Category Archives: Social Science

The Risk of Assumption

Last year in first grade, Claire adored her teacher. Her teacher was wonderful, warm, funny, and had high expectations. She loves kids.

At the end of the year, though, Claire began saying that her teacher hated her. This total 180 in her perception startled me. She also said she didn’t love her teacher anymore. Claire even told strangers — while being sworn in as a Junior Ranger, for example, when the ranger asked her if she liked school — “Yeah, but my teacher hated me.”

I met with her former teacher today for coffee, because we also became friends over the past year. This teacher was assigned to teach second grade next year, so there was a possibility that Claire would have her again. I told Mrs. G about Claire’s story, and she was surprised, puzzled, and concerned. Now, my girl can hold a super glue grip on a grudge, and I was puzzled too but had made a shoulder-shrug peace with it.

This afternoon I told Claire, “Hey, I saw Mrs. G today for coffee!”

Claire: “Why?”

Me: “Because we’re friends. I mentioned to her that you think she hates you. She was sad about that, and surprised. She said, ‘I love Claire!’ What could have I done?'”

Claire: “Well… I’ll tell you what happened. [pause] I told Mrs. G, ‘Next year I really hope I get a different teacher.’ And she said in a stern voice — but maybe it was just her accent — ‘Well, then I’ll make sure you’re not in my class next year.’ And so I thought she hated me.”

Ohhhhhhh! Wow! So I had the opportunity to clarify, and say that Mrs. G was actually giving Claire what she wanted. Claire said yes, she understood, but it was the stern voice. And I pointed out that sometimes people have a serious tone of voice but that it doesn’t mean they are mad. Claire is very sensitive to sternness — it makes her anxious and then she becomes defensive, or even goes on the offense, to protect her feelings. (Her assumption is similar to the phenomenon of bitchy resting face. Sometimes women are assumed to be angry, unfriendly, or bitchy because they aren’t smiling and sparkling. Here is something women with BRF would like you to know.)

After this, Claire said, “Tell Mrs. G I must have misunderstood. And that I think she understands that sometimes you have to move on.” I asked if she thought Mrs. G still hates her. “No,” she replied, “I think she feels loving to me. When can we have a play date with her daughter?”

claire presentation

The Face of a Miserable Student

Enlightenment Through a Cat

God has come into my life. Now, don’t click away. Don’t let that word shut you down. I might not mean what you think I mean. It’s not a word I’ve used in my life for years. Stay with me while I meander through my story.

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This is Smokey. He’s been around a long time. He was in the neighborhood when we moved into the house five years ago. He belongs to no one and everyone. For years, I would scratch behind his ears and say hello, and then I’d go on with my life. Someone fed him. Someone gave him shelter in bad weather. But he was just around, and I did not seek him, nor did he seek me. (Of course, my Stella cat was still with us until January 2014.)

In January, Smokey began hanging out in our back yard. He would sleep in our garden. He liked to pop bubbles with Claire. He starting sitting on my lap. He allows me to trim his nails. Even though we didn’t feed him, he stuck around. Last month, I began feeding him. I did this after he brought me a live bird he’d caught and delivered to my feet. So now he gets two meals a day.

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I made him a little shelter when rainstorms came. But mostly, he likes to sleep on me or the mulch.

He was injured in early April, so I took him to a vet. He didn’t want to go, but once there he chilled in the exam room waiting for the doctor. I’ve never seen a cat so mellow at a vet’s office.

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My husband is not open to having another pet, so for now, Smokey is not permitted in the house. He strides right in the front door some mornings, though, clearly telling us he wants to be ours. I usher him out.

The other day as I sat on my patio with Smokey on my lap, this thought arose: “Every afternoon, God takes a nap on my lap.”

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Where did that come from? I don’t know, but it felt true and real. Last Saturday morning after I fed him, I reflected on the morning. And one sentence that came was, “I fed God breakfast, and now he has gone to stroll the neighborhood, looking after all the world.”

Oh my goodness. Yes. God sought me out. God has chosen me. God loves me, and I love God. This word — God — is loaded with so much history for me. It evokes vastly different meanings for people, and so I avoid using it. But this is what IS in my life. This cat. His arrival, his presence, is a call to sit and be quiet. An invitation to intimacy. I recognize God in my life. THIS is what it means to have a relationship with God!

