Staying, and Listening.

In my last post I promised I'd share my experience trying to apply the "staylistening" technique Patty Wipfler described for dealing with childrens' intense emotions (aka, meltdowns and tantrums).  I want to preface this post by saying, Boodge and I seem to have moved past the rough spot we were in.  He's turned a corner--he is crying less, cooperating much more, and paying some real loving attention to his little sister.  When I see him seeking attention by bugging me, I am aware and responding much better. I'm really happy for my little guy--he seems more confident and a little more ready to accept the role of big boy and big brother.

I've never been one to strictly follow any kind of "program" or philosophy.  Religions clubs, sleep training systems--whatever.  I like to borrow liberally from those things, but I don't like feeling like I have to do X because I belong to a certain group, or because of a label I have given myself.   Wipfler definitely has an approach, based in some assumptions.  Reading her stuff, I sometimes thought, "Yeah, well...this sounds great on paper but not so possible in a lot of circumstances." She does acknowledge that parents need a lot of support to parent to her ideals.  She also has names for things that already exist, like "staylistening" for staying and listening, and "Listening Partner" for a person who listens to the parent (she recommends formally setting up a listening partnership with a friend), which irked me a little.  But that's just me.  Her ideas are good, and they fit for me. And I think she made up the names because she wanted to emphasize a certain kind of listening.  In counselling world, our name for it is "accurate empathy". 

When Boodge melts down, I always have stayed, and listened.  I don't believe in isolating him or ignoring him when he is upset.  But often I haven't been very empathetic.  I've gotten caught up in my own emotions about his meltdown; anger, impatience, guilt, sadness, defensiveness.  I say all kinds of unhelpful thing that only suppress his emotions ("That's enough!" "It's not that big a deal!")  "Staylistening," to me, meant a willingness to really listen, without judgment.  And to really try to see from his eyes and understand what his crying meant for him.  There is nothing else I have to do than that during a meltdown.  I don't have to try to make him feel better.  Just listen for as long as it takes.  And in trying to understand, I can also help Boodge learn to understand and articulate his feelings. 

Wipfler helped me recognize Boodge's tears as a necessary part of his growth.  It's funny--right now Peanut is going through her own period of tears and edginess, and I recognize that it is because she is poised to grow herself; she is working hard on forward movement.  It's so easy to support, console, and encourage a baby and recognize the natural process of maturation in her.  But it was harder for me to see that Boodge's behavior, too, stemmed from a need to get out all his own frustrated and sad feelings as he struggled to move forward. 

So after an evening of reading Wipfler, I woke up I was eager to "staylisten".  Soften a little, encourage Boodge to let out all his emotions, give him my loving arms and attention.  Every morning we nurse when he wakes up, and often not for as long as he wants.  That morning, I told him he was done and predictably, he started to cry and ask for more.  Usually, I get a bit short with him, saying something like, "When we're done, we're done, I don't want any crying."  And more lecturing follows as he cries more.  That day, I just said, "Aw, I know, you want more and you can't. That's hard."  He stopped crying and looked and me and said, "Mama, can I cry?"

"Sure you can cry, sweetie." I said kindly.  He resumed crying for about 30 seconds, then was fine. We cuddled and snuggled and played until his sister woke up.  It was awesome! What a way to turn a bad scene around! I was instantly hooked on "staylistening".  

After his nap, we used to nurse too but lately he doesn't always ask and I certainly don't offer.  This time, he asked, and I really didn't feel like it.  I told him no, but I'd love to cuddle him instead.  He started crying again, "I really really want boooooo!!"  I just empathized with him.  "You really want it. I know. It's so hard for you to not have Boo. You're sad."   After a while his sister woke up so I brought him crying into her room and then brought us all into the playroom, where he continued sobbing.  About everything.  "I don't want to wash my hair!" (I hadn't mentioned this at all, but he hates washing his hair so I guess it was pent up in there).

Then it became about his sister.  They were both on my lap and she was sweetly trying to reach for her sobbing brother. "I don't want Peanut to touch me!"

I just validated what he was feeling and set limits, trying to bring out his feelings rather than shut them down. I was thinking of Neufeld's concept of a "wall of futility", and his advice that parents who try to make things "work out" for their kids just delay them from having the tears they need to have.

"I can't move Peanut's hand because both my hands are busy holding you guys. You can gently move her hand if you want."

