OK….so unravel childhood trauma……yada yada yada. Here is the Part 1 post, if you missed it.
I regrouped and put the ball in her court. Every old instinct in me wanted to rush in there and “fix” the pain. To explain it. Make it smaller. Instead I paused and sent a simple text:
“I’m sorry you are going through this. I know it hurts. If you’ve had enough for one day and want to stay alone. That’s ok. We can talk in the morning. I am here if you want me to listen, too. Just say the word.”
There. I acknowledged the feeling instead of trying to rush her through it. She had the choice to engage or not. She knew I want to hear her– not my usual hear myself talk.
I felt good about that.
I had this opportunity to show her how to deal with rejection in a healthier way than I had.
I heard the ding of my phone.
“Thanks, mom. Give me about 15 minutes.”
Alright! Showtime.
My job is not to protect her from hurt and disappointment. She will experience both many times in life. My job is really to help her learn how to move through them.
Step one: model what I have recently learned and practice it with her. Feel the crappy feeling. Sit with it. Together.
I knocked on her door and reminded myself: you said you would listen.
I walked in, hugged her, and laid down beside her. She was quiet at first. I just waited. It was harder than I expected. I had SO MANY questions swirling in my own head. I just sat with that slightly anxious feeling and listened.
And something interesting happened.
She relaxed.
She started slowly and picked up her pace. It turns out if I shut up for a minute, she can relax more and will open up. My questions become unnecessary. I felt my shoulders loosen and she let out a big sigh.
Hot damn, we are leveling out together.
Then she said something that stopped me cold:
“I’m sorry. I really wanted this. You probably think I’m overreacting.“
Overreacting.
Man, I really hate that word. Young me heard that word A LOT. My feelings were A LOT. They were all consuming. I had no idea how to control them. I was a rule follower and I got good grades. I was not a “bad kid.” But wow, when those feelings got a hold of me, I lost myself.
Often times it was something as simple as my sock wasn’t on quite right. I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t understand why it bothered me. I couldn’t explain what made it right. I didn’t understand why they didn’t also require their socks to be on right. I could feel the frustration rise up through my body with a tingling heat and come exploding out of me.
I would lash out. I might throw something. Sometimes I would cut with sharp words. Naturally swift correction would follow. Rightfully so.
And there it nags again……..”What’s wrong with me?”
Looking back upon those memories through grown up eyes, the reaction was appropriate. I would often become so upset that I would hyperventilate and slobber. I remember trying to catch my breath. Mom would try to talk me through it. She wanted to understand so she would try to ask me questions.
Even if I would have been able to speak in that moment, what I never possibly could have untangled and expressed at that age was that feelings were scary. Maybe it wasn’t even the feelings themselves. Perhaps it was more the fear of losing control and the helplessness I felt because I was unable to stop it. I felt the anticipation of the rejection that I learned would follow when I simply could not calm or be calmed.
Inevitably I would be sent to my room until I could “pull myself together” or “get a grip”, as I heard quite often. I mean I didn’t know what to do with me either. I certainly don’t blame them. But there I was, alone with my feelings. I had to figure it out. In those moments, I was unknowingly reinforcing that false belief. Something is wrong with me. I believe I also threw another fun one in there: Feelings are dangerous, they must be “fixed” quickly or escaped. Well, shit. Kids really do pull life into focus.
I turned to my baby girl and I said, “I know it really hurts. It is normal to come home and cry after something like that. I’m sorry if my first response made it feel like how it feels doesn’t matter. It does. You should feel hurt because it means you cared. I am really proud of you for taking a risk like that. Other girls out there had more practice than you. The decision changes nothing about you as a person and no decision will ever change my love for you. Feelings suck and they are temporary. We can always work through them together.”
She wrapped her arms around me and said, “I know. Thanks, mom.”
I asked her if she was feeling better. I asked her if she wanted me to stay or if she wanted to be alone. She was ready for some space. I decided I would hold the burning question of how she pictured her future with volleyball for the morning. No more rushing.
Before I closed the door, she whispered: “Hey mom, do you think I might be able to do some skill camps this summer? I think if I work at it, I might be able to make it next year.” My face lit up with delight and I quickly signed on to that plan. I’m so proud of my baby.
In the hallway I exhaled. I almost couldn’t believe those words came out of my mouth. They felt so natural but foreign at the same time. I was grinning from ear to ear and I was ready for a nap. I did a quick little victory dance and smiled with satisfaction. The inner critic was gloriously silent.
I’m most definitely not failing her.
And maybe — just maybe — I am not failing myself either.
