I was speechless when I watched her unpack her new bag and excitedly show me everything she’d gotten. I felt sick to my stomach, as if I’d had the wind knocked out of me. Oddly, I didn’t feel angry or outraged (which I would have expected), but rather I was overcome by a sense of despair and the aroma of wordless confusion.

Later, I called a friend who also has a child in the thick of early teenhood and attends many of these parties. My mom friend recounted a conversation with her son when she’d asked why he was getting so much stuff at these parties. His comment at the time was “Why else would I or anyone else go?” The idea that anyone would go just to spend time with friends, have fun, celebrate the person whose birthday it is, enjoy good food, dance, listen to music, or any other experience the event included was preposterous. What mattered was getting stuff, pure and simple; the more the better.

As a writer, it’s hard to render me speechless, but this whole topic for some reason takes my breath away and with it my words. The only thing I seem to be able to utter is, “What’s wrong with us?” and “Where did we take a profoundly wrong turn in the path of human evolution?”

I’ve heard a lot of great quotes over the years, but one of the best I’ve heard, and one of my favorites, is Warren Zevon’s response to David Letterman when asked what he’d learned about life and death after his terminal cancer diagnosis. In describing what’s important in a good life, Zevon said: “Enjoy every sandwich.” I never forgot that line, and it popped into my consciousness when my daughter was pulling out items from what seemed like a bottomless bag from the party. I wondered how our children could ever enjoy anything, much less something as mundane as a sandwich, when they are constantly being buried in stuff.

The amount of stuff children receive in this glut culture is startling and disturbing, regardless of where one sits in the economic ecosystem. This tsunami of things we’re drowning our kids in creates an environment in which nothing has value, nothing is worth paying attention to, nothing is worth appreciating, and nothing is deserving of gratitude. All that matters is the acquisition of things, but not the enjoyment of them. This is further evidenced by the fact (as I am told by many parents) that this “swag” often stays in the bag, dropped somewhere in their kids’ rooms, never noticed much less enjoyed again. All of it, made using resources from our earth, will then disappear into the giant vat of disposable things that ends up back in the earth; all of it used only for the purposes of determining whether a party was “good” and the child whose parents bought the stuff is deserving of popularity.

I wonder, is there no other way for us to celebrate transitions in life and celebrate people other than with things? Must we send our children home from every experience with a product to mark and brand the event? Have we forgotten how to taste our experiences, how to feel and retain meaning in our lives? Do we need all the stuff to prove that something valuable or important is happening because we’ve forgotten how to make our lives feel meaningful and real, and how to feel gratitude for the moment…without all the products?

But most importantly, what can we do as parents to change this glut culture? How can we wake up from under all the stuff and show our kids how to appreciate, derive meaning from, and ultimately, experience a good life? How can we invite our kids and ourselves to be able to enjoy a sandwich?

People often claim this issue is too big to tackle and that there’s no point in trying to make things different; “they,” the machine, have won. But this is never true; we can always start with ourselves and our family. We can do it differently in our own homes and with our own kids. We can take control of what we can control. That said, we can decide to mark the spiritual moments in our children’s lives in ways other than with “swag.” We can intentionally teach our children countless reasons to go to a celebration—reasons that are not about getting more stuff they don’t need or even want. We can reinforce and support alternative ways of deriving meaning from events that will nourish, sustain, and fulfill them for more than just a minute. We don’t have to follow and encourage this damaging trend of excess just because it’s the way it’s done.

It’s hard to be a change-maker, to buck the trends, but ultimately we are doing something profoundly good for all of our children, and all our adults too, in the long run…even though they may not agree right now. It’s hard to go it alone as we put our kid at risk for social suicide, being the one who didn’t give the kids what they’ve been taught to want, and being judged as an unworthy party-giver.

Because of this, we need to talk to other parents and form an alliance. We need to agree to a sea change in the way parties are marked and branded. Think about it as starting a movement in the community, one pair of pajama pants at a time. Parents and kids will balk, perhaps because it’s easier to throw sunglasses at a problem than to address the problem. But if we can keep our eye on our intention—to teach our kids how to appreciate milestones, their friends, and ultimately, their lives; to teach our kids how to feel gratitude and a sense of enough-ness for what they do have; to teach our kids nothing short of how to be content and live a satisfying life—then we can keep going and keep bringing light into the very cluttered darkness.

The post Must Our Kids Get a Suitcase of “Swag” After Every Party? appeared first on Nancy Colier.

Let’s not restate what we know or even regale the deliciousness of mothering, much as I’d love to do that. Rather, let’s examine aspects of motherhood that are less regale-able and the feelings and truths we hide from others and ourselves. So, too, are the relentless expectations around mothering with which we punish ourselves.

A confession: When my kids were young, sometimes I’d tiptoe past their rooms, trying not to be noticed because I couldn’t bear the prospect of another imaginary skit on the floor with the Calico Critters and talking toothbrushes. I frequently dreaded the weekends spent researching and shlepping to arts and crafts fairs, build-a-bears, flower-plantings, and Legolands that nobody wanted to go to or particularly enjoyed but that I felt I had to offer to prove (to myself) that I was a good mom.

Believe it or not, now (and part of me knew it was then.), I felt too guilty not to do it. Interestingly, my husband never felt guilty, not even a little. He was OK with letting the kids do nothing or come up with their activities and most definitely didn’t see it as his job to entertain and engage them. On the other hand, I was convinced that if I didn’t provide at least one and preferably two interesting experiences or excursions each weekend, I was depriving my kids of a great childhood.

We all know that mom who can always find something magical to do with their kids. I had a friend like that when my kids were young. Wherever we went, she created an experience of wonder while I watched on, feeling befuddled and un-motherly.

In the park, she’d skip off with our kids and waft back what seemed like hours later, with everyone giggling madly, adorned in tiaras she’d made of daisies, and acting out mysterious forest adventures. At home, she delighted in playing board games, transforming french fries into Pick-Up-Stix, and, if time allowed, leading the charge to the bowling alley to spend more time together.

