)
Here's how active listening to process the fear transpired in our house:
Her: "Why is the scary troll so scary?"
Me: "You feel really afraid when you think about the troll."
Her: "Yes. It's too scary for me and I want it to go away."
Me: "You wish it would disappear forever. I see how hard it is to fall asleep when you're scared."
Her: "It's SO hard, Mommy! I keep thinking about it. Please don't leave the room."
Me: "I'll stay with you. I'm here for you and I love you."
Was it really the troll keeping her up, or was she afraid of being alone and using it as a scapegoat? It doesn't matter; she needed support and wanted my presence, so I gave it to her. We continued this way for many a night. She wasn't ready for more. Knowing my child as I do, pushing her beyond where she's comfortable would've backfired. It always works better when I trust her timing. In various ways, she indicated that this conversation alone was exactly what she needed. Once she knew I was staying, sleep would come quickly for her, knowing she was heard and supported.
I knew she was ready for the next phase of processing her fear when I tried something new--integrating the troll into a story--and she didn't push back on my attempts. When I'd tried earlier in the process, she'd nervously asked me to stop, so I did. When she listened to the story, I knew she was ready.
By that, I don't mean I waited to see what happened; I made the object of her fear a little less frightening through play (without minimizing her concern). It's was a fine line; I made sure she felt fully supported and emotionally safe before I tried it. One night, I added this:
Her: "Why is the scary troll so scary?"
Me: "It really scares you. (Thoughtful pause.) You know...I wonder how it would look if it were pink."
Her: "Less scary."
Me: "Yeah. I'm going to paint it pink. And paint its hair purple."
Her (slightly smiling): "And its eye, pink sparkle."
Every night, we'd mentally paint the troll different colors.
"I'm going to tell you a story where it becomes a pink helper troll. The troll isn't scary in this story; in fact, it's only a costume to scare away the scary mice (from the aforementioned Nutcracker ballet). This troll protects children..."
She wanted this story for a long time. Eventually, she contributed to the storytelling. This troll became one of the best do-gooders of any character she knew.
All along the way (and during daylight hours only), I'd been suggesting that one day, we go visit the troll that started it all. Up until this point, she had steadfastly refused. I respected her refusal. Putting myself in her shoes, I wouldn't want someone to force me to literally face one of my strongest adult fears up close, if I weren't ready.
I also didn't bring up the troll proactively. When I tried that approach, it seemed to increase her anxiety about it. The process worked better when the troll just found its way into her requests from time to time, as it always did. Sometimes, weeks would pass before it would rear its head again. And each time, we dealt with it, and I tested the waters to see if we could move forward a bit.
One day while talking about it, she asked if we could go and paint a door on the troll. Although I knew adding any form of permanent graffiti on a public work of art wouldn't be acceptable, I felt hopeful and intrigued.
Me: "Yes, we can go visit the troll. And tell me more. Why would you paint a door on it?"
Her: "Because the troll isn't really a troll. He's just a shell filled with chocolate cake, and if we paint a door, we can open it and go inside and get some cake."
Me: "Yes, we can do that. Permanent paint isn't allowed on the troll, but I wonder if we can draw a door on it with chalk. Would that work?"
Her: "Yes, it would. Let's do that. Let's go put the chalk in the car now."
She chose purple, and we embarked upon our very real mission to face hear fear and get the imaginary cake from the troll.
Once we got to the troll, though, she announced, "Mommy, I don't want to draw on it anymore."
My heart sank. I assumed her fear had come back and that we were back to square one (or at least close to it).
Much to my surprise, she matter of factly added, "I don't need the chalk because I'm not afraid of it anymore. It's not scary. It's just...a statue."
Wow.
A lot of single moments, that is. It took a lot of active listening. It took a lot of "baby steps," meeting her right where she was emotionally--encouraging progress, and promoting her ability to conquer her fear without forcing it. This wasn't a band-aid solution. She wouldn't "get over it" just by being instructed to do so. It took time and patience. Most of all, it took trust.
It's still awhile before my child is a teenager, but I want her to be fully rooted in the fact that I do hear her. I want to build the foundation that I can see her perspective before the issues get trickier. I want her to know that I get it, whatever "it" turns out to be.
We've all had that class—the one we were required to take to fill some requirement, but had absolutely no interest in taking. For me, it was a summer class during grad school. It was called "Miscommunication," and I agreed--it must've been some incredible misunderstanding that I wasn't at the beach. However, as much as it pains me to admit it, that wise old professor taught me some of the most important lessons I've learned in life. And I use them every single day as a parent.
One of the most profound of his statements was this: If you have a good relationship in your life, do everything in your power to preserve it. If there's one "big picture" concept that applies to all relationships, that's it. Studies show that in adult relationships, it takes at least five good interactions to compensate for a single bad one*.
