What "We Are Not Ok" Really Means

I remember to turn down my music before I shut off my car so as not to blast out the kids at 7:45 tomorrow morning (despite the fact that they love it when we start our day off with some high volume tunes). Lately this song has required loud, repetitive play on the drive home from work (thank you for the intro Mary Beth!).



As I open my car door to the clear, crisp evening (as far as crisp evenings go in SoCal) I hear her shriek from inside the house. Moments later Elsa opens the door and runs out to grip my hips tightly in a hug while burying her face in my belly. Out rolls her standard greeting,"Mommy! Amelie was-the-Teacher-of-the-day (deliberately slowed down and enunciated to make sure she gets her prepositions in there - we've been working on this phrase since it's the first statement we hear each day when we see her after school). Do you work good?" She rushes to open the front door for me. As I step in around the dogs who rush out to get a quick smell of the world passing by our house Ashagre glances up momentarily from his legos to acknowledge my presence. He prefers to warm up to the idea that I'm home before seeking my attention.

Brent is at the stove busily wrapping up dinner - homemade lentil soup artfully concocted from last week's left overs with an entirely new flavor to nourish our bodies after a busy day. "It smells great in here. Is that curry?" We chat briefly about our days before Elsa's back again telling me about her day. I pick her up (such a rewarding activity when done spontaneously and not demanded, "Mommy pick-up-a me!" She suggests we snuggle with her blanket and read One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish, and I agree. We're practicing for her Student Spotlight presentation in April; she can't stop talking about it. Elsa, Ashagre and I read together. Ashagre handles the sight words and the pages he's memorized, Elsa takes on everything else with my help on the longer words or the ones she just can't quite remember. "Let's say it ten times together. O-F spells of, O-F spells of..." I take a page or two when she starts getting tired (learning to read is exhausting work).

"Ok. Go wash your hands!" The kids scamper off as Brent pulls warm bread out of the oven and I start dishing up soup. Ashagre doesn't have much to say about his day, "Today, who the Leader is? It starts for a A." I correctly guess Amen, which doesn't impress him much. Elsa rambles on about her day, missing all of her prepositions. We ask her to slow down and add in a few more details so we can understand what she's trying to tell us. Ashagre quickly finishes his soup and asks for more bread while Brent gets back up to pull a special treat from the fridge - a carton of dark red organic strawberries. Ashagre is more than happy to stick around and help Brent and me finish the whole carton. Elsa adamantly responds with a No Thank You when offered. Cajoling her only makes her No Thank You more resolute.

We chat and tease each other while enjoying our meal. Finally, when the strawberries are all gone and we've had our fill of warm bread, Brent, Ashagre, and me get up from the table. Elsa, who spent most of her time talking about her day without using prepositions, remains at the table to finish her soup. She's determined to clean her bowl so she can have more bread. As Elsa finishes up Ashagre engages his dad in a tickling match. Loud shrieks intermixed with belly laughs permeate our tiny bungalow. When she's finished Elsa joins in, and soon enough the whole family is at it, including the dogs. Lola enthusiastically and sloppily licks the kids cheeks and chins when we thrust them in her face and Buster prances around barking in the excitement to keep the energy up.

Finally it's calm down time. The kids handle this once impossible transition with ease and grace. Shortly thereafter its p-jamas, medicine, brush your teeth, story time, hugs, kisses, high fives, and bed.

We are ok. We are a family. These relatively mundane yet deeply rich details are our fabric.

So what about We are not ok? What does that look like, you ask? What can be learned from those four words and the days, moments, life that they describe? Since writing this post, I've been thinking about this question quite a bit. The conclusion I've come to, while not fun to admit, is perfect material for a blog post - perfect, because its not about Them. It's about me, and my shit is ok to write about on this blog because its my story to tell.