As to be expected, “Why can’t you be like Julia’s mom?” was the refrain in my home, to which I felt both righteous in my different-kind-of-mom-ness and, underneath the righteousness, terribly guilty, that I didn’t know how to do that, and that my kids didn’t get to have a mom like Julia’s.

So many women are convinced they should enjoy every moment they get to spend with their kids. The fact that we sometimes don’t enjoy it and don’t look forward to it, or worse, want to spend time with other people besides our kids or be with just ourselves, confirms that we’re selfish, unloving, and un-maternal. We’re choosing our own wants and needs over our kids. It’s either/or, and all roads lead us back to the same conclusion: We’re not good enough as mothers or women.

Watching our kids having fun and seeing their imaginations bloom is a delicious experience. At the same time, our children’s games are age-appropriate and a good fit for their intellectual and emotional development, but not usually for ours.

Still, we remain convinced that we should be fascinated and delighted by every activity involving our children and should be able to meet our emotional and intellectual needs just by participating in their experience. If we’re bored or unsatisfied, then once again, we’re self-involved and too focused on our own needs. And what’s worse, our own age-appropriate boredom is scarring our children and teaching them that they are the ones who are boring.

A day in the house with small children can feel like an iron-woman triathlon. We expect our watch to say 6 p.m. only to discover that it’s 9 a.m., and we still have 10 hours of activities to invent, 10 hours separating us from Netflix or some other kind of anesthesia. Of course, some moms genuinely enjoy hours of designing stickers, making slime, and thinking up homemade science experiments.

But there are also many moms for whom occupying their kids feels painful and exhausting, and they run out of ideas, patience, and energy.

Women struggle with the day-to-day labor of parenting. Yet, they continue to berate themselves for their feelings and assume that entertaining their kids for long stretches of time should come naturally and feel effortless. But why should it be effortless, and why would we enjoy it? Still, moms pretend to love it and delight in the snow days and Mondays off, which may explain why our own sippy cups sometimes smell like Chardonnay.

The truth is, you can love your kids and be a supremely good mother and not enjoy and not be particularly natural at certain aspects of the parenting job. This truth gets swallowed up in historical narratives, cultural mythology, and old beliefs about female virtue and motherhood, which still limit us despite all the societal changes that have occurred for women and shifted our place in the world.

Perhaps, alongside our devotion to our children, we can also allow ourselves to acknowledge that the job of being a mom to young kids is frequently not that interesting. We can stop fighting with and denying the reality of parenting and, instead, own and respect the effort and discipline that goes into mothering, and even celebrate ourselves for being willing to do hard things when we don’t want to and tolerate the boredom and difficulty of it, usually, without going mad.

If we can do this, we’ll feel free to make choices that come from want, not just should. And, we’ll feel kinder towards ourselves and sometimes even more grateful for getting to be a mom. Every minute we stay on the floor with the Calico Critters or do any of the endless difficult things we do, we might consider acknowledging it and bowing to our strength and devotion.

A great mom is not always one who wants to be with her kids around the clock and enjoys every effortless moment, but rather, one who keeps showing up, being present and doing her best to give her kids what they want and need, for as long as she possibly can.

Ultimately, we must trust a deeper truth: Our love for our children is big, wide, and infinite enough to include all of its contents. That said, we need not reduce our worthiness as good mothers to something so infinitesimal as whether we like or don’t like the tasks of the job.

The post Another Long Weekend With the Kids… Oh My! appeared first on Nancy Colier.

Most women, and moms, in particular, struggle with the belief that we’re not good enough. We feel like we’re failing our children and failing to live up to some image of a perfect mom who’s selfless, has no needs of her own, and exists only for her children. Some of this remains as a remnant of the role women played in the family in previous generations.

Although our culturally conditioned idea of who we should be no longer fits into modern life, in which women work outside the home, our idea of the perfect mom remains unchanged. And maybe more importantly, despite our image of perfection frequently conflicts with our own well-being, we continue to shame and blame ourselves for not being who we imagine we should be.

Mom guilt is built on an idea of who we should be—not who we are. From the time we’re little girls, our emotional safety, acceptance, and approval are built on our ability to be selfless and take care of other people’s needs. The better we are at taking care of other people, the more we’re liked, which makes us feel valuable—and makes us like ourselves. Being a mom is the ultimate test of our caregiving abilities; how much can we give ourselves away in service to our children, which then is the ultimate test of our worth?

When Jenny was packing her kids into the car for yet another weekend trip this past summer, each of which took enormous effort and cost (and wasn’t that much fun), it suddenly dawned on her that she was doing all of this to live up to some idea in her head of what a good mom should be and what she should offer her kids in the summer.

And yet, she also realized that she didn’t want to do it, and truth be told, neither did her kids (or the dog!). No one in that car actually wanted to be going away for another “family” weekend; no one wanted this “perfect family life” that she was forcing. She was enslaved by some archaic story of what was supposed to happen in the idyllic months of summer by being perceived as a “perfect mom,” having a “perfect family,” and offering her kids a “perfect life.”

In a revolutionary moment, she decided to put the car in reverse, unpack the trunk right then and there, and start living in what was true rather than some idea of what should be. She decided to step out of her imaginary story and into reality.

At any moment, we can step out of the story we’re telling ourselves about who we should be and in that moment, invite and welcome the mom we really are.

Tips for Breaking the Mom Guilt Habit

• Become aware of your inner voice of guilt.
• Breaking mom guilt starts with awareness, noticing how and when you’re “should-ing” yourself with a dose of shame and blame for failing to live up to some idea of the mom you should be.
• Notice the thoughts that you are not enough and how your inner-mom critic criticizes you for not being someone you’re not.
• Consider your well-being.
• When you recognize that you’re spinning in the mom guilt narrative, drop out of the story of who and how you should be and consider who and how you actually want to be—in this moment, this situation, and this life.
• Take the bold step that it is, as a woman and a mom, to stop assuming that you should be invisible. Remind yourself that your wants and needs matter. Put your authentic self back into the story.
• Ask yourself what takes care of you in this situation and what serves your well-being. What would happen if you allowed your well-being to matter, too, not just your children’s? Is there a way to take care of both you and your child?
• Remind yourself to keep coming back to the present moment.
• When you’re lost in mom guilt, you’re distracted from the present moment. You’re not with your children, which is ultimately what good mothering is all about.
• When you catch yourself mom-guilting, get fierce with your mind. Tell your inner critic to stop telling you what’s wrong with you.
• Focus on modeling for your kids what it looks like to be on your side. Focus on what you like about yourself and what makes you a good mom. Let your kids meet who you actually are, as opposed to a tortured version of yourself trying to be someone else.
• Practice self-compassion.

