Childhood may be magical, but magical isn't always fun.
Rather than one era, childhood includes many many phases of discovery and evolution. It is a time of vulnerability and stress, a time when we're susceptible to the purest pain and capable of the most belly-aching joyful laughter.
During childhood, we feel and express our emotions physically, surprised by the shocking and stressful events we encounter. Growing and establishing our role in a world that already was, before we had an opportunity to make a mark.
I don’t have children, so I’ve never felt the unconditional love parents have for their kids. I may never understand the agonizing worry for their safety, or the pressure of constant, unrelenting responsibility for another's wellbeing. I won't feel the peer pressure of other parents and adults, looming, judging, silently, and sometimes verbally to influence my behavior -- my identity as a parent. But I adore children, respect parents, and value the relationship between parent and child as being tremendously impactful on our communities. And so, I transitioned from working with children to coaching parents.
But I'm not here to tell you what to do, or worse- what I think you're doing wrong. I'm not here to say that you don’t know your own kid better than I do, or anyone else, for that matter. That’s what all the books say, that’s what all the podcasts, and ted talks, and best advice givers say.
I’m simply not here to claim I know who knows your child best.
Because I have no doubt that I don’t.
But I am willing to wager that you might not either. The person who I’d put my money on is your child.
Have we just forgotten that they’re people too? I was first given the title "coach" in Decatur, Georgia, my hometown. I coached on a summer league swim team for (off and on) 12 years. Unlike most other coaching opportunities, working in water lent a unique opportunity to reacquaint myself with methods of nonverbal communication. I worked with "the littles," and was often in the water with them. Through hand gestures to vocal expressions, I learned to communicate with ease, and with fewer spoken words than many of my fellow coaches.
But I still found myself in conflict with verbal communicators. I spoke with parents and caregivers, my fellow coaches, and various other adults who seemed to "know" the feelings of the children best. Or, at least, had the conviction and diction to make the argument.
And they used their words to make this known.
But of course, we all use nonverbal communication techniques to express our feelings, creating emphasis to contribute to a conversation. This can be intentional or unintentional, helpful or hurtful.
Yet, the further we get from childhood, the more subconscious and personal our nonverbal communication seems to become. And if we believe our opinion is a necessary contribution to another's experience we seldom hesitate to share it.
At times, we refrain from crying when we're upset or laughing when we're happy.
Instead, simply saying so; believing that "I'm fine" (when we're not) or saying "that's funny" will suffice.
But our company reads our emotions well before we’re able to name them.
At best, words reinforce our sentiment.
At worst, they confusingly mask it, creating unnecessary imprints of distrust on our relationships with others, and stunting their potential for social literacy.
We rely on the honesty of others to learn to make appropriate predictions about future behaviors and situations.
And just as our nonverbal reactions become subconscious, so too do our interpretations of others'. Beyond body language and facial expressions, our nonverbal communication extends to subtleties such as a pause between statements or the time we wait to reply to a text message. Holding others accountable for our perception of their expression may be just as dangerous as verbally distorting our own. Speaking dishonestly introduces distrust to our relationships, teaching others to make erroneous assumptions of our behavior.
There's a growing trend to teach children vocabulary to label their feelings, properly and verbally. The theory, I believe, is that language helps children relay their internal experience to others who share their spoken language.
Essentially, the feeling is not being labeled by the person who’s experiencing the feeling, but a native speaker who is making an educated guess based on a reaction they’re witnessing. This is especially risky, as the person with the feeling (a toddler, in this case) is not just learning a new language, but is also learning about the physical and emotional sensations that come with feelings and conflict.
While there is certain potential benefits, I believe there are several fundamental flaws to this approach:
Is's simply never appropriate to label another person's feelings.
The previously learned language - nonverbal - is deemed nonessential.
The parent/guardian/other is discouraged from stretching their linguistic muscles.
Spoken language is prioritized, setting a hierarchy of worth based on linguistic ability.
Potential for parent/guardian/other-child bonding is limited.
So, rather than ushering children through their process, toward proceeding phases of linguistic development, perhaps we ought to hush ourselves, step back, and join them.
Perhaps we ought to refine our own ability to communicate nonverbally.
Susan Cain beautifully presents this concept In her book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking. in the book, Cain discusses the value of observation and the internal process of consideration before submitting to reaction.
And so, my goal is not to tell you how to parent, but to examine what it means to be a member of a community. If it takes a village to raise a child, then I'm here to discover my own inner villager. It can be difficult to step back and watch as children do risky things carefully. But might our interjection actually cause more harm than if the child were to fail? Fall off their scooter, slip on a rock, or spill the milk? Could they learn something? Might we? If there is a hierarchy of control based on one’s ability to foresee another’s failure or harm, then I would like to speak up and claim my rank. I am not a parent, and though I may not be qualified to tell another person how to feel or think, I believe this rule extends beyond myself. To friends and partners, colleagues and bosses, parents and children. Assuming we know better about another’s experience, directing their behavior to best accommodate our concerns and preferences signals distrust in their ability to act autonomously. Ultimately contributing to internalized self-doubt. Particularly trusting of their parents, children believe adults. They believe that with time, they will gain knowledge and wisdom. They believe this happened to the adults who tell them mythologies and ghost stories. Children are not gullible by accident, but their gullibleness deserves caution and consideration, and the hierarchy we set ought to be taken seriously. We must trust the feelings of children, even if we don’t believe them, and we must tell falsities sparingly. And we must, above all else, understand that when we contradict another’s experience, feelings, thoughts, and beliefs, we introduce distrust in our relationship. Failing to trust another's expression of their experience can be more damaging than falsely believing a fib. In this sense, contradiction is a form of lying, and can cause irreparable damage to our relationship.
I may wear the hat of a parenting coach, but I’m not here to tell you how to parent. I’m not here to tell you that I know your child better than you do. I am not here to tell you a single thing about parenting or parenthood. I’m here to, to the best of my ability, support you, your child, and the village you are a part of.
I am the portal between the home you share with your family and the world outside.
More than striving to eradicate childhood anxiety, fear, or anger, I long to see an emergence of confidence, stamina, and consideration for others. I wish for children to become successful and autonomous in doing whatever passion will help their community thrive. I dream of a society of individuals who consider and look out for one another.
I want to live in a village.
So I'm here to support its construction.
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