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Extending that metaphor, I experience God everywhere. In every person, animal, plant, and rock. God is everything and everywhere. God is found in acts of care, and God is found in simple being. My goodness! Now I get what namaste means! Yeah, yeah, I’d always known what it meant, but now I experience it in my being.

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I have used many words to suggest what is divine in my life: Presence, the Mystery, Buddhamind, Spirit, Being, Ground of Being, Life, Chi, Love. They allude to what I mean; they can only suggest. Just as the a photo of the moon is not the moon, a word is not the thing it references. Something as multi-faceted as the Universe can be explored through science, math, literature, and art, but it cannot be totally integrated by the human mind. So we need shorthand, a word or a number, like X, to represent the holy mystery of All That Exists and our relationship with it. Lately, that “something” is the word God. So, God it is.

How to Fall in Love

I know the eyes are the windows to the soul or whatever, but the real crux of the moment was not just that I was really seeing someone, but that I was seeing someone really seeing me. Once I embraced the terror of this realization and gave it time to subside, I arrived somewhere unexpected.

I felt brave, and in a state of wonder. Part of that wonder was at my own vulnerability and part was the weird kind of wonder you get from saying a word over and over until it loses its meaning and becomes what it actually is: an assemblage of sounds.

So it was with the eye, which is not a window to anything but a rather clump of very useful cells. The sentiment associated with the eye fell away and I was struck by its astounding biological reality: the spherical nature of the eyeball, the visible musculature of the iris and the smooth wet glass of the cornea. It was strange and exquisite.

Mandy Len Catron

Lying and Defiance in Children

The topic of defiance has popped up in my life in several places recently, and so today I share some reflections on it.

When I did my practicum as a therapist in training, I worked at a private mental hospital. In my work with children, they would sometimes describe a home life that sounded unreal, because the details were horrific. Some of these kids, to all appearances, came from “normal” middle-class lives. So I wondered: Could they be telling the truth? Are these kids making up stories? What is real?

I came to a conclusion. The question about truth or lies is a distraction from the underlying need. For some reason, the child is telling this story. It is an expression of need for safety, connection, love. There is a place for determining whether abuse is really occurring, but in a therapy session the goal is to be a loving, open presence with the other soul. To be concerned about whether the child is “pulling one over on me” would not serve.

I also worked with defiant children. Fundamentally, a defiant child is a deeply frightened child. Kids with a tendency to defy authority have strong wills; this quality is neutral. In fact, a strong will can provide energy and discipline to accomplish many goals.

There may be no outwardly apparent reason for a child to be terrified. Some of this is innate to personality. Or, there may be additional exacerbating factors: loss of a parent, abuse, instability at home. The bottom line is the child is afraid and protecting herself or himself by refusing connection.

This type of personality is very challenging to one’s patience. It isn’t easy to reach these souls. It is tempting to call such a child a bad seed, to want to punish and force his will to conform. This won’t work. The only approach is to build trust and connection, which these children are slow to respond to but desperately need.

One resource I found helpful in my work, and even in my personal life, is the book by Dr. Stanley Greenspan: The Challenging Child: Understanding, Raising, and Enjoying the Five “Difficult” Types of Children . His approach of “floor time” with kids — spending 30 minutes a day of time on the floor, playing whatever the child chooses — is an excellent way to build connection. You can also learn more at his website.

Look Inside

One of my daughter’s favorite performers are Peter, Paul, & Mary, and one of her favorite songs by them is called Inside.

Tonight I was scanning Facebook and came across a link from A Mighty Girl. A Mighty Girl is an excellent resource of zillions of ideas, toys, book titles, articles and more to help girls to grow up confidently. They shared a link from the Huffington Post of a letter from a father to his daughter about society’s hyper-focus on physical appearance.

In the article, Words From a Father to a Daughter (In the Makeup Aisle), Flanagan wrote:

When you have a daughter, you start to realize she’s just as strong as everyone else in the house — a force to be reckoned with, a soul on fire with the same life and gifts and passions as any man. But sitting in this store aisle, you also begin to realize most people won’t see her that way. They’ll see her as a pretty face and a body to enjoy. And they’ll tell her she has to look a certain way to have any worth or influence.

But words do have power and maybe, just maybe, the words of a father can begin to compete with the words of the world. Maybe a father’s words can deliver his daughter through this gauntlet of institutionalized shame and into a deep, unshakeable sense of her own worthiness and beauty.

