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TP pie chart for a day

You Are More Therapeutic Than You Think

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You think you’re getting it all wrong. You feel like a failure. You want to be a fabulous therapeutic parent (TP) but you messed up. (Again.) You ask yourself When Will I Get This Right?

You rate yourself as a rubbish parent. 1 star. On a good day. (Blah blah woe is me blah)

But you’re already getting it right, far more than you give yourself credit for.

Look At Me! Look At Me!

Over the ten days of half-term, we experienced some testing days. Perhaps 3 of them. Or in other words, 70% of the time things went okay or better. Oh, I thought. It felt harder than that.

There’s more. The tricky days weren’t entirely awful. There were whole hours of peace, calm, playing, reading, eating, walking within those days that were okay. Even the hard days were good about 70% of the time.

So it would be more accurate to say that half term was ~5% awful, 95% not-bad, good or surprisingly good, occasionally jaw droppingly cute. Yet it didn’t feel like that.

Why not?

Apparently we are hardwired to remember bad times up to three times more than good times. Helpful? Nope. Those not-so-good memories bounce around our minds, jumping up and screaming Look At Me! whilst the lovely ones melt into the past like steam off that cup of tea you made- gah, cold again?

Savouring My TP Genius Moments

I am a TP genius for at least 12 hours a day. (Go Me). Yes, my kids are asleep for those hours, but it doesn’t detract from the fact that I am brilliant then. And there’s more: when my kids are at school (6 h/day) I’m also a TP Goddess.

It’s time that I recognised that for the vast majority of my day, I am kind, patient, wise, generous, quirky, fun and more. Sometimes I am these things when the kids are around.

Pie to Decimal Places (There’s Always Room For Pie)

Being realistic (see pie chart above), I average:

  1. Genius 5% of the time. This is the parenting equivalent of a getting an unexpected pay rise at work, another week of annual leave whilst going to a 4-day week. Rare as something affordable in Smiggle, but wonderful when it happens.
  2. Good/ Great 20% of the time. I am calm, patient, playful, curious etc. Note: this is not assessed by how my children behave but how I behave towards them*
  3. Okay 50% of the time. Not perfect. Mostly calm, maybe a bit flustered. But normal, everyday parenting level of competence. I didn’t nail it, but I didn’t break it either.
  4. UnTP/ Umm 25% of the time. When I will tut and say That could’ve gone better. Let’s look on the bright side – I created a learning experience, a chance to flick to the relevant page in Sarah Naish’s A to Z of TP and get value for money out of my TP Encyclopedia.

*Too many times I’ve judged myself badly because my child was dysregulated or defiant. I cannot control them (believe me, I tried); I can only take credit for how I behave (which is a double edged sword the times they are adorable and cute).

Instead of judging myself against an expert (Dan Hughes) with over 40 years experience, based on some ridiculous idolised version of a Therapeutic Parent, my aim is to be the best version of TP Emma I can be, knowing that I am flawed in lots of quirky and interesting ways that make for better blogs and books.

Give Yourself Credit

Here’s what you can do if you find yourself wallowing in self doubt:

  • Stop aiming for being a living embodiment of Dan Hughes, Kim Golding, Ghandi or whoever you most admire in the world of adoption, therapeutic parenting, NVR etc. You are you. That is enough. No-one gets it right all the time
  • Start recognising how far you have come
  • Start celebrating the big, small and microscopic wins
  • Start focusing on all the times your little cactus flowers

Being a TP is hard enough without you getting all judgemental on yourself too. So give yourself a break. Remember this:

YOU. ARE. AMAZING.

 

 

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A man and a woman fighting over a hoody

Therapeutic Parenting Evaporates In The Heat

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‘Go and get your hoody’ asks Andy in no uncertain terms, for the Nth time (where N is a large number). Nibbles had already refused several times.

Where We Went Wrong #1 – asking more than once

Nibbles heard. Nibbles understood the request. Nibbles is not about to suddenly change his mind however many times we ask him to do it. We’re all ready to go out to a spring fair at a local village and the temperature of our family has started to heat up. Nibbles is cross and stubborn. By asking lots of times and getting the same response, Andy is now … cross and stubborn (snap).

