The Tyrannosaurus Emotions of a Toddler
Yesterday, amidst the middle of a tyrannosaurus tantrum, my toddler dried her eyes, crawled into my lap, and told me "I'm anxious for your surgery."
I know what you're thinking- no toddler uses the word 'anxious'. You obviously haven't met Brinlee.
From the time that she could communicate, her dad, step-mom and I have worked with her on communicating her feelings. We consistently remind her that her feelings matter, that she has a voice, and that we want to hear her. She has adhered to these teachings like paper to glue. She tells me when she's happy; she constantly reminds me of her excitement in the things around her; she wakes up and crawls into my bed and states "I'm having a bad day today"- i.e. "I woke up grumpy". Her vocabulary has grown in learning how to communicate the way that she's feeling. When her room is a mess, she will let us know that she is overwhelmed and needs help cleaning it. Yesterday, her word was 'anxious'.
One part of me was so proud of her for communicating this with me- she had been a little naughty throughout the day, and seemed distressed. I was so glad that she was able to open up to me about what was on her little mind. The other part of me was filled with guilt. My stomach sank as I realized that the anxiety she was feeling was caused by me.
As she sat on my lap, I thought through all of the ways to approach her statement. Should I tell her that there was nothing to be anxious about? Do I acknowledge and distract from the emotion? Or do I confront it head on? I decided to let her open up about what she needed from me. Our conversation went like this:
"I'm anxious for your surgery."
"Can you tell me what makes you anxious about my surgery?"
"I don't like when my mommy is sick and I can't fix your belly."
"What can I do to make you feel better?"
"Can I have some snuggles and can I see you when you're at the doctor?"
I have been open with Brinlee about the process of surgery. She knows that I will be in recovery for 2-3 days, possibly longer depending on the extent of the complications my surgeon experiences. I have also been open with her dad and step-mom about the process of recovery, and how they can help both myself and Brinlee in the process.
"Mommy Heather and Daddy are going to bring you to see me when I'm at the doctor as long as I'm not too sick, okay?"
"Okay, mommy. I love you."
"I love you."
As Brinlee sat on my lap, calming down and feeling at ease with the answers she was given, I felt myself getting more and more anxious-not for my surgery, but for the effect that it was having on my child. I took a deep breath, reminding myself that it was better to be open and honest with her. Children are scared of the things that they don't understand, and it was apparent that explaining the process to her had calmed her down. But this was bigger than that.
These moments can be hard to navigate. I always tell people that as a parent, you're prepared for the changing schedule, the lack of sleep and cycling through friendships. The one thing I wasn't prepared for was the weight of the emotions you feel for your child.
As a parent-and I think most of us experience this at one point or another-I feel guilty for letting Brinlee see the negative emotions that I feel. I want to protect her and deliver rainbows and sunshine so that she has those moments to hang on to when the world around her turns ugly. I am constantly torn between protecting Brinlee from the ugly sides of the world, and the pain of letting her see those parts, and learning how to navigate through them on her own. When I have these moments, I have to remind myself that I am doing her no good in refusing to teach her the importance of the negative side of things, and how to handle those emotions.
As she sat on my lap, I opened up to my daughter.
"I'm anxious, too."
"Why?" She asks.
"Well, surgery can be a scary thing. It's ok to be anxious, we just have to make sure we are communicating those feelings, and not being mean to the people around us. I know you're feeling anxious and that's completely normal- just know that I love you, and when those emotions are really big and you are feeling overwhelmed, just come sit with me and we can work through it together."
"We can be anxious together and then we can be happy because that makes it better!"
"Exactly."
Brinlee sat on my lap for a little while longer before she left to go play. I held her as we both continued to process our emotions, and just let her feel safe and loved for a minute. I don't know if I approached the situation the way I should have, and one of the most nerve-wracking parts of being a parent is not knowing if you've royally fucked-up until your child is well into adulthood. I remind myself of her communication skills, and how I wish that I had been taught those skills when I was growing up- I wished that I was given a voice and told that my emotions mattered. As the years go on, we will continue to watch her grow, and I'm sure many more moments like this will occur. I just hope that as she grows taller, her heart will continue growing, too.