Remember, being a mom can be an exceptionally difficult role. Some say it’s the hardest job in the world. We all fail our kids and we’ve all been failed by our own moms (and dads). Thankfully, humans are resilient; our kids find a way to be OK most of the time. That’s reality. So, keep your shortcomings in perspective and remind yourself of all the things you do right, not just those things you think you do wrong.

Use whatever you don’t like about your parenting as an opportunity to grow and be more mindful rather than an opportunity to judge yourself. Remind yourself that you’re doing the best you can, even when there’s room for improvement. Moms, like all human beings, are works in progress; being the best mom you can be today that’s the goal—with all the shortcomings and gifts that that includes.

That’s enough.

The post Recovering From Mom Guilt: Dropping the Never-Enough Mom Story appeared first on Nancy Colier.

Her boyfriend had remembered a small detail about her, something she had mentioned in the first week of their relationship. Unprompted, he had looked through the lens of Pam’s experience, which he had remembered after just one casual telling. She had shared her experience with him, and he had carried it with him.

It’s a story that presents in all sorts of shapes and colors, but holds at the center the same theme. It’s a story, ultimately, about listening. Again and again, clients tell me about a parent who was unable to remember the details of their life. Whether it was not remembering the names of their friends, if they preferred their sandwich bread toasted or plain, or who their most hated teacher of the moment was, the experience was the same… loneliness frustration, and suffering.

As children, when those who are supposed to love us are unable to hold the details of our life, the small pieces that put together the puzzle that is us, the result is profoundly impactful and long-lasting.

Pam sobbed when her boyfriend remembered that small detail, in part, because she had grown up with a father who didn’t remember the small things about her life. And while she knew in her head that her dad loved her, when she needed to remind him, over and over, about the name of her best friend or favorite flavor of ice cream, she didn’t actually feel loved.

Clients have described the experience in different ways; for one woman, it was the feeling of starting from scratch in each interaction with her parent, choosing details to share, building a new story about herself as if with a stranger. Another woman talked of introducing herself over and over again, reminding her parent who she was and what her life was about. And yet another told me of getting off the camp bus after a summer away and being surprised that her father actually knew which child was his daughter. To be known is to be known, in all its details.

I write this blog today as a cautionary tale for parents, and also, I hope, an encouraging tale. As inconsequential as they may seem, the details of a child’s life are vitally important; it’s difficult to feel truly known if the details of one’s life are not remembered or retained. And, most importantly, we can’t feel loved if we don’t feel known.

It’s common for children to take the blame for a parent who doesn’t listen. The child assumes he isn’t interesting or important enough, doesn’t matter enough to be remembered. The child concludes that he is the one who is broken and lacking. He takes responsibility for the parent’s inattention, in part, because a child’s primary need is to maintain the bond with the parent no matter what, in order to belong and hence survive. Secondly, a child blames himself, because he needs to hold the parent in his mind as something good and trustworthy, to see his parent as reliable, even if to do so causes the child harm. The idea that a parent might be untrustworthy, flawed, or even unkind is too discordant with what the child needs for his own equanimity. For little Jonny, it’s less problematic (paradoxically) if he is responsible for his dad’s inattention, as opposed to his dad himself choosing not to pay attention to him.

So often I meet clients who were not adequately listened to early in life, and the chronic suffering that accompanies such an absence is profound. As adults, such folks frequently continue struggling to be known, seeing every interaction through the lens of being adequately listened to or not, and never really achieving the feeling of being entirely known.

All that said, I offer parents the following advice: Listen to the details of your children’s lives, and don’t just listen, remember them… whether you’re interested or not. Furthermore, ask about those details, show them you know them. Parenting is a boots-on-the-ground endeavor. It’s not that hard to do really, and yet it’s one of the most powerful and generous things we can do for our children.

As a parent, I know how overwhelming it is these days to raise kids. Just the number of tasks we have to perform for our kids is staggering, without the rest of the caretaking. I also know that our children’s friends’ names change weekly, as do all the details. I also know what it’s like to work a full day and come home in the evening, cook dinner, and try to pay attention to the stories that kids tell.

As parents, our goal is not perfection; we’re works-in-progress, never completed. We’re going to mess up, confuse last week’s frenemy with today’s BFF. The point is that we try hard to show up, be present, listen well, and remember what we hear. So much of parenting is challenging and sometimes even impossible, but the act of listening and retaining the details, while it may take some effort, is not that hard. And particularly not when you know that the small details are portals to something infinitely larger.

If a child feels we’re present and experiences us as interested in and paying attention to their life, then even when we make mistakes, miss and forget things, it’s more likely the child will feel known and grow up to be an adult who feels sufficiently seen and heard, and thus not have to keep searching for it for a lifetime. It’s likely that child will also know that they’re important—they matter. There’s a saying: “God is in the details.” I believe love is in the details, and maybe it’s the same thing. Paying attention is love. Remembering that our child likes the crusts off the bread is a small way of saying I love you, I see you, I know you.

The post Parenting 101: Love Is In the Details appeared first on Nancy Colier.

I recently witnessed, yet again, how utterly vital self-awareness and discernment are for the job of good parenting.  I’ve known my friend Dan (all names are changed) for a good long time.  Because he’s been in my life for decades, I’ve also known his kids since they were born and have my own relationship with his son and daughter, who are now teenagers.