So what's the difference? What does we are not ok look like in comparison to the scene detailed above? It looks like huge, wildly darting eyes, irregular, jerky movements, loud, repetitive, non-sensical vocalizations. It looks like kids doing exactly what you asked them not to do and had them repeat back to you two seconds before. It looks like them doing it again moments later after you sternly lecture them some more. It looks like animalistic noises and squirming bodies (avoid eye contact at all costs). It looks like rapid fire questions to which they already know the answers for hours on end. It looks like the complete inability to do something they normally handle with ease. It looks like extremely slow and drawn out half-efforts to complete simple tasks. It looks like pestering one another and treating each other with the same impatience and frustration they feel around them and inside themselves. Sometimes it looks much worse. It is intense. It doesn't go away. It follows you from room to room as you try to step away and take a deep breath and recenter yourself. It looks like things all kids do (please don't use that phrase with parents parenting attachment challenged kids - it cuts so much deeper than you intended). Yes, it looks like things all kids do, but it feels SO different, especially to the parents, who despite their sometimes maladaptive and exasperated approaches to deal with the situation, are acutely aware of and consumed by the depth of their kid's pain and fear. Yes, all kids do those things, but they don't do them from a place of fear, a lack of trust, a desperate need to control the situation at all times, and a suffocating layer of anxiety that kids with attachment challenges do.

In the warm and loving scene detailed at the beginning of this post (which is, by the way, an honest account of this evening) I forgot to mention a small, but important detail. The last sentence of the first paragraph or maybe the first sentence of the second paragraph should have read, I take a deep breath and remember where I am and what that means. I am home. You see, what I'm coming to learn about we are not ok and we are ok is that one of most defining factors is often me. My perspective, my approach, my ability to stay regulated and nurturing, my commitment to embodying the calm and balanced energy I want my kids to operate within.

Prior to bringing Elsa and Ashagre home, I had a vision in my head of the mother I would be. I would always do my best not to lose sight of where they had come from, I would always delight in their presence, I would not take their expressions of hurt or anger or fear personally, always seeing them for what they were, I would always remember that I am the adult and that they are just six and seven, I would ooze patience, understanding, and acceptance.

I thought I knew how hard it would be. I also thought I could handle it. I had NO idea how hard it could be, how personal it can sometimes feel, how good they can be at triggering my own shit. I had no idea I would find myself resorting to maladaptive coping mechanisms - threats (not empty ones, but the repetitive kind that build on each other necessitating more and bigger threats as your kids get more dysregulated and out of control), emotional distancing (a huge dysregulator for attachment challenged kiddos), the inability to admit its not about "winning" or "reinforcing ridiculous behavior" and instead backing down from a chosen, heavy-handed approach and giving in to what they really need - a calm, understanding and loving chance to try again with nothing hanging over their heads.

It seems I have this stubborn streak in my parenting style. Once I get headed down the path of needing to control I can't back down even when I can clearly articulate that it is exactly what the kids need. Even when I know it could make everything better almost instantaneously. We are not ok when we are trapped in this cycle. This pattern of parents trying to control out of control kids through traditional parenting approaches of threats and loss of consequences, even when one said kid, the most easily out of control one, clearly has not developed cause and effect thinking. We are not ok when I perpetuate it. We are not ok when I feel guilty for perpetuating it (because I know I am doing it) and choose to define myself as a shitty mom.

Seriously. Sometimes I think it really is that simple. The moment I can calm down, change my perspective, find my own balance, speak in a soft and loving voice, and let them know its ok to go on, to move beyond the last infraction and try again, everything is usually ok. A hug goes a long way. Admitting you were wrong in your approach and doing some repair work can set you straight for days. Sure, one kiddo might need fairly constant reminders to calm down, but that same kid is very able to calm themselves down by taking breaths with just a simple reminder to do it. Sometimes they even recognize it before we say something and initiate their own breath taking these days.

All of the suggestions in the attachment books work too. Loving and warm facial expressions. Gentle touch. Co-sleeping. Plenty of warning about what's coming next. Predictable routines and consistent boundaries. Naming feelings. Giving your kids a voice to name and explore their own feelings. Validating where they're coming from (even when it seems ridiculous). Playfulness and silliness. Games and activities generally reserved for younger kids. It all works; we've tried and regularly do almost all of it. But, at least in our house right now, the major difference between we are ok and we are not ok is my ability to control my own emotions and keep things calm and loving. Why, when it is that simple, is it so damn hard?


You did it. You made it through this entire rambling post! Here are some gratuitous cute photos as a reward.