Where We Went Wrong #2 – not focusing on our own emotional regulation/ staying calm

I then join in the unTherapeutic Parenting (unTP) by getting annoyed that Andy is not being very therapeutic.

Ah! Sweet, sweet irony.

Which Basket Is This In?

Having read Sarah Fisher’s book on Connective Parenting, we are trying to focus on the few things that truly matter. Trouble is Andy and I haven’t actually decided which TWO things to concentrate our efforts on, or shared our ideas to be certain we are both focusing on the same things. So whilst we both agree that there are certain things we need to care less about (like the way the kids eat their meals, nose picking, nail biting etc), we are far from a united front.

Where We Went Wrong #3 – not being certain what matters and what doesn’t matter. Is defiance in the small basket or not?

I get fed up with the fact that things are clearly starting to escalate, so go up to Nibbles’ bedroom to get his stupid hoody.  Andy sees it, glares at me, is incensed and throws it back upstairs because he is Not. Backing. Down.

He raises his voice and demands Nibbles get his frogging hoody because whilst it hasn’t worked for N times, it is going to work on the N+1 time. *facepalm*

Stress Accentuates The Senses

When we are in fight, flight, freeze, flop, fandango mode, the adrenalin creates lots of changes in our body, including heightening all our senses – our bodies tingle, our sense of taste and smell are keener and our hearing is more sensitive to every little crackle of the tiger in the forest. An already loud (raised) voice becomes louder still, overwhelmingly so.

‘STOP SHOUTING AT ME’ yells Nibbles, and then promptly bursts into tears.

I roll my eyes and say something to Andy in an exasperated tone about him not being very calm or therapeutic, again not exactly pouring oil on troubled waters.

By now everyone, except Bubbles who is dealing with this rather well, is huffing and sulking and not in a good mood. I dry Nibbles’ eyes, give him his darn hoody (how can an item of clothing cause so much strife?) and shuffle him off into the car before the day is laid waste in a volcanic explosion.

Repair

Once we’re all strapped in our separate seats, with zero eye contact, the danger is over and emotions start to dissipate. I apologise to Andy for talking to him in that manner. He grumpily accepts. I also apologise to Nibbles.

As we drive off, I suggest to Andy that telling Nibbles he wasn’t shouting is arguing aka escalation. He huffily replies that he was just stating a fact and then I suggest that if Nibbles thinks Andy is shouting, then Andy is shouting. Andy is not about to concede and I suggest that splitting hairs on a technicality with a six year old is Missing. The. Point.

Letting It Go

I turn on the radio in the hope that some music will release the static tension in the air. I stare out the window and wonder why we (I) keep getting it wrong.

  • ‘It feels like losing’ says Andy when we are half way to the fair.
  • ‘I know it does, but it’s not’
  • ‘It feels like it’

(repeat the above several times)

And by the time we get to the fair, it’s all over and we have a pretty good day out, with the kids laughing their socks off at a Punch and Judy show, hot dogs in the sunshine, the kids spend pocket money on slime, Bubbles gets some clip-on earrings to her pure delight, and we all come home happy.

Therapeutic Parenting is not like parenting. It involves a whole new mindset, a whole new approach, we have to let go of everything we experienced in our childhoods and try something that at times feels radically different. We both had parents with strict rules and boundaries and loosening those for our children goes against decades of conditioning.

Sometimes being TP is about letting go, letting go of our own need to be in control, letting go of our need for our children to behave a certain way, letting go of predictability, letting go of our own ego. It’s not easy, but the evidence so far is that it is worth it.

Next Time?

At the end of the day, here I am, the kids upstairs on their tablets, looking at how we might handle it differently in the future. Because this is one of Nibbles’ challenges to us at the moment, can we learn to deal (therapeutically) with his oppositional behaviour and defiance?

There is not clear answer to that yet, but here are a few thoughts we had when our brains were calm.