On a recent walk, Dan was raging to me about his teenage daughter Kim and an incident that had just occurred between them. Earlier that morning Kim had been taking photos and Dan, who knows a lot about photography, had offered Kim a suggestion for how to frame her photos in a more rich and interesting way.  Kim, who is 15, had gotten irritated with her father and rejected his suggestions, telling him to leave her alone so she could take her own photographs the way she wanted to.

Dan was very angry because, according to him, Kim rejected everything he offered because she didn’t respect him.  In his narrative, his daughter didn’t think that he was someone who knew anything of value.  She ignored his suggestions because she didn’t think he was someone whose opinion mattered.

I listened to my friend with a lot of mixed feelings.  I knew that this narrative about not being valued for what he offered had been Dan’s experience since I knew him.  I was aware that my friend had struggled with feeling invisible for his entire life, and that he had always felt unseen, unappreciated, and unvalidated in his work.  I knew that this was Dan’s “stuff” being triggered by his daughter’s healthy need to make her own choices and create in her own way.  I felt sad too for my friend and his desire to have his daughter appreciate him and be valued for all that he did know.

As Dan expressed his anger to me, I also had in my mind conversations I had exchanged with his daughter.  She had shared with me how controlled she felt by her father, how he never could let her do anything her way and had to constantly teach her something and show her what he knew.  She had expressed great frustration that her father was constantly trying to improve her and could never just be with her as she was or let her be who she was.  She felt that she was relentlessly being fed the message that she wasn’t good enough.  She had to do everything better–be better.

Simultaneously, because Kim is an emotionally savvy young woman, she was able to see that when she took suggestions from her father, she felt like the whole experience became about him, like she was being held responsible for making her dad feel valued, important and seen.  She naturally then resisted taking his suggestions because she felt like to do so kidnapped her experience and turned it into a “Look what dad can offer you… see what a valuable person/parent dad is,” all of which she (understandably) wanted nothing to do with.

I knew all this as Dan raged on about Kim’s crimes and how she was deliberately rejecting his wisdom and expertise.  When he got to the end of his rant and wanted me to validate his feelings, I was in a bit of a pickle.  But because he is a dear friend, and because I love Kim too, I felt required to speak a bit about what I saw happening.  And so I empathized with him about his frustration and anger.  I tried to make space for the feelings of invisibility and dismissal that he was expressing.  And then I offered too, a possible other explanation for why Kim might not want his photography advice, one that might lessen the sting, but at the cost of contradicting his storyline.

I reminded my friend that Kim was 15 and needed to learn, but also to be allowed to figure things out for herself and that it was terrific she was playing around with the camera at all.  And I told him that I knew, for sure, that she did not think he was a piece of crap, as he had decided was the case, but rather that she was trying to become a person in her own right and sometimes his suggestions felt like they worked against that for her.  I tried to be gentle with him and decided to leave out the age-old quality of his storyline, how he had been struggling with these feelings long before Kim appeared on the scene with her camera.  I also left out my belief that he was accusing his daughter of intentions that didn’t belong to her.  I knew Dan was raw and that feeling unvalued was his core wound, and so I simply attempted to add another possible experience, truth, or frame (Kim’s) into his storyline, to bring some air into his airless narrative, to break up the solidness and certainty of the story he had constructed around his daughter.

The truth was I felt compassion for both Dan and his daughter, and I wasn’t sure how to help the situation other than to hold up all the truths that coexisted—that meant Dan’s feelings of invisibility, his wish to not only be valued but also teach his daughter where he could (which was a healthy desire), and Kim’s need to be valued as she was, without improvement, and her need to not have to continually validate her dad for his knowledge, to make up for her dad not having been seen by the world.  But what I couldn’t sit by and allow was my friend’s assignment of blame to his daughter for what was his own wound; I couldn’t simply watch as he denied his own “stuff” and placed it on her.  The experience with Kim had indeed triggered his core wound, yes, but not because she intended to do so.  He was making something that had nothing to do with him about him, collapsing his personal experience with a larger truth, which was not okay.

When I shared Kim’s experience with Dan, an experience that was radically different than the one he had assigned her in his narrative, my fantasy was that he would suddenly feel a wave of fatherly compassion for his daughter, that he would be able to step out of his own ego story, ego defense, and feel empathy for his daughter’s experience of never feeling enough, of always having to be better (so that dad could feel valuable and visible).  But nowhere in me did I really think that scenario would happen, and indeed it didn’t.  My friend stayed loyal to his ego defenses, stuck with his narrative, and exploded at me.  By offering a different truth, namely his daughter’s, I had asked him to look at his own “stuff,” his history and what he was assuming to be truth, and also, perhaps, to open his heart to his daughter’s actual experience rather than the one he was constructing for her.  This, apparently, was not what he was wanting or needing and we decided to convene again when he was calmer.

But all that said, it got me thinking again about how important it is for us as parents to separate out the “stuff” belongs to us, from our histories, and what is actually true for our kids.  What our experience is and what their experience is, letting them co-exist with dignity, as different as they usually are.  We’ve all been Dan at one time or another, and, when we were younger, we’ve all been Kim and had our parents’ stuff hurled onto us.  I grew up in a home that sometimes felt like a house of mirrors, where you were rarely in a conversation that included your actual truth, but rather were related to through the projections of others, always saddled with something you had been assigned (positive or negative) that was part of someone else’s story.  And so, when my friend Dan attached an intention to his daughter that belonged to his story and was not her truth, I felt my own wounding arise.

Often as parents, we are triggered by something our child says or does. If we don’t catch it in the moment or shortly after, if we don’t own our “stuff” as ours and keep it safely away from our kids, we end up in a distorted and confusing relationship with our children, one that denies them the right to have their own truth seen and honored, their own intentions validated, and denies us the possibility of a fresh and truthful relationship with our children.

When we collapse our stuff and their motives, we end up believing that our kids are responsible for re-wounding us in the way that our narrative dictates, when in fact we re-wound ourselves by turning our subjective experience into an objective truth with all the accompanying perpetrators.

