Going away (but not too far or for too long)
This #thankyouthursday, I am grateful for going away (but not too far or for too long).
When my son was born, my whole world reconfigured. Pretty much every aspect of my daily life changed. It took a long time for me to adjust.
So it’s easy to have empathy for him now that another newborn has entered the chat. My son’s whole world is reconfiguring. Pretty much every aspect of his daily life is changing. Of course it is taking him time to adjust.
What’s not easy is the process of adjustment. On the one hand, I respect and appreciate my son’s honesty, his ability and willingness to speak his truth. (When a neighbor asked him what he liked most about his new little sister, his response was, “I’m still getting used to her.”) On the other hand, it’s tough to witness him have intense meltdowns and scream “Go away!” over and over and over and over.
“Go away!” is such a tricky ask. A lot of parenting advice advocates for staying with your child no matter what—you’re supposed to let them know you can handle their big feelings, that you won’t abandon them in their time of distress.
But what if your presence is distressing them?
Through a comprehensive amount of trial and error, I am discovering that when my kid tells me to go away, sometimes he means it. I can be tempted to project my own experience—that agonizing, conflicting feeling when the person I’ve told to leave actually does walk away and all I want is for them to turn around and console me instead.
But my son is not me, and it is safe for me to trust him, to allow him to have his own experiences. And because it is also safe for me to trust myself and my intuition, I’m learning to tell the difference between a “Go away!” that means, “I’m annoyed!” and a “Go away!” that means, “Seriously, give me some SPACE.”
And when he’s truly requesting space, I can give it to him. I can go away. Not too far, and not for too long, because that would feel wrong. But far enough that he has a chance to be on his own, and long enough that he can decide whether he’s ready to receive comfort.
And when he is ready, I am there. And I am grateful.
Love > fear,
Christina