This week’s guest blog is from Jill:

I’m happy to be back at AwakeParent.com as a guest blogger today. I wanted to share with you some thoughts on dealing with other adults in your life who interact with your children. As parents striving for greater consciousness, I have found it can sometimes be painful when other adults interact with our precious children in ways that don’t support the experience we’re trying so hard to create.

At times, I have both asked and been asked by other adults to treat a child differently.  This hasn’t gone very well!  The time I was asked not to interact with a child in the way I wanted to I felt a sense of shame, even though intellectually I agreed with the parent’s boundary. What happened? I touched a child’s hair without permission. Not a big deal, in the grand scheme of things, perhaps, but really, how would I feel if someone I didn’t know reach out and started fondling my tresses, rather than ask? I could see in the parent’s eyes that that was exactly what he was tuned into. I got it; still, I felt small.

I have also not found a way to make such a request of another adult that feels both compassionate and authentic. When I have made such requests, it’s also felt alienating, rather than connecting. It seems no one likes to hear, “Please don’t do that to my child.”

Here’s what I think is going on, and what we can do about it.  One, I think a vulnerable part of us comes forth when we connect with a child.  I want to treat this part of myself and others with gentleness and compassion, so I want to honor all good faith attempts to connect with children.  Two, if I intervene on his behalf, I do my own child a bit of a disservice. I exercise my autonomy instead of allowing him to exercise his.  At the same time, I want to intervene if it looks like my child would rather not be experiencing what’s happening.

So, if my son looks uncomfortable though not in danger (or being tickled), or like he’s just tolerating something an adult is doing, I ask him, within the other person’s earshot, and with a lighthearted attitude, “Is that okay with you?”  Often he says “no,” and almost always the adult apologizes to him, and does not seem offended. This way, I’m also training my son to check in with himself, and ask “Is this OK with me?”

I think most adults genuinely want to connect with children in mutually consensual ways, but we feel awkward because we so seldom see this kind of behavior modeled for us. I still feel slightly embarrassed sometimes when I do manage to treat my child with complete respect, because it’s not what I’ve seen modeled. However, occasionally someone will say they were touched or moved by how I interacted with my son. Maybe we can all help to awaken in each other our deep yearning for all beings, large and small, to be treated with complete respect.

Back in real life, our beloved friends and relatives may not follow our lead as quickly as we would like—or at all, for that matter—people generally default to what they’re familiar with. However, what I’ve noticed is that the more we can respect and embrace the adults’ loving intentions at the same time as we model respect for our children (by lightheartedly asking the child if what’s happening is OK with them), the less likely we will be to trigger shame in the other adult, and to feel triggered ourselves. I want to remind myself and others that we adults are always doing the best we can with the young people in their lives. I want us all to try to support each other where we are, even as we hold out possibilities for where we might be.

I’d love to know your thoughts on this.

Warmly,

Jill

Jill Nagle is the cofounder of Awakeparent.com, and former regular blogger. Currently, she blogs at Zendesk.com, works as a freelance writer and content strategist, and does family mediation with a focus on creative family structures. She works over the phone as well as in person. Learn more here: http://tinyurl.com/thirdsidemediation

We don’t blog much about, and certainly don’t advocate much for, demands. But sometimes a seemingly rash move like a demand can really shake things up–in good ways.

Last week a good friend of mine back east quit his job. His boss, who rarely had anything but criticism and sarcasm for him said, “I didn’t think you’d have the guts to do what’s best for yourself.” Then the two of them sat down and had a heart-to-heart that lasted over two hours!

This got me thinking–it seemed like the boss, too, was caught in some kind of pattern that was harmful even to herself. She experienced a kind of relief, too, when my friend quit–essentially, did the only thing in his power to demand the behavior stop. She also expressed some sadness and regret that things had gone the way they did. Once my friend unilaterally changed the terms of their relationship by walking out, the boss also got freed up to be more herself–got more access to her full humanity.

Which got me thinking about how sometimes we get stuck in patterns we don’t want, or might not even be aware of.  And how we–or our kids–can feel stuck in a pattern, even as we defend our behavior in that pattern. And how making a unilateral decision–in this case, a demand–can turn things around.