"I want you to do it!"
"I can't."
"I don't want her on your lap!"
"I know. It's hard for you to share your mommy, isn't it?  But I have room on my lap for both of you. I am right here with you, listening to you and taking care of you.  And I love more and more every day, even though I love your sister and have to give her attention too."

"I want all the attention!!" he cried. 

"I know, I'm sure you do." I replied. "It is so hard to have to share your Mommy now. But you are doing a great job.  I'm so proud of you."

Eventually, the meltdown ended and Boodge was bouncy and happy again.  He did seem cleared out, lighter.  He was playing on his own without demanding all my attention.  I enthusiastically related what had been going on to my husband when he came up for lunch.  He listened as I described Wipfler's ideas.  "It makes sense, I get it.  But I'm also wondering if they present any proof that this turns out better kids?"

"Well, you have to clarify what you mean by 'better kid'?" I replied. But he was not trying to burst my bubble. He was just making a point, that in parenting it is almost impossible to know doing x will lead to y.  There are no formulas that can handle so many variables.  But I'm not parenting expecting that I have control over the final "product" of my child. I am focusing on what will create a better relationship for Boodge and I, not a "better" kid.

The day went on.  Around three there was another meltdown, this one over my refusal to give him a shot glass full of honey/let him watch his show NOW.  Oh, and the hair washing again.  I listened.  But honestly, it wasn't as "meaty" as the first and second ones.  Still, he released some tears, and we moved on.  Later, I did notice a couple of things.  He spontaneously told me how he loved me all the way to the tippy top of the ceiling and back (sigh! he doesn't do that often) and also how he loved his sister all the way to the mountains. And he wasn't doing any of his attention seeking things. In fact, he was just buzzing around, singing and talking to himself, playing without need for me.

Then it was pre-dinner and I was trying to get it all ready.  Another meltdown started.  "Honey in a glass!  Cheese!"  No, I said, it's almost dinnertime.  Tears and repeated demands for honey and cheese.  Foot stomping. I held him and consoled him while he cried.  I made empathic statements. 

Then it started to feel like these were what my mom used to call "crocodile tears".  Was he milking it?  Was this "staylistening" technique backfiring, so that now he was enjoying getting my full attention through tears? I mean, c'mon, three meltdowns in a day is unusual.  Was giving him loving attention a reward for tears, making him cry more? Or was he just releasing all his pent up feelings now that I was being nicer?

"Boodge," I said, "if you're really sad, I don't mind listening. But it's not OK to make it up just for my attention."  He looked at me with bewilderment.  Obviously too complex for him to understand.  I told him I needed a break, and went to the living room.

"Shit," I said to my husband, who was quietly staying out of it.  "this whole parenting thing is so confusing.  This morning I was so convinced but now I'm totally not sure this is the right approach.  What the hell? It feels like he's going to have more meltdowns just to get attention!"  Sean smiled sympathetically, shrugging.  I went back in to Boodge. He asked for honey in a glass again.

"Look Boodge," I said, picking him up.  "Dinner is almost ready.  We're having yummy chicken fingers. I'm not going to give you cheese or honey in a glass right now."

He burst into fresh sobs.  "I want dinner now!! I'm so hungry!  I'm hungry!" he sobbed.  Sean called in from the living room, "I'm sure he is, it's almost 7." I did a mental list of what he had eaten in our busy afternoon or crying and buzzing around.  Very little.  A few bites here and there.

At dinner he wolfed down five chicken fingers. He didn't even wait for them to cool down. I've never seen him do that, usually dinner involves coaxing and convincing.  He was hungry.  It wasn't some deep emotional issue, some grief he needed to release, or any attention seeking.  He was hungry.  I guess that's what happens when you have a counsellor for a mom.  Poor Boodge. 

What's the moral of this story?  Wipfler is not wrong at all.  I have been "staylistening" for a couple of weeks now, and it's part of my toolbox now. I do think it helps Boodge release his emotions and move on.  When his tears are about something emotional.  But I was so focused on applying X ("staylistening") technique to Y (crying) behavior that I missed out on the other variables.  Crying is not always about emotions.  In kids, it is also about hunger, fatigue, illness, and a myriad of other things.  So it really is about good old fashioned "listening" to figure out what is behind the tears and what response is best.  The moral of the story, for me, is that you can't parent using a set of instructions. I can't, anyway.  But it doesn't hurt to consult the gazillion manuals out there from time to time.