Instead, when we are triggered, we can pause, feel the triggered-ness, the wound, and take the experience as an opportunity to bring ourselves compassion.  Our kids, if we can stay awake and aware, offer us the gift that is an opportunity to awaken, pay attention and bring kindness to our own pain.  They show us what’s buried in us; let us not, in our ignorance and defensiveness, bury our kids back in with our pain.

Because we have a subjective experience does not mean it is an objective, capital t Truth.  We can have a very real and strong experience, but that does not mean that the other person is doing that to or at us.  Their actions trigger something in us, but their experience, what’s happening in and for them, is undoubtedly very different than the experience we are having.  And both experiences are true and valid.

Our kids are trying to become people, to individuate and discover who they are.  That’s tough enough without having to figure out, pick through, unstick from, and climb their way out of our storylines.  Our kids awaken in us what we’ve lived, which includes our suffering.  We can bow to our kids, as the messengers of our own pain; they bring it, some of which we might not have even known was there, but they bring it so we can heal from it.

As parents, it’s our responsibility to separate what belongs to us from our own childhoods and adult lives and not intermingle that with our children’s truth.  Their truth belongs to them just as our truth belongs to us.  And all such truths can, with awareness, co-exist in harmony.  Our greatest responsibility as parents, as important as showing up for all the softball games and dance recitals, is our own self-awareness and the willingness to take responsibility for our own “stuff,” to feel what arises without turning it into a story about anyone else.  And in so doing, we offer our kids the dignity of deciding and discovering their own truth and having it heard, without our wounded and wounding intrusions.

The post How to Not Burden Our Kids With Our Own Emotional Stuff appeared first on Nancy Colier.

We learn to not be a burden, not put anyone else out, not ask anyone to do anything that might be difficult for them, require them to confront anything uncomfortable, and certainly not ask anyone to change.  When we do ask for or need something for ourselves we are often called selfish, demanding or needy, even unstable.  We are deeply conditioned to accept the short stick, do without, and find our nourishment in giving rather than receiving.  We learn, early on, that it’s not okay to ask or dare insist that our needs be taken care of.

As we grow and evolve, many of us learn how to tap into, identify, respect, and ask for what we need.  We become more compassionate and supportive of our own needs and relate to ourselves with a level of care previously designated for others.  We get better at taking good care of ourselves and most importantly, feeling the right to do so.  We matter more, to ourselves, and feel empowered.  And yet…

What remains a challenge for so many women, even those of us who are truly empowered and adept at taking care of ourselves, is still, to ask for what we need when our need is contrary to what another might want.

What I hear again and again in my office is some version of this: when we as women need something that might be difficult, or require a change in the other, a reconsideration of what the other has considered right, we are treated as the problem.  Our judgment is questioned, our validity, our right to need what we need.  We are too needy, too demanding, unappreciative of what we’ve already received and essentially, to blame for needing what we need.  We then take these judgments to heart, internalize them and doubt ourselves, distrust our needs, and more systemically, judge our very right to need.  Consequently, we tuck our needs away, anesthetize them, bury them, shame them, and get on with the business of meeting others’ expectations, accommodating, and shape-shifting into whatever it takes to keep the peace.

The result is that we suffer, not just from our unmet needs, but from the self-judgments and guilt that come from having needs at all, and daring to imagine that they matter.

As mothers, we give; it’s just what we do, usually without any expectation of receiving.  Perhaps it’s built into our female DNA whether or not we have children.  But as women, it’s vital that we learn how to receive, and also learn that we deserve to receive—not just give. It’s time that we knew that it’s our right to have needs, and not just have them but express and stand up for them, stand up for ourselves when they’re questioned.  It’s even our right to have needs that make another person uncomfortable and/or ask something that’s difficult—to “put another out” as we like to say.  (Out of where? I often ask.)  It’s important that we women not only take up more space in our professional worlds, but (and perhaps more challenge-worthy) that we learn to do so within our personal relationships, which means taking ownership of our right to have needs.  For some of us this is easy and natural, but for many of us, it is not.

We can introduce the idea of having the right to have needs and begin the process of allowing them, literally, by just saying the words to ourselves, “I get to have needs.”  It might sound simple or silly, but for some women, this simple mantra, repeated throughout the day and in difficult situations, can be powerful and transformative.  So too, we need to remind ourselves that we are not guilty for needing.  This can also be practiced through the regular repetition of such words, “I am not guilty” and/or “I am not guilty for having needs.” For some, this precise affirmation can be profound and revolutionary, often bringing women to tears as they fully absorb this truth, are given permission to own it and absorb it into their cells.  Such tears also carry with them the grief of having lived with the assumption of guilt for so many years, of taking a blame and shame for which they were never and are not responsible.

We’ve made incredible strides as women over these last few years, establishing undeniable new “No’s,” and setting strong new boundaries around what we will accept in our treatment, everywhere.  This is an extraordinary evolution and revolution.  My hope is that as we gain strength and feel the right to speak up more and more on the public front, we will also feel empowered to champion our own personal needs, the emotional ones and all the others, the needs that we stash away, suppress and numb, the needs that go unheard and uncared for, because somewhere deep down we believe we’re not supposed to have them; we don’t have the right to our own needs.

It’s spectacular to witness and participate in our awakening as women, into knowing that we have the right to be safe from sexual predators, to not be silenced, even when our words are inconvenient.  In personal relationships, we still have a ways to go.  Many of us still need to know, really know… in our bones, that we have the right to need what we need, which is no one else’s to decide or judge.  And, we have the right to receive, not just give. This quieter, more private but equally profound knowing is, I hope, the next universal truth to emerge in this astounding women’s movement now unfolding.

The post A Woman’s Right to Have Needs: The Next Revolution appeared first on Nancy Colier.

It goes like this: parent asks a question about something their kid is doing or wants to do with technology, something they’re worried about, usually the amount of time the child want to use or the kind of tech he/she is using.  I respond with a suggestion or intervention that requires limit-setting and a set of guidelines for incorporating that change.  Parent then says some form of this: “But if I do what you’re suggesting, I’m going to be yelled at or hated by my kid; it’s going to cause a huge problem.”  I usually smile and say yes.  This however seems to confuse the said parent, as if they’re waiting for me to offer a solution to their problem that doesn’t require discomfort or disagreement, a policy that’s easy to implement.  I then deliver the following, sometimes surprising news alert: “As a parent, you’re not supposed to be your child’s friend.”