I know what you're thinking- no toddler uses the word 'anxious'. You obviously haven't met Brinlee.
From the time that she could communicate, her dad, step-mom and I have worked with her on communicating her feelings. We consistently remind her that her feelings matter, that she has a voice, and that we want to hear her. She has adhered to these teachings like paper to glue. She tells me when she's happy; she constantly reminds me of her excitement in the things around her; she wakes up and crawls into my bed and states "I'm having a bad day today"- i.e. "I woke up grumpy". Her vocabulary has grown in learning how to communicate the way that she's feeling. When her room is a mess, she will let us know that she is overwhelmed and needs help cleaning it. Yesterday, her word was 'anxious'.
One part of me was so proud of her for communicating this with me- she had been a little naughty throughout the day, and seemed distressed. I was so glad that she was able to open up to me about what was on her little mind. The other part of me was filled with guilt. My stomach sank as I realized that the anxiety she was feeling was caused by me.
As she sat on my lap, I thought through all of the ways to approach her statement. Should I tell her that there was nothing to be anxious about? Do I acknowledge and distract from the emotion? Or do I confront it head on? I decided to let her open up about what she needed from me. Our conversation went like this:
"I'm anxious for your surgery."
"Can you tell me what makes you anxious about my surgery?"
"I don't like when my mommy is sick and I can't fix your belly."
"What can I do to make you feel better?"
"Can I have some snuggles and can I see you when you're at the doctor?"
I have been open with Brinlee about the process of surgery. She knows that I will be in recovery for 2-3 days, possibly longer depending on the extent of the complications my surgeon experiences. I have also been open with her dad and step-mom about the process of recovery, and how they can help both myself and Brinlee in the process.
"Mommy Heather and Daddy are going to bring you to see me when I'm at the doctor as long as I'm not too sick, okay?"
"Okay, mommy. I love you."
"I love you."
As Brinlee sat on my lap, calming down and feeling at ease with the answers she was given, I felt myself getting more and more anxious-not for my surgery, but for the effect that it was having on my child. I took a deep breath, reminding myself that it was better to be open and honest with her. Children are scared of the things that they don't understand, and it was apparent that explaining the process to her had calmed her down. But this was bigger than that.
These moments can be hard to navigate. I always tell people that as a parent, you're prepared for the changing schedule, the lack of sleep and cycling through friendships. The one thing I wasn't prepared for was the weight of the emotions you feel for your child.
As a parent-and I think most of us experience this at one point or another-I feel guilty for letting Brinlee see the negative emotions that I feel. I want to protect her and deliver rainbows and sunshine so that she has those moments to hang on to when the world around her turns ugly. I am constantly torn between protecting Brinlee from the ugly sides of the world, and the pain of letting her see those parts, and learning how to navigate through them on her own. When I have these moments, I have to remind myself that I am doing her no good in refusing to teach her the importance of the negative side of things, and how to handle those emotions.
As she sat on my lap, I opened up to my daughter.
"I'm anxious, too."
"Why?" She asks.
"Well, surgery can be a scary thing. It's ok to be anxious, we just have to make sure we are communicating those feelings, and not being mean to the people around us. I know you're feeling anxious and that's completely normal- just know that I love you, and when those emotions are really big and you are feeling overwhelmed, just come sit with me and we can work through it together."
"We can be anxious together and then we can be happy because that makes it better!"
"Exactly."
Brinlee sat on my lap for a little while longer before she left to go play. I held her as we both continued to process our emotions, and just let her feel safe and loved for a minute. I don't know if I approached the situation the way I should have, and one of the most nerve-wracking parts of being a parent is not knowing if you've royally fucked-up until your child is well into adulthood. I remind myself of her communication skills, and how I wish that I had been taught those skills when I was growing up- I wished that I was given a voice and told that my emotions mattered. As the years go on, we will continue to watch her grow, and I'm sure many more moments like this will occur. I just hope that as she grows taller, her heart will continue growing, too.
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