He concludes by asking, “Where are you the most beautiful? On the inside.” The article is worth reading, bookmarking, printing to share. A Mighty Girl also posted links to resources on their Facebook page; I’m sharing them here:

To help girls understand more about the impact of the media messages they encounter related to beauty and body image, check out “All Made Up: A Girl’s Guide to Seeing Through Celebrity Hype to Celebrate Real Beauty” for ages 10 to 14 and “Body Drama” for ages 15 and up.

For a diverse selection of body image-related books for Mighty Girls of all ages focused on fostering a positive self-image, visit our “Body Image” section.

For books for parents that address body image issues, including the helpful guide “101 Ways to Help Your Daughter Love Her Body,” visit our “Body Image / Self-Esteem” parenting section.

And, to learn about a few of our favorite books that celebrate the special father-daughter bond, visit our post “A Father’s Love: A Mighty Girl Celebrates Fathers”.

And to reinforce the message (and because it’s a fun song), I’m sharing Inside here.


The link to the video is here.

Flow

A whole month passed without a post, though I’d thought about it. I’ve been immersed in some personal work and stepping out into new areas that feel exciting. The depression has abated. I feel a need to write but am doing so with interruptions by my little girl and husband every so many minutes, so this post will be less polished.

We’ve been camping twice and will go again soon for the last summer trip. In June we went to Pfeiffer Big Sur, and in July we camped at Prairie Creek Redwoods. Our next trip is to Calaveras Big Trees. We like big trees and rivers a lot, and we like the ocean some. Camping is uncomfortable and requires more work, but it’s also relaxing and restful. My body aches in the morning from the less-than-ideal sleeping arrangement, but the peace I feel compensates. I am bathed in Being, in nature, in the Mystery; living outdoors brings complete contact with the world that creates itself.

After exploring the Quaker Society of Friends, I talked with Hub about where I’m at and what Claire wants. She wants to go to church. Hub was raised Unitarian Universalist and I attended as one years ago. It’s the best fit as far as spiritual community goes. Claire loved it the first time we visited two years ago. The Quaker group only had children’s program once a month, and unfortunately the one time I brought her no one else with children came, and there was no program. I realized, too, that I need and enjoy the ritual of a service. The Quaker service was traditional silent meeting with socializing after. The UU service includes the usual ingredients of a service: hymns, readings, sharing of joys and concerns, a sermon. Hub isn’t a seeker and doesn’t have the same community needs, but we came to the conclusion that the UU church is good for me and Claire. I attended the UU Fellowship in Los Gatos the past two weeks; both Claire and I enjoyed it, and the members are very welcoming.

I had a pilot zazen session on the first Saturday in July. I got cold feet and cancelled on the one person who’d signed up; then another friend last minute showed up. As I set up the small altar on my coffee table, it felt right, like putting on a perfectly fitting outfit. I also reached agreement with Hub that I will go to Hazy Moon Zen Center a couple times a year to attend sesshin and meet with my teacher.

I’ve continued attending salons called Intimacy With Truth, led by a dear friend. They occur in a format similar to Honesty Salons but move into deeper exploration within and between ourselves. I’m learning to listen to, trust, and speak from my intuition and truth. I’m also sitting with the idea of becoming trained to facilitate Honesty Salons or becoming a Getting Real Coach with Dr. Campbell.

I’m re-reading and incorporating the practice that Eckhart Tolle’s books explore. One thing I appreciate about his work is that he echoes my favorite quote, a koan I have cherished for years:

The secret is within your self. – Hui-Neng

Tolle claims that he’s not teaching anything that we don’t already have within us. His work is guidance to excavating it.

In conjunction, I’ve started to explore the process of healing offered by Al-Anon meetings.

After years of thinking about it, I attended a mixed-media collage Meetup at Lori Krein Studios. I immersed myself in the process and enjoyed it, as well as enjoyed the other people who attended. I’ll be going back.

This encounter with collage at the studio prompted me to rearrange my art supplies so they are stored in the same room as my work desk. Proximity will probably inspire more play!

I gathered my many small pieces of art into a binder, and I was astonished at the variety and amount. Seeing them all together gave me a surge of excitement to make more. A friend has suggested I have my own art show at home; I’m not ready to do that yet, but I’m ready to show and share from the binder.

I enrolled in a November training to learn a process called SoulCollage and to facilitate in groups. SoulCollage is a creative, meditative process of exploring one’s inner wisdom in all the ways it manifests. It’s rooted in Jungian psychology.