Of course, parent/child relationships have some inherent differences, but the general science still applies. Moreover, our time with our kids is limited, and their impressions of us are forming with every interaction. This is the time we have to build (or rebuild) trust that we're on their side, as Dr. Gordon Neufield explains in this powerful book (afflinks). Even knowing this, parenting is hard. Parenting gently, for many of us, is harder. With all the stressors adults bear, trying to keep it together and parent "right" (whatever that means) can be exhausting.
So, how do you manage to keep your interactions with your kid positive and preserve this ever-so-critical relationship? Where can you find the patience?
I'm not going to suggest self-care the way many other parenting articles do. For those of you who benefit from a spa day or girls' (or guys') night out, that's awesome. If they work for you, by all means, do those things. For me, however, those suggestions only added to my stress. I didn’t want to do the things the articles said I should do. When I read that those were the keys to finding patience with my kid, they just didn't resonate.
My suggestion: take care of yourself by knowing yourself.
If time away from your child recharges your batteries, take time away and enjoy it without guilt. If time away doesn’t bring you peace, you don’t have to go out. You have permission to go. And you have permission to stay home. This is about finding peace for you, not for your next door neighbor.
The more people told me I "had to get out" when my child was little, the more I felt ashamed that I was getting something (else) wrong. It took me awhile to get comfortable enough in my parenting skin to figure out that my outlets for stress are spending time with like-minded parents (together with our kids), and writing. Are those things sexy? Not particularly, but they're me, and they make me happy. Your outlets for stress relief don't have to look "right" to others from the outside. Your way works. Find it. Trust it. Then do it. Being in a good place emotionally—feeling recharged—naturally increases your patience.
A very wise person I know recently reminded a group of adults that "You're raising your son's sons; you're raising your daughter's daughters." The way you interact with your children today will form the "hard wiring" that their brains create and will retain for the automatic responses that come when they're raising their own kids someday. Know your impact. Internalizing that is powerful.
If you can, remember it when your toddler is taking 20 minutes to put on his own shoe; when your daughter is taking forever to finish a song she's been working on before she comes to the table for dinner. Remember, especially when your child is in the most difficult of moods, that you have the power to respond with patience and grace. Be aware that you're teaching your child how to treat his or her children someday. Model the patience you want them to have.
Reflect on who raised you. You have the gift of being able to actively choose what you want to emulate and what you want to avoid. Remember details of the times you felt the safest and most loved; actively choose to repeat history in those ways.
I recently spoke with a friend who was concerned about letting her daughter into her bedroom at night to sleep in a little "nest" of pillows she'd made on the floor. It went against my friend's self-imposed rule that kids need to stay in their own rooms, which had been her parents' rule, too. She then confided in me that one of her warmest memories of her mother was when she'd let her sneak into her room and sleep on the floor next to her parents' bed. As she spoke, I observed her visibly soften when she realized what a gift she could give her little girl by letting her in sometimes.
Review the "rule book" in your head and see if any of those rules might just be written in pencil. Keep the boundaries you need; examine where you can start anew with some fresh ideas that might bring you and your child closer. Feelings of closeness inherently create space for patience with your kids.
One of the wonderful things about our brains is the concept of neuroplasticity: we can create new habits. Our automatic responses today don't have to be the ones to which we default a year from now. You can learn more about this in one of my favorite parenting books by Drs. Siegel and Bryson.
Your children are hard wired to want a good relationship with you. Parents, too, are naturally inclined to love the little people whose lives are entrusted to them. It all starts out exactly as it should. This is, or has the potential to be, one of the very best relationships in your entire life. And in theirs. You have a wonderful ability to preserve it.
For ideas of how to stay calm when you're smack-dab in the middle of a tricky moment with your child, read on to part two of this article. And exhale. You've got this.
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* https://www.gottman.com/blog/the-magic-relationship-ratio-according-science/
From the backseat of the car, my daughter asked me to tell her a story. Since we were on the way to her annual well child exam, I wondered if she was seeking a virtual role play in which the heroine of my story would be on her way to the doctor, too. So, sure enough, Kittenpants (the heroine of most of our stories lately, name chosen by my child) was, indeed, about to get her checkup and had some doctor anxiety. As I continued, my child kept asking for more detail. My hunch had been correct. She very much wanted to know what she was about to get into, but safely first, through a story.
Even for me, as an adult, I have some doctor anxiety. However, I actually like going to the dentist. My theory is that, with a young child, relaxing in the dental chair is about the longest I ever have to "do nothing". I digress; I know doctors and dentists, alike, cause anxiety for a lot of humans, especially the young ones who have fewer years of experience with them. If your kiddo lacks enthusiasm when it's doctor or dentist time, what's a gentle parent to do? We all have to go to these appointments sometimes, right? Some of these ideas might help you and your child:
And take him along to observe. Rather than having someone care for your child while you're at your appointments, let him see you undergo many of the same processes he'll encounter when it's his turn. There's a lot to be said for desensitization to reduce dentist and doctor anxiety; the more you expose him to a situation, the less foreign, and less scary, it might be (particularly when there's no threat to him). Did I take my daughter into surgery with me last summer? Heck no, of course not. But she comes with me to every physical, every sick visit, and every routine maintenance activity I schedule. The more she can get comfortable with the concept of doctors in general, the easier it is when it's her turn. A couple of doctors have even offered to have her "help" with my checkups, to which she gladly agrees (only in kid-safe ways, such as using the stethoscope). Talk about removing the fear factor! To the extent that you can, eliminate your child's fear of the unknown. Before her appointment, let her know what to expect there. Recall what she's seen, and talk her through what she hasn't.