We are living in a time when, as parents, we’re supposed to be our children’s best friends at the same time we’re being their parents.  Moms and dads hang out with their kids as if they’re hanging out with peers.  When there’s a disagreement, parents believe we’re supposed to negotiate with our kids as if we’re negotiating with equals.  Parents of seven-year-olds report to me (with a straight face) all the reasons their child doesn’t agree with their decisions regarding the child’s behavior.  I see parents of children under the age of five who get an equal vote in setting up the rules of the house, which includes the rules that will apply to the children.  I hear the delight of parents who are friended by their kids on social media.  We’re spoon-fed the message that we’re supposed to be buddies with our kids and that they should like us, all the time.  And, that we’re bad parents if they are upset by our decisions.

We have thrown away the distinction between an adult and a child, undermined the wisdom of our adult experience, all so that we can be liked by our kids. We’re choosing to be our children’s playmates rather than to do what’s best for them.  There’s no wonder kids now hurl profanities at their parents in public places, to which the parents giggle awkwardly, and wonder if this too is part of the new hip friend/parent milieu.

As parents, we’re taking the easy path, the path of least resistance, telling ourselves that if our kids like us we must be doing this parenting thing right.  In the process of trying to be friends with our kids however, we are giving away our authority, depriving them of the experience of being taken care of, denying them the serenity, trust, and confidence that arises from knowing that we can stand our ground and protect them even when it incites their anger.  It is precisely because we love our children that we need to be able to tolerate their not liking us all the time.

When we’re driven by the desire or responsibility to be liked, we’re giving ourselves an impossible task.  We simply cannot prioritize being liked and simultaneously raise healthy, sane, human beings who can tolerate frustration and disappointment.  We are setting ourselves up for suffering and failure.  We survive on the ephemeral crumbs of being liked—liked for giving them what they want, while denying ourselves the real nourishment of the experience of providing our kids with what we know they really need, pleasing or otherwise.  We are, as with many other things, opting for the easiest, most immediate and pleasurable option over the deeper, harder, and more thoughtful and ultimately satisfying choice.

We are also, in this friending over parenting process, doing a great disservice to our kids.  Our kids need boundaries and guidelines.  A woman I work with who was raised by a parent who, above all, wanted to be her friend, put it this way: “I never felt like there was someone to stop me if I got to the end of the earth and was going to dive off.”  Our kids, even though they may scream and throw things, also want us to know things they don’t, to stick with our wisdom despite their railing, to be willing to tolerate their rants in service to their best interests—to take care of them in ways they can’t yet take care of themselves.  Our kids want us to demonstrate fierce grace.  So too, we feel our best when we walk the walk of fierce grace.

Often, children do not know what’s best for them, and almost never do they know what’s best for them when it comes to technology use.  It’s hard enough for us grownups to realize what’s best for ourselves and children have front brains that are not anywhere near fully-developed.  Allowing children to make their own rules around technology is like handing an opioid addict a vial of heroin or a bottle of oxycontin and asking him to make his own rules whether or not to us.  Young children and teenagers should not get an equal vote in matters that relate to their tech use, nor in many other matters. As parents, we usually possess at least a couple or more decades of experience under our belt that our children don’t possess. Put simply, we know things they don’t, and we can tell them this truth. This makes our kids not equal in matters that require discipline or hard choices, ones that go against what their brains’ pleasure centers, hormones, or inexperienced thinking tells them is best.

Remember this: it’s okay for your child to be upset with you; it’s okay if they don’t like or agree with the decisions you make; it’s okay if your child is madder than a wet hornet at you for setting limits and sticking to those limits. You’re allowed to say no; it takes great courage to say no.  You’re not a bad parent if it gets bumpy and your child goes through periods when he/she doesn’t like you—at all—and maybe even says she hates you for a while. It probably means you’re doing your job as a parent.

Assuming your role as the authority in your child’s life is critical and the more you assume that role, the more you will feel the wisdom of your own authority.  Being the authority doesn’t mean turning a deaf ear to your child’s anger, disappointment, or anything else they feel.  We can listen to our kids’ emotions and thoughts while simultaneously holding our ground on what we know is best for them.  Being the authority in your kid’s life doesn’t mean being callous or insensitive, it does mean being brave enough to stay strong in the face of a tsunami that might come back at you, knowing that your role is to be the grown up in the parent-child relationship, to be loving in your willingness to do what’s best for your kids.  Your role is not to be your child’s friend.

The post Am I Supposed to Be My Kid’s Friend? appeared first on Nancy Colier.

-Life management: schooling, homework, tutoring, forms, academic, athletic and social schedules, playdates, activities, camps, birthdays, health care, appointments, child and family travel, holidays, vacations, weekend planning, scheduling, grocery shopping (remembering everyone’s faves) cooking, cleaning, laundry, house repair, date night planning (if still applicable).

-Provide primary connection and emotional glue for all members of family: knowing names and details of who’s who in the children’s lives, who’s being mean and nice, the latest crush, who got the lead in the play, when the next math quiz happens, who needs a tube of glitter for tomorrow’s science project, and all the other infinite events that go on in everyone’s day to day life.

-Serve as that person who makes everyone (else) feel appreciated, seen and known.

Oh, and did I forget, in addition to everything just mentioned (and the infinite things not mentioned), moms usually work full or part time jobs outside the universe that is the home (where children believe moms begin and end).

And finally, in their “free” time, most moms are picking up stuff, putting out fires, answering cries for help, and responding to the unending stream of needs that is the essence of modern mom-hood—all set to the soundtrack of  “can you…would you…will you…”.