I’ve emphasized boundaries in certain relationships by limiting what I can listen to and discuss. The immersion in repeated stories about the problems of people I love when I cannot do anything to help was contributing to the depression.

Lastly, I’m contemplating becoming a volunteer at a hospice. For many years (since the mid-1990s) I’ve felt a pull toward it, and in 2004 I took steps in a parallel direction by training to provide grief support to survivors. It was the Centre for Living With Dying. However, my father-in-law was dying of cancer at the time, and I just didn’t have the energy to serve. Since that time the Centre was bought by another social service provider, and it seems they don’t use volunteers any more. But hospice does.

The call to hospice coincides with the sad news that a friend — Jen Bulik-Lang — who is only 35 is dying of stage-IV lung cancer. She began feeling ill in October 2012, and it took awhile for professionals to come to the correct diagnosis at the end of January 2013. She’d been shopping in December for engagement rings with her boyfriend, Jeffrey Lang. She got aggressive treatment, and there was hope they eradicated it, but in mid-June she received news it had metastasized to her spinal fluid. My insides quicken with grief and love as I watch her live with this news. She chose to celebrate life, and she and Jeff got married in a marvelous wedding. I admire Jen for embracing what is and fully experiencing it as a transformation with the faith, as she says, “that [it] will benefit the highest good for all those concerned.”

So in all, the shift in my life is toward community and participating in healing myself, others, and the world. As I wrote that last sentence my self-talk was, “Boy, that sounds lofty and new-Agey, and grandiose.” And yet… The world is broken and insane and aches for love.

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Harvest / 9″ x 12″ mixed media collage on canvas

The Parentified Child

Emotional Parentification

Emotional Parentification is when a child is given the responsibility of looking after the emotional and psychological needs of the parent and/or the other siblings.

This can include the case where the parent begins to confide in the child, discussing their problems and their issues, and using the child as a surrogate for a spouse or a therapist. This kind of emotional parentification is sometimes referred to as “emotional incest”.

Physical or Instrumental Parentification

Physical Parentification is when a child is given the responsibility of looking after the physical needs of the parent and/or the other siblings. This can include duties such as cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, paying bills, managing the household budget, getting kids ready for school, supervising homework, dispensing medications etc.

Physical parentification is different from assigning household chores to children, which is a normal and healthy practice. Assigning chores becomes dysfunctional when it reaches a level where the real parent abdicates their own responsibility for the care of the children, where the task assigned is beyond the developmental maturity of the child or where the assigned duties leave little or no time for the child to engage in normal childhood activities, play, peer friendships, schooling or sleep.

Out of the Fog

Adults parentified as children experience the following things:

  • Fear that they cannot adequately meet their own expectations and demands
  • Poor self-esteem
  • A feeling of disconnection from their real self
  • Feelings of incompetence
  • Underestimation of their own intelligence
  • Overestimation of the importance of others
  • Shame, guilt, anxiety and depression
  • Feeling like they’re still children, who can’t cope with being adults
  • Taking on the role of caretaker
  • Work addiction
  • Codependency/Acceptance of too much responsibility

Also of value: The Narcissistic Family: Diagnosis and Treatment

Where I’m At

Allie Brosh sums it up beautifully. While I am not soul-crushingly depressed as she was, even a bout of soul-pinching depression has deleterious effects. It’s insidious. I’ve known something is askew, but stumbling in the fog I wasn’t clear about it specifically. Until I read Allie’s Depression Part 2 post, and found myself re-reading it about 10 times a day since, as well as her first post about depression. The fog cleared just enough to identify that yes, I am depressed. I used to get into a bout of it in springtime in years past; it had been a few years, and I’d forgotten about that.

First: Adventures in Depression by Allie Brosh @ Hyperbole and a Half

Second: Depression Part 2 by Allie Brosh @ Hyperbole and a Half

Over the past months I have slogged through feeling:
Hopeless
Helpless
Unmotivated
Pessimistic
Irritable
Angry
Sad
Exhausted
Isolated
Disconnected
Listless
Restless
Insomnia
Foggy-brained
Absent libido

You might argue that this is the human condition. And while that is true to a point, experiencing all these feelings consistently for the past many weeks signifies something is wrong.