Look for a doctor or dentist who your kid seems to like and who shows respect for her, even during "non-negotiable" parts of the visit. Even very young kids have strong feelings about who they like and don't. To the extent possible, follow their lead. If your child has an ear infection but won't let Dr. Amazing look in her ears, see if said doctor will perform the exam while your child is in the safety of your arms. This can substantially reduce your child's doctor anxiety. If that's not feasible, stand next to her exam table while you touch her reassuringly. If your doctor's approach is "my way or the highway," it might not be the best fit. I don't know about you, but if a person 4x my size approached me in a way that made me feel uncomfortable and my caretaker let him, I'd have a problem with that. The procedure might need to happen, but the provider's approach and demeanor should be a peaceful and collaborative one. There are plenty of fish in the proverbial sea, and that applies to medical professionals, too. Find the best match for each of your children. This isn't your doctor; it's theirs.
Recently, a 9-year-old boy I know named Théo went to the dentist and needed a filling. He was scared of the novocaine shot. After working past it and successfully getting his cavity filled, the dentist chided him and asked if it was worth him having been afraid. Théo maturely responded, "I couldn't have been brave without first having been scared. Courage without fear is merely indifference." Wow, I couldn't love his response more if it were baked in a cake! It's absolutely okay to be scared; it's a biologically normal and healthy response to many situations. Fear serves a purpose in keeping us safe. Does that mean you should say to your child, "Yes, you should be nervous! It's so scary at the dentist!" No, absolutely not. What it does mean, however, is that your child needs to know you hear him without judgment, and without your trying to talk him out of his feelings. Try this: "I understand. I hear that you're nervous. I'll be there to support you." Feeling understood can help relieve anxiety*.
Pay attention to the messages that you inadvertently send about your doctor and dental visits. If all your child ever hears you say is how much you hate going, he'll internalize your doctor anxiety and save those feelings for when it's his turn. Moreover, let your child decide how he feels about each part of the visit. The first time my child saw me give blood, she saw me look away (I can't watch), but she got as close to my blood-giving arm as the phlebotomist would let her. She was fascinated. The next time she saw a needle, she stared right at it as her doctor gave her a shot. She didn't cry. (Whaaaat? Whose child is this?) I was shocked, but relieved that I hadn't projected my own needle-anxiety upon her. After the fact, she told me that it had hurt a bit, but my worries about how she'd handle it far exceeded the stress of the actual event.
If laughter is the best medicine and your child is still young enough, role play it out in the silliest ways you know how, while staying "true-ish" to real doctor-like scenarios. Her truck needs its blood pressure checked; her toy tomato has a fever. When my daughter was three, she kept coming to me to cure her "chronic case of the 3s," during which she responded to every question and every part of my "medical" exam by yelling "THREE!" She thought it was hilarious, even when she was getting pretend shots that somehow made her "condition" worse.
"Just the facts, ma'am." For the record, I'd rather get a shot in the nose than be called "ma'am," but the expression, like it or not, is a memorable reminder that it is what it is: a doctor visit. In the case of things like shots or other "painful" events, explain what will happen, but in neutral, textbook-like terms. You're the provider of information; your child gets to process and judge the information in whatever ways work best for him. Before shots, I remind my child that "Sometimes they hurt temporarily, but then they feel better very soon. Sometimes, they don't hurt at all. Either way, I'll be with you for the entire visit." Neutral. Confident. Peaceful. For little or big kids, but especially if your child is older, read age-appropriate books about doctors or types of medical things that interest them. Pick up a book (or watch a non-scary video) about some aspect of medicine that might interest her. Learn about it, and perhaps come up with a question of interest to save for the "real" doctor or dentist. Empower your child with age-appropriate information. Tell her you're going to the appointment with enough time to prepare for it mentally. No surprises.
From an anxiety perspective, we can all get caught up in the fear of the upcoming visit. Remind your child, by having a specific after-the-visit plan, that life goes on, on the other side of the appointment. Have an “after” idea that’s not conditional or a bribe. Instead of, "If you do well at the doctor, we can go to the park," try, "I have an idea--after the doctor visit today, let's plan to go to the park. It's fun to have something to look forward to later in the day." Having something good to anticipate can help ground your child (and you, too). Most of all, let your child take refuge in the emotional safety that you can provide, before the appointment, during it, and after she survives it. Assure her that you're right there with her, and will continue to be, just as you always are. * Source: The Center for Stress and Anxiety Management, http://csamsandiego.com/blog/2016/5/26/how-to-listen-when-someone-you-love-is-struggling
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