What’s most remarkable about the mom job however is, ironically, not the enormity of it. What’s most remarkable is the fact that (from my research) most moms feel unappreciated. Moms from all walks of life describe feeling unacknowledged and unseen for what they do and are for their families. Being a mom these days (and maybe always) seems to be a job that’s taken for granted, thankless for the most part.  It also appears to be unique in that it comes with the expectation that appreciation is not and should not be needed or wanted by the one doing the job.  And in fact, to want or need appreciation as a mom would be self-serving, inappropriate and even shameful.

As a psychotherapist, I talk to women all day about their internal experience, the private experience they don’t usually share with others. Again and again, I hear moms express the deep longing for appreciation, the wish for some acknowledgment from their kids and partner, that they might notice what mom does to make everyone else’s life go well and just plain happen.  As a mom myself, I am remarkably aware of how little appreciation is offered for the amount of effort that being a mom requires, how infrequently gratitudeis expressed for all the important details we attend to. I am also aware that it can feel shameful to admit that I might want my family to occasionally notice and express unprompted appreciation for what I do for each of them individually and also for the family as a whole.  It feels self-indulgent because as moms we’re supposed to be selfless, and certainly not need anything as childish and greedy as appreciation, or at least not want it any day besides mother’s day.

To appreciate something is to value it, be grateful for it, and recognize/acknowledge its importance. As human beings, we all long to be appreciated, to have our goodness seen, our positive intentions and efforts recognized.  We want to be known and valued for what we do that’s helpful.  To want and need appreciation is a primal human longing.

At the same time, kids should experience a time in their life when they get to be fully taken care of without having to be aware of or grateful for anything or anyone, when they’re allowed to be oblivious to the fact that someone is providing for them. There needs to be a totally self-centered period in a child’s life.  And, there needs to be a time when the perfunctory, learned but not yet felt “thank you” is enough for appreciation. It’s not a child’s responsibility to be grateful to her parents for doing their job as parents. And yet, there also comes a time in a child’s life when it is important that she recognize that her parents exist as human beings, that they have feelings, are deserving of appreciation, and are working hard on their children’s behalf. This recognition is an important step in the healthy development from childhood into young adulthood.  Encouraging kids (when they’re ready) to feel empathy and gratitude for parents, not because they have to but because they just do, will ultimately help our children live connected and meaningful lives.

Recently, after a day of doing my job and using every spare minute between clients to arrange travel and other fun activities for my teenage daughter’s summer, and also getting my younger daughter’s medical and thousand other forms sent the different camps she’s in this summer, I disappointingly misspoke, asking my teenager how her French quiz went.  Well, apparently, in my exhaustion and bureaucratic stupor, I got the subject of the quiz wrong and received an icy and supremely agitated, “The quiz was in math.”  That was it, conversation over.  I had to laugh, there wasn’t anything else to do.  Failure, it’s the nature of being a mom.

It’s strange really, our society views things as black or white, either or.  We don’t well tolerate black and white, either and or.  As a mom, my children are the most important part of my life. They bring an ineffable joy and there is no thing or experience for which I could ever be so grateful.  Every day, I am astonished that I get to be a mom to two girls I cherish.  And, simultaneously, I dislike many of the tasks that being a mom involves as they are unpleasant and hard.  It’s an and not a but that separates these two concepts.  Because we want to be consciously appreciated for the incredible work we do, both the work we love and the work we don’t, does not contradict the fact that we choose to be moms and love being moms.  It’s all included…both and.

We live in a society where, at a subtle level, women are still taught that they’re not supposed to want or need anything for themselves, and for certain not appreciation or recognition. It’s bizarre really, wanting to be seen for our efforts is shameful for women and yet it’s inherent in every human being.  There is nothing wrong with wanting to be thanked and noticed for what we offer, it’s a wholesome wanting in fact, and one that when met, encourages us to keep on doing the good we’re doing.

This past mother’s day, I was happily surprised by my husband and kids with a lovely lunch at the restaurant they enjoy and a thought crossed my mind.  As much as I deeply appreciated this gesture, I would have traded a thousand of these lunches for one genuine “thank you.” Perhaps after returning from a 7 pm parent teacher conference on a cold February evening, or after a long day with patients and walking in to find three people, (2 small, 1 big) all waiting for their dinner to be made, or really any other random moment of standard mom-hood.

While it’s odd, it does seem that the simple act of stopping what we’re doing and offering someone a straight, heartfelt “thank you” or “I appreciate you” can, for some, feel too vulnerable, exposed, unnecessary, or even silly.  And yet, these simple moments of genuine appreciation are profoundly meaningful for the recipient, and also for the giver. The moments when appreciation is shared are the moments of connection that fill our emotional well.

Steps:

When you feel unappreciated or unseen, or notice the longing to be thanked, try these steps:

1.   Reject any self-shaming thoughts. Remind yourself that wanting and needing to be appreciated and recognized is normal and healthy, and you deserve it.

2.  Reach out to another mom.  She’ll get it.  Laugh about the fact that your kid hasn’t asked you how you are for years and yet is very good at asking for the credit card.  It’s a fairly universal first world experience for moms.  Get some support and chuckles from those who can fully identify.

3.  Ask for what you want.  Let your partner know, unapologetically, that it feels good to be seen for all that you do and are, and what you offer the family. When he does show appreciation without your asking, express your appreciation for his appreciation.  Appreciation begets appreciation.  If your kids are old enough, nine or ten and above is usually a good starting place, let them know that even mommies have feelings and sometimes need to be given a gold star in the form of a thank you.  It’s not about guilting or shaming them but rather, letting them in on the secret that mommies need things too.  It will help them down the road to be more empathic and grateful.

4.  Offer appreciation.  Appreciation is a form of love and our longing for it is in part a longing for a very particular kind of love.  When you offer it to someone or name it out loud, you’re not only modeling appreciation for your family, but you’re also giving yourself a small dose of the love you need.  It may feel counter-intuitive to give appreciation in the moments when you’re the one needing it (another giving not receiving). And yet, offering it can be a close cousin to receiving it, as it evokes the same feelings of love and warmth that you crave.