Sorting and Classifying

Back last summer, Claire started making comments about skin color. I said a word in Spanish to her, and she sharply rebuked me: “Don’t say Spanish. Pink people don’t speak Spanish!” I was taken aback. I asked her what skin color people have who speak Spanish, and she replied “Brown skin.” I pointed out that her Aunt Kristen and cousin Penelope speak Spanish very fluently, and they have pink skin. I also pointed out that our friends Sharon, Edu, Torben and Sonia speak German as well as English, and that people of all different skin colors speak different languages.

Still, I found the intensity of her response a little unsettling.

Then, last October, I wrote the following to her preschool teacher as well as to my mentor, Karen, because Claire had ramped up her opinions:

I’m looking for your reflections on a recent development in Claire. She is beginning to sort and classifying things, and in the past few months this has extended to people’s skin color. I’ll share some examples and how we’ve responded. I’m wondering if there is something “more” we could/should do.

Last year in school there were a majority of darker-skinned kids in class — Indian, Chinese, Pakistani, etc. Sometimes Claire said she worried kids would laugh at her because she had the wrong color hair and skin. She played well in general, but this was an occasional comment.

During summer we were doing a craft and I said “por favor” to her. Claire said: “Don’t speak Spanish! Pink people don’t speak Spanish.” I asked her who does, and she replied “brown people.” I reminded her that her Aunt Kristen and cousin Penelope speak Spanish and they are very pink (Caucasian), and also she has other friends who are brown-skinned and speak German. People can speak all types of language. (She has, by the way, taken Let’s Play in Spanish class and also likes to pretend to speak Spanish at times.)

Recently I showed Alex and Claire a photo of an African American baby adopted by a friend. Claire said she didn’t like that baby. Why? Because her skin is too dark. So we talked with her about melanin, and how it’s in everyone’s skin and the amount makes skin color lighter or darker, but that everyone is otherwise the same. We reminded her she has “brown friends” (from Guatemala and Mexico). She said that those friends weren’t very brown.

Same thing happened in a book about getting dressed: she said the didn’t like the girl with the dark skin because “she is not as good as pink.”

The most egregious example happened the other day in Popeye’s. We were eating and a man and little girl came in. The girl looked very slightly Hispanic. A moment after they entered, Claire said, “I don’t like that girl. I want to cover her head with a bag.” I replied sharply to this, telling her what an unkind remark that is. I said I thought the girl looked cute in her ponytail. Claire said, “Well I’m cute too.” I replied: “Not when you say ugly things about the way people look. That takes away from cuteness.” I followed up on how people are all good even when they look different from each other, and that is what makes people especially who they are. The subject got changed and she said nothing more.

Alex and I have talked about how to respond. Claire may be testing the limits of what is socially acceptable to say. She might really feel rejecting of anything different from her. She doesn’t spend a lot of time unsupervised by us, so we can’t imagine she picked this up from other people, and certainly not from us. We don’t want to overreact with attention and thus give her the excitement of having a big deal made over it and her, providing incentive to continue. At the same time, it doesn’t feel appropriate to ignore this, or let such comments pass without discussion (or when they’re really bad, some kind of rebuke). I admit I’m a little worried about her saying such things without us around and people judging me and Alex as a result. I’m also mystified. Can a person just be naturally racist? What’s going on with my sweet daughter?

She’s been doing the same thing about boys since this summer: boys aren’t good, they aren’t as gentle, etc. We’re working on countering this too, as you know. Yet this skin color judgment is really disconcerting.

Your advice is welcome!

The following is the reply from Teacher Carrie:

Thank you for your detailed email. I find this topic very interesting. I would like to first respond by saying I think you are doing a great job handling her comments. Especially when you explained why skin color is different.  I think it’s very important to have the discussion when these issues come up and not to ignore it. Giving a clear, appropriate explanation is good.  I understand your concern and I went through it myself with my daughter.   I then read a book that I think will put your mind at ease. It’s called Nurtureshock, by PO Bronson & Ashley Merryman. Have you heard of it?  I will bring it to class tomorrow. It’s all about nurture vs. nature, with a chapter titled “Why white parents don’t talk about race”, questioning whether we make it worse or better by calling attention to race. I need to reread the chapter, but through their studies they believe that children naturally prefer people who they can most identify with and skin color is one of the things that is clearly visible to children. Gender is also clearly visible to children. After I read it we starting talking with our children more about race & gender.
Lets talk after you read the chapter. I think you will feel a lot better knowing that this is something all children are trying to figure out.
See you tomorrow,
Carrie

And this was Karen’s reply:

First, nothing to worry about.

