A child who lets off steam (melts down, behaves badly, tantrums, is violent and aggressive, moody, destructive, speaks rudely to parents, mistreats family members) at home, but keeps it together in public (at school, when at relative’s homes, at the park, in the shops, visiting favourite places) is very much like the perpetrator of domestic and family violence (stereotypically the male partner) who is seen as a good guy (great father, doting husband, community-minded, spiritually aware) at work and in public, but wreaks havoc, murder and mayhem on his family members at home (stereotypically the wife and children, also pets), through threatening, coercive, cold, gaslighting, violent, confusing behaviour.
To me, the most disturbing part of this idea is that I was taught that my children see me as a safe person. I should treasure and respect the fact that they trust me enough to show their true feelings.
Hang on, that’s not right, is it?
If I am treasured and respected with my child’s deepest vulnerabilities, then should I therefore allow myself to be continually thrust under the doormat to be stomped on? What is it, about being the parent, that relegates me to bearing the brunt of the child’s pent-up frustrations and hostilities, rather than the authority figure who (in a calm and measured way), teaches the children appropriate non-violent ways to express their needs to be seen and heard and respected?
If my child places me at a different part of the hierarchy than the other adults in their life
(teachers, principals, grandparents, Sunday School teachers, checkout operators, doctors, dentists, bus drivers),
then where does that put me in the patriarchal scheme of things?
Having been placed there, as the punching bag of my child, am I bound and determined to remain there for the rest of my life?
Where is their other primary parent placed in the scheme of things?
In the minds of my child are we aligned, allied, alongside one another, or do we stand on different rungs of a (mostly indifferent) ladder?
If my child fails to respect me now, how will they ever respect me as an adult?
If my child doesn’t respect me now, why should I respect them?
Is my child worthy of respect?
I cannot be that entitled authority figure who demands that my children obey me, especially when uninterrogated obedience demands abasement.
If I model my response to their letting off steam by behaving with kindness, firmness and understanding, it’s not the same as condoning their behaviour, as long as I also do the work of teaching them better, more appropriate, less destructive and violent ways to vent. It’s not an instant fix, but part of growing up and learning how to be in a social world.
Punishment is not a useful part of this. In my life, punishments work to make things harder for me, and to make life more miserable for the children. Punishment means I have to be on call to monitor and police the children’s activities, as well as mustering up my creative side to cajole them into accepting the new situation and trying to do something they do not want to do.
Punishment renders the child’s behaviour and identity suspect, without ever examining what drives the child to do what they do. When punishments are imposed and I am called to enforce them, I become severed, separated from my child, causing anger, retribution and grudges. I am set up against my child, aligned with an authoritarian approach, which is bewildering to my child.
I’ve also been taught is that behaviour is communication. Specifically for children who haven’t learned to talk well, viewing behaviour as communication enables the adult in the relationship to decode the messages the child is desperately attempting to convey, through what looks at first glance like fairly objectionable, possibly dangerous, usually destructive behaviour, how they are feeling and thinking about their place in the world.
It’s worth considering the role of behaviour in communication between adults, as well. What does my behaviour communicate to my child, to my partner?
I am considering the concept of empathy.
I suspect that only a child who is respected and loved can develop the kind of empathy that extends beyond that child’s own needs to be cherished. The projection by authority figures, of non-empathy, masks that child’s deep need to be recognized. The child’s behaviour may be labelled as cruel, irrational and violent, when actually, the child is crying out for love. Isn’t the child who is hardest to love, that most needs it?
A child who is repeatedly taught to suppress, repress and oppress their own needs and emotions, becomes numb to the needs and emotions of others. That child’s need to be recognized, heard, seen and valued can exert such tremendous internal pressure that either implosion or explosion results. That child’s focus becomes so narrow, that to admit any feeling at all, they need to resort to harming themselves.
As a mother, and as a wife, I habitually muddle up and over-identify with those who test me. When I fall into trying to understand what drives my child’s behaviour, or my partner’s behaviour, I lose sense of myself, my integrity, my rights and most importantly my role as adult and educator.
I need other adults in my life to help set me upright, to name and validate my deep empathy, to remind me of how vital it is that I not numb out, withdraw, disengage, but rather that I roll up my sleeves and set to work with patience and love, to help my child learn appropriate and acceptable ways of expressing themselves without annihilating me.
I must set limits and boundaries as to what I am prepared to accept.
I must let the children know when they have pushed too far.
I must find ways for them to make amends. I must allow them to practice exercising their powers with grace and acknowledge their attempts and achievements.
I must be present, to model love, acceptance, patience, kindness, respect and wisdom, if I am to survive.
When no effective limits and boundaries are set, danger walks through the door. A child who knows no limits will push their behaviour beyond the acceptable and understandable, to violent and self-destructive.
Love is the baseline, but to my mind, the children will always come first.
I run these questions constantly through my mind:
What is my child’s behaviour communicating?
What does my child need?
Am I be enough for my child?
Can I seek help with this without betraying my primary relationship?
How can I simultaneously enforce my will and my need to be heard, seen, resected, valued, and yet respond with grace, to the often outrageous and troubling behaviour of my troubled child?
It is more than wanting my child to be happy. I don’t want my child to grow up to be an angry, violent human.