5.  Appreciate yourself.  Put your hand on your own heart and, to yourself, recognize all that you do and are.  Remind yourself how good a mom you are and how much you love your children and feel that love out of which all this wonderful effort is born.  Don’t skip the step that is honoring yourself because at the end of the day, only you really know how much you do and how incredible a job you are providing.  So be the one to also take that moment to acknowledge that truth.

How strange, magical, and deserving of appreciation is life;  just as I was finishing this piece, my 7-year-old daughter came into my office with this, “Hey mom, thanks for making me a playdate today and not making go to afterschool.”  Of course I cried, as I usually do when touched, and then I told her how much I appreciated her saying this, and how I hoped that one day she too would be as lucky as me and get to be a mom…because it’s the best job that ever existed.

The post The Invisible Mom: If You Feel Unappreciated as a Mom, You’re Not Alone appeared first on Nancy Colier.

Just this week, a mom told me that her son is always asking her What’s next? I’m bored, what should I do next? This mom, like most parents these days, feels a tremendous pressure to occupy her son’s every moment, to urgently get rid of his boredom and provide him with activities to quell his what’s next? plea.

Children these days have remarkably busy schedules; their time is filled up to the last second of their day.  Our kids’ attention is unceasingly attended to and for.  Afterschool classes, sports, tutors, playdates, the list goes on.  Even at birthday parties, when a dozen kids are gathered together in the same room, the parents feel responsible for accounting for every moment of the children’s attention.  Fifteen minutes for arrival gift-placing, juice boxing, greeting… next the magician and balloon artist, (attention occupied, 45 mins)… next pizza, cake, and candles (20 mins)… next some kind of “freestyle” dance or art period led by an adult (10-15 mins)…next swag bag (5 mins) followed by shoes and coat retrieval (10 mins)… next, it’s time for the children to go (and someone else to occupy their attention).

Being bored has become this frightening and dreaded experience to which we parents must respond immediately.  Boredom is not up to a kid to figure out anymore, it’s a parent’s issue and a parent’s problem.  Boredom is a state that our children shouldn’t have to endure, and allowing our kids to experience it, not taking it seriously, might even be a sign of parental neglect. As we mistakenly imagine it, boredom is a case of a moment not fully lived, a moment deprived of interest.

In addition, we relate to boredom as an absence, something missing.  We experience it as a state of nothingness: nothing to do, nothing to think about, nothing to learn, nothing to be with, nothing to play with, nothing to experience.  Boredom, as we see it, is emptiness, a void.

As a result of our fear of boredom, we’re encouraging our children to be hyperfocused (not unfocused as we hear), with their attention perpetually focused down on some object of attention. At the same time, technology has created a new normal, namely, constant engagement. With tech has come the expectation that our kids (and even us adults) should be able to live in a state of uninterrupted entertainment and pleasurable busyness, 24/7. Tech makes it possible to meet this expectation by offering a forever-stocked refrigerator of free and interesting food for our attention.  We even get to congratulate ourselves for eating around the clock from this fridge, under the guise of learning more, doing more, communicating more, and what we’ve convinced ourselves is the definition of living more.

Sadly, we no longer trust our kids’ ability to tolerate or even survive open, unfilled time.  We’ve stopped seeing the value in time without a focus, the profound possibility and potential in the cry I’m bored.  Instead, we’ve learned to relate to time without an object of attention as nothing—as opposed to—nothing, yet. The truth is we’ve lost faith in our kids’ imaginations, and the power of human creativity—to generate something when it needs to.

Two things of great value (and more that I don’t have space for here) happen when we’re bored.  First, we have to use our imagination; we have to invent food for our attention.  This is a skill whose importance cannot be underestimated.  Some people say, but Nancy, our kids no longer need this skill of being able to engage themselves because they can just use tech to stay entertained and occupied.  It’s an obsolete skill.  While it might be possible to stay attached to the IV that is technology for the rest of our lives, to agree with this premise would be like saying that as human beings, we should no longer learn to walk because we have cars now, or no longer attempt to discover peace, because after all, there’s always wine.  Regardless of how available and rich the opportunities have become for avoiding boredom, the ability to self-play, create, generate, self-engage is still a profoundly important skill in the development of a healthy human being.

It’s our responsibility as parents to build the skills of imagination and creativity. The way we do it, in large part, is by giving these skills (that are in seed form when our children are young), the chance to play, evolve, do their work, and become. Boredom is water for these seeds.  When we’re supplying all the goods for our kids’ attention, we’re actually encouraging our children’s imaginations and creative capacities to atrophy and die.

Secondly, when a child says I’m bored, it’s because he can’t find anything that interests him.  But where is he looking?  Usually, he’s looking outside himself.  When we say we’re bored, it’s because, in essence, we have nothing to distract ourselves from ourselves. We’re stuck with just ourselves and our own attention to pay attention to.  Unfortunately, we’re being conditioned to experience ourselves, our own company, as nothing interesting, or simply nothing.  When we frantically shove a next activity in front of our child because he’s bored, we’re creating (and supporting) his belief that without something added to himself, he’s nothing.

The remarkable invitation that boredom offers is the invitation to spend time with, take interest in, or at the very least, learn to tolerate our own company.  It’s in the gaps between focused activities that we can turn our attention to our own thoughts and feelings, and maybe even to the experience of boredom itself. We can ask, Is paying attention to boredom, boring?  When we don’t have an object for our attention to chew on, something else to engage us, we’re left to play with just ourselves.  Even if technology now makes it possible for our children to outrun themselves all the way to the grave, to never have to be alone in a room with just themselves, nonetheless, the ability to be with themselves, to not fear or dread their own company, is the most valuable skill our children will ever learn.  In boredom lies the possibility that we ourselves can become a worthy destination for our own attention.

In answer to the question my title poses, it’s not only okay to let your child be bored, it’s paramount that you do so.  When your child complains that he’s bored, you can simply say, it’s okay to be bored now and then, it won’t hurt you and it will help you, in ways you can’t yet know. And just before they leave the room, just whisper, if only to yourself, Your boredom just means I’m doing my job as a parent.

Read more Nancy Colier on Psychology Today:

https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/inviting-monkey-tea

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