Claire is demonstrating her developing facility with “critical thinking,” the function of the mind that sorts, labels, analyzes and judges. She can see difference, so there’s no sense trying to convince her that there isn’t a difference. She is probably also exercising this function in ways that are appropriate and even encouraged: having a favorite doll, toy, pair of shoes, clothing, color, song, flavor of ice cream, etc. Four-year-olds can be infuriating in this way because they might refuse to wear anything but favorite colors, clothing and shoes, whether they are appropriate or not. But it is part of self-identification and self-mastery. She’ll move on by age 5.

In this way, yes, “racism” is natural in that we see and categorize and thus respond to things differently. She will be socialized, through school experience, to change the attitudes and expressions that cause other people harm. I can remember that this would be done in group lessons in Georgia’s pre-kindegarten (so age 4-5) when the recognition of different skin color emerges. The teacher used a “persona doll,” a fabric doll with African American or Hispanic features, to play lessons out.

Your explanations are too lofty for her to grasp and although this causes you social discomfort, it is only passing. We are never rid of racism, that is, fear of other people and things who are different than we are, but we learn to keep it to ourselves. If I were you I would mention it to the preschool teacher and see if they have any curriculum to address it. I bet they do, and that way you aren’t putting yourself in an adversarial role.

Georgia had an African American teacher in preschool and Georgia was afraid of him because of his dark skin. He laughed about it to me, saying he understood that all the kids had that difficulty. What a good place and good way to both express it, and to learn otherwise.

Hope this helps.

Maezen

So Alex and I re-read the chapter in Nurtureshock and comforted ourselves a bit that we aren’t alone in this, and that it is normal behavior. However, it continues. Claire has Disney princesses: Snow White, Pocahontas, Belle, Cinderella, Rapunzel, Tiana, Aurora, Jasmine, Ariel, and Mulan. In her pretend play, Claire consistently makes the non-Caucasian princesses — Tiana, Mulan, Pocahontas, and Jasmine — play the “naughty” role, or the role in which they aren’t as smart as the white princesses. I have consistently refused to play the games this way; sometimes she accommodates me, and other times she prefers to play alone with these roles. I try not to push back too hard on this, because Claire is persevering and strong-willed, and my effort is likely to backfire on me and entrench her more firmly against brown skin. I can only hope to keep talking about differences, and how skin color is real but that goodness and badness is not determined by it — and hope over time she comes to understand and accept. Or, at the very least, stops verbalizing it.

Tell Me About Despair, Yours

As Claire gets older and encounters the world, I find myself thinking that I need an exorcism of my past. That sounds drastic, yes? Claire displays an intensity and sensitivity that I recognize. I observe how she interacts with kids at school, and I feel painful echoes. I want so much not to project my past hurts and memories on to her — she needs me to be confident in her and for her.

Yet I struggle. When I think back over my childhood and school experiences, I don’t wax nostalgic. The first memories that come to mind are not happy ones. In a perfect storm combining my personality, family milieu, and the outside world, I entered kindergarten absolutely not ready for school or the world.

I was a timid, docile child, perceptive and agonizingly sensitive. I had older sisters who were in school full-time when I was pre-school age, so I had no experience playing with peers and navigating the conflict that arises from this. My first day of kindergarten I was so scared I refused to eat snack and cried. Throughout elementary school I seemed to attract unkind treatment. By the time I entered middle school, my way of dealing with peers was to bury my nose in a book and remain detached. I didn’t socialize much with people in or out of school. My self-confidence measured near zero.

One evening I talked with Hub about a school memory that still causes tears (and if I get started, I recall others that do too). My husband asked, “What would you have wished for?” The six-year-old me had a ready answer: to feel safe.

I have since written in a private post at least 20 events at or near school through my youth that generated a lot of pain then and have the power to still. Now, I know that many people experienced bullying or hurtful incidents in school. My husband has even described memories. However, he (and others) don’t carry the pain as I do, and don’t project it all onto their child’s life. Re-reading my list, I have to remind myself that these incidents occurred over thousands of days of school. I’m certain that many of those days were at least neutral, and just as many were happy days, or contained happy moments. My life wasn’t a torment every single day. My list of injuries strikes me as banal.

So what the hell is the problem?

