Not so long ago, I was good to shame my children. It is not conspicuous. It was very thin. Sighing irritably. Rolling her eyes. Devaluing. Causing a feeling of guilt. Acting like they should know something better... But they were kids. They learned, and I seemed to have forgotten about it.
I thought it was my job to teach them a lesson.
But what I taught them was something I myself could never be satisfied. I taught them to trust someone else — someone who will be more understanding and less reactive. I taught them to strive for excellence at any cost.
When my family moved to a new location, I was able to reduce internal pressure that was chasing me in my old life. I used the move as a chance to start over and give yourself some breathing room. With a decrease in internal criticism of my appearance, level of productivity and contribution to the community, I felt the old tensions and unrealistic expectations have subsided. I felt lighter and happier than before the move.
One night I asked my daughter if she felt in our new place as home. And she said something I will never forget.
“I can't breathe.”
Yes, there was less competition. Yes, the unique features of each here was taken wider. Yes, there was more tolerance. But I think to a greater extent on the ability of my child to breathe affected by the changes that occurred in me. Trying to reduce the pressure on myself, I indirectly reduced the pressure on her. I gave her more space to breathe, more freedom to be yourself. And as a result, this affected her ability to share with me something important. I was sure of one thing: while my child continues to grow and develop, I don't want to miss conversations like this.
I started to pay more attention to your reactions to how she did something (even if it was not as efficient or neat as it was to me). I started to pay attention to our conversations and asked yourself the question: if she felt better or worse after time spent with me. I have noticed if some of my words reflected relief or, on the contrary, concern on her face. These observations led to further changes.
I began to swallow comments about her hair and body. I'm not in such a hurry to disagree or try to dissuade her when she talked about the future plans or shared their views on life. I listened to the casual banter without any judgment, just being present. I knew that one day a more serious topic fly off her lips and I prayed that she confided in me.
I didn't think it would happen so soon.
One evening when she was going to go to bed, I hear her say is a recognition that I never thought I'd hear. I felt like I held my breath. I was crushed. I was terribly disappointed with her choice.
But she told me.
She was telling me.
This act was the fact that she could keep and carry as a burden in my soul for many years. But now I just listened to her listening to yesterday's story about a toy cat and nail design. I swore that my reaction to preserve the opportunity for future conversations.
Before you start to speak, I said to myself:
Do not stick fold.
Don't act like you never made a mistake.
Then I remembered the most embarrassing moment in my life, and told her what she wanted to hear then.
"I'm so glad you told me this," I whispered to his confused child. — “Keep it to yourself harmful. You did the right thing, talking to me. I want you to know that other young people made the same bad choice.”
Her drooping head rose sharply. “Really?”
I saw how she gasped like a weight fell from her shoulders. She wasn't alone. She was not alone.
It was a turning point. And although I had every right to punish her... take her freedom... to give a lecture on what is good and what is bad, I did not.
I remembered about your most shameful moment again. It was a time when I didn't need lessons or a lecture. It was a time when I needed to know that my family will not leave me in these moments of despair.
Now don't get me wrong, I gave my child know that I was disappointed. I let her know that she would have to regain my confidence. I also let her know about some changes that will be taken to protect it and prevent similar situations in the future. But I'm not shamed her and left her in difficult times. I didn't finished it when she has fallen. There will be a lot of other people do that in her life.
My girl eventually fell into my arms and cried. I got to thinking... Will I be able to say the most loving words when I'm the most disappointed? I'd like to be able to maintain it even when they feel betrayed? I wish I could resist the urge to push her away, even if she betrayed me? Yes. Yes. I would like to.
"You know," I said firmly. “No matter what mistakes you make today, tomorrow, or throughout life, I will always love you. I never turn my back on you. Okay?”
At that moment, I could collapse on her, but I supported it.
At the time I could get her to trust me, but I reminded her she was human.
At that moment I could give her a harsh lesson, but I gave her I a lesson of love a lesson... trust...a lesson of mercy.
I think about these lessons of love, trust and mercy, when she chews with her mouth open when she gets low when she forgets something important. I know that her transgressions will become more serious, and as it grows, will grow and social pressure, temptations, and temptations. And now I have tasted only a tiny slice of what is to come. But when I think about teaching my kid the lessons I want to be the one from whom comes the love, forgiveness and understanding. I want to be a refuge, not someone to be feared or avoided in moments of despair.
I'm not a perfect parent. I don't always choose love. There are a lot of words and reactions that I wanted to return. But today more important than yesterday.
We have the power to teach our kids a lesson.
We have the power to make them regret the bad choices.
We have the power to make it so that they never forgot about what he did.
We have this power.
But we also have the power to open doors for future difficult conversations.
We have the power to maintain a calm and supportive presence during difficult times.
We have the power to prevent the shameful experience, leaving a scar.
We have the power to prevent them from doing something irreversible to numb the pain.
Let's not kick our children when they fall.
... stretch out our hands and help them to rise.
... nail them to the chest and say, “I will not deprive you of his love!”.
... respond to their mistakes as we would want someone to respond to our.
And in doing so, we might just become what we were meant to be...
The keepers of their hearts...
Bailiffs of their souls...
Asylum in a world too fast lydasum and ruining what is most precious... posted
P. S. And remember, only by changing their consumption — together we change the world! ©
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