  • 1: HELPING HIM. ‘Let’s do it together’ The simplest, easiest solution. Nibbles hates being on his own, or doing things on his own. If one of us had just offered to go with him, this whole thing could have been over with in seconds. Stubborn? Us? *whistles and looks at the floor*
  • 2: WAITING. We could have decided to do something else (e.g. reading a story book, which both the kids love) until he was calm and ready to fetch the hoody. The fair wasn’t going anywhere, so did it really matter that we left at that precise moment?
  • 3: NATURAL CONSEQUENCES. We could have just got in the car without his hoody. I think our reluctance to follow that through is fear of him being cold (and then unbelievably whiney). The thing is, we had a fleece for him in the car, so he wouldn’t have frozen (and it was a balmy 18 deg C anyway).
  • 4: EMPATHY. We could have used sharp, staccato phrasing at a similar volume to empathise “It’s rubbish. Getting Things. Hoodies. That sucks.”

Ah hindsight. Funny how all these much better solutions arise when you are sat down at a computer not being shouted at. Which is why being CALM is the most important thing of all.

Sarah Naish in her fabulous A-Z of Therapeutic Parenting states that being calm is the biggest challenge of all. It is for us – do you agree?  Please comment below and share your thoughts.

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The Censorship of Don’t

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We’re walking back from school and I ask Bubbles about a forthcoming performance:

  • “And how are you feeling about it, sweetie?” I ask (my tone packed with sing-song curiosity)
  • “Scared” she replies meekly

And I nearly fall into a trap packed with good intentions. The trap of “Don’t”

Don’t

Parenting can feel like a string of Don’ts: Don’t touch the oven, Don’t throw your food, Don’t strangle your sister, Don’t put cornflakes down your pants for heaven’s sake, Don’t, Don’t, Don’t….

Some Don’ts are for safety, some for sanity, but why do I try and steer their emotions as well? I don’t mean to, I do it almost unconsciously:

  1. “What if it goes wrong?” – “It won’t go wrong, you’ve done all that hard work” [Don’t think that]
  2. “But my brother is super annoying” – “No, he’s not, you love him really” [Don’t say that]
  3. “I am rubbish at this” – “That’s not true, look at these correct answers” [Don’t believe that]

Yet in all these well-meant, half-conscious responses, I am stomping all over their feelings, denying their experiences, and not listening deeply enough to be influenced by what they are saying.They are pointing to some poo on the floor and I am pointing vigorously in the other direction instead, saying “Don’t Show Me That“

Sometimes they get so frustrated at me that they tell me in no uncertain words that I am NOT. LISTENING. TO. THEM.

When Bubbles tells me “I am scared“, it tingles on the tip of my tongue: “Don’t be scared.”  But she already is.

Feelings Are Not Right or Wrong

Feelings are neither right nor wrong, they just are.

  • Would we say “don’t be sad” to someone who had just experienced a bereavement? No!
  • Would tell someone “don’t be happy” if they had just fallen in love? As if!

Whether Bubbles is scared, catatonic, doesn’t want to go, wants to go, is delirious, feels like puking, is ambivalent about it, whatever she is feeling is valid. It’s an expression of everything she has experienced in her life. And if I want her to know that she is loved, she is accepted, that she will always be loved whatever, then I need to let her know that whatever she is feeling is A. okay with me.

Be Curious

Instead, I lean in and get curious.

  • “Why are you scared, sweetie?” (more sing-song, no judgement)
  • “Because I am in a group with a boy who always stands in the wrong place”
  • “Oh… What could you do about that then?”

She has tangible and specific reasons that are stoking her fear that we now discuss. We talk about what she might be able to do about it, and I steer clear of giving her ready-made solutions and focus on asking her questions, to help her gain confidence in solving these things for herself.

By being curious, by being open, by letting her take the lead, this conversation gains a depth and a richness that would never have happened if I had fallen down the “Don’t Feel That” trap. We have a conversation that starts with fear, and ends with true connection, several fabulous ideas to solve it that she came up with all by herself, a sense of relief on both our parts, a big grin on her face and a lovely warm hug.

That is what you can create, if you don’t fall into the Censorship of Don’t.

(irony knows no bounds in this post).

 

 

 

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