The pain is not something I nurture; I don’t ruminate anymore over my past injuries. It comes unbidden, rising and engulfing me like a rapid tide whenever I observe my child encountering difficulty (e.g., rejection — whether perceived by her or real). I am transported instantly to childhood and respond accordingly, but this is overlaid with the protectiveness of a mother, and so all my energy goes awry. I personalize Claire’s experiences as my own. It interferes with my ability to be present for her.

Part of this pain is just a parent’s burden. We worry about our children. We ache for them. We want to protect them. Yet I feel that somehow I respond internally in a way that many (most?) other parents don’t. I feel raw and unable to maintain composure. Claire detects and absorbs my anxiety.

Observing Claire deal with her hurt feelings brings a mixture of pain on her behalf, irritation that she’s not tougher, and fear for her well-being in the world. I cannot control what she encounters out there when she starts school full-time this fall. However, I can provide a loving, peaceful, supportive home environment; home can be safe haven. But only if I manage to separate my angst-ridden ego from its Herculean attachment to my past.

So here is my question (italicized below), arising from a Mary Oliver poem, “Wild Geese”:

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Tell me your despair. Tell me your childhood school memories. Are they happy or harsh, or a mix? Tell me if they still rule you, and if not, how did you win freedom?

making wishes

Childhood Revisited

As Claire gets older and encounters the world, I find myself thinking that I need an exorcism of my past. That sounds drastic, yes? Claire displays an intensity and sensitivity that I recognize. I observe how she interacts with kids at school, and I feel painful echoes. I want so much not to project my past hurts and memories on to her — she needs me to be confident in her and for her.

Yet I struggle. At the risk of giving TMI, appearing to sound like a victim, or hurting the feelings of certain people, I’ve decided that perhaps by iterating my memories I might cleanse myself. When I think back over my childhood and school experiences, I don’t wax nostalgic. The first memories that come to mind are not happy ones. In a perfect storm combining my personality, family milieu, and the outside world, I entered kindergarten absolutely not ready for school or the world.

I was a timid, docile child, perceptive and agonizingly sensitive. I had older sisters who were in school full-time when I was pre-school age, so I had no experience playing with peers and navigating the conflict that arises from this. My first day of kindergarten I was so scared I refused to eat snack and cried. Throughout elementary school I seemed to attract unkind treatment. By the time I entered middle school, my way of dealing with peers was to bury my nose in a book and remain detached. I didn’t socialize much with people in or out of school.

The atmosphere of home was governed by negative energy: anger, authoritarian discipline, and fear. It was a patriarchal household, and obedience was expected. When my elder sisters hit adolescence and my younger brother was born (simultaneously), the domestic scene exploded. It remained tense and ruled by outbursts of parental rage throughout my own adolescence. My self-confidence measured near zero. I remember being grounded “indefinitely” for a variety of infractions, and or being threatened with disownment (particularly with being sent off to a boarding school) if I did not behave certain way; the trouble was, what brought on ire wasn’t easily determined. I remember that throughout adolescence (age 11 onward) I felt responsible for my parent’s conflicts, especially my father’s outbursts of anger toward my mother.

One evening I talked with Hub about a school memory that still causes tears (and if I get started, I recall others that do too). One morning a boy at school — as we waited for permission to enter — threatened to kill me. This was first grade. I was terrified. I left and walked home. When I got home, I told my mother I didn’t want to go back. She turned me around and walked me back to school. I don’t recall if she asked why I came home, or if she spoke to the teacher about why; maybe she did. All I recall is that I felt betrayed and abandoned.

My husband asked, “What would you have wished your mother do to?” The six-year-old me had a ready answer: help me to feel safe. I grew up feeling alone, vulnerable, unsafe. I can iterate at least 20 events at or near school* through my youth that contributed to this (and there are many family incidents too). Now, I know that many people experienced bullying or hurtful incidents in school. My husband has even described memories. However, he (and others) don’t carry the pain as I do, and don’t project it all onto their child’s life. The pain is not something I nurture; I don’t ruminate anymore over my past injuries. It comes unbidden, rising and engulfing me like a rapid tide whenever I observe my child encountering difficulty (e.g., rejection — whether perceived by her or real).

Observing Claire deal with her hurt feelings brings a mixture of pain on her behalf, irritation that she’s not tougher, and fear for her well-being in the world. I cannot control what she encounters out there when she starts school full-time this fall. However, I can provide a loving, peaceful, supportive home environment; home can be safe haven. But only if I manage to separate my angst-ridden ego from its Herculean attachment to my past.

*For details on my sad sack past… Continue reading