Last night, my son tried repeatedly to hit me. I restrained him and told my son in very clear terms that trying to hurt people isn’t a way we deal with feelings in this family. Once he stopped fighting me, he seemed to feel some relief that he didn’t “have to” resort to this behavior that he didn’t feel entirely good about. There’s no real way to sugar coat this–it was a demand. I insisted that he stop hitting, and I restrained him until he stopped and agreed not to try to hurt me. (I am hoping he grows out of this before he becomes too big to restrain…)

I dislike making demands. I would much rather request what I want. But for myself, when it comes to hitting, I have a bottom line–I do demand that it stop. At the same time, I also wanted to maintain my sense of connection with my son.

So, as I held his swinging arms, I explained some reasons I was preventing him from hitting. I was concerned that no one would want to be his friend if he treated them that way. I also told him that when he got older, if he treated people this way, he could wind up in jail, and I didn’t want that to happen. Both true, both seemed to impact him. So it wasn’t just a battle of wills, it was a boundary with a reason attached.

When I was a kid, my parents set rules but rarely enforced them. This gave me an ungrounded sense, that I could somehow float away and not be noticed. I also lost respect for my parents, and felt more powerful than I was comfortable with. So I guess I’ve gone the other direction and now want to make sure my son knows that I am in charge, he has safe boundaries to thrash around in and that I mean what I say.

I also feel pretty clear that hitting is one of the only areas where I feel myself move into “demand” space. Much of the rest of our day-to-day feels like it has more wiggle room.

But I wanted to raise the issue of making demands because I feel like it’s gotten a bit of a bad rap (and maybe I’ve even contributed to that) and I wanted to look at demands in a different light, as something that can bring relief to all parties concerned.

What do you think? Do you make demands, and if so, when? How do you feel about them? How does that work out?

Let me try some different words...

I now have great sympathy for whomever said, “Children should be seen and not heard.” Sometimes it feels like the last thing I can manage is to process yet another whine, yell or insult at the end of a long day. It’s times like those I want to reach for an “off” button. Or to borrow Shelly’s patience .

While responding to Jasmine’s comment last week, I started thinking about the different ways I handle behaviors that challenge me. While there are probably an infinite number of ways I respond, I can think of two main ways: vulnerable and controlling.

A simple way of breaking it down is, sometimes, when I feel sad, angry or frustrated, I feel myself opening, expanding, and dropping down into the feeling. Sort of an “Ahhhhhh” sense to it. That’s the vulnerable way.

Other times, I feel myself contracting, pushing the feeling aside and trying to control the situation. More of “Spit-spot, let’s go!”-Mary Poppins sort of feel to it. (Well, on a good day.)

Usually, when I’m with my son, I tend to contract and try to control whatever behavior is stimulating my sadness, anger or frustration. Not wanting to be controlled, my son rebels. Who can blame him? I was (ok, am) exactly the same way.

It’s hard for me to remember that I also have the vulnerable option: opening, expanding, and dropping down into the feeling.

If I want my son to be able to express himself in this way, and receive other peoples’ vulnerable expressions with love and kindness, hadn’t we better start at home?

It’s a hard enough thing, sometimes, to remember to do with other adults. With an unbridled, unpredictable, loud, careening child, sometimes I feel like I’d be lucky to be able to pull this off once a year.

But when I do, I notice that I start to look at him differently. I see him as someone with vast human ability, a complex human, rather than an object in my orbit to be managed.

Also, by being vulnerable, I show him I respect him enough to trust him with my feelings. Not burden him inappropriately by dumping stuff on him he can’t handle, nor by attacking him, but by sharing gently and openly how what I see and hear affects me.

For example, instead of saying, “Please take the cymbals out of the kitchen,” I might say, “Ouch, those hurt my ears. It’s hard to hear myself think. Would you be willing to play with those in the other room?”

In other words, I can start with myself and what’s going on with me. “Wow, that was hard to hear, kind of felt like a slam in the gut.” “Aargh, I’m really frustrated, I spent a lot of time putting that stuff together and really liked it the way it was. I’m sad, and disappointed to see it all over the floor!”

By starting with sharing our feelings, we get to practice and model the same skill we want to teach: use your words! But with the added step of sharing our feelings first.

Warmly,

Jill

P.S. What kinds of words have you been using with the young ones in your life? We love to hear about it. Share your stories and thoughts below in the comment box…