Parenting Fail and Repair

Sometimes you don't know how far your kids have come until you really screw up.

Tonight Brent and I had a pretty major lapse in parenting good judgement and ended up triggering a major trauma state in Elsa when we lingered a little too long at a neighbor's house at the end of a neighborhood walk after she ran ahead. She couldn't find us. When we arrived back at our house we were greeted by a small army of concerned neighbors. Elsa was in the driveway fully consumed by the, for the lack of a better term, orphanage cry - the deeply engrained, rhythmic wail accompanied by a nearly impenetrable trance-like state. The wail once used to cope when the world offered no one to help sooth the pain or calm the fear.

After brushing off the concerned neighbors we set about to make things right again. Brent picked her up. She was rigid and unresponsive. He put her back down and I sat on the ground next to her.

"Hey, Elsa. I can tell you're really scared right now. I want you to tell me about it, but I can't understand you through all that crying."

The rhythm of the wail broke. I was getting in.

"That's it. Take some deep breaths for me. Good. Deep from you belly. Don't hold them. Let that fear out. Wow, you are really upset. Do you want to tell me about it?"

Between sobs she explained that she couldn't find us. We took some more breaths together and eventually migrated to her room where I first sat next to her and let her nestle into me. In a calm voice I offered reassurances and apologies. I scooped her up and rocked her and felt her body soften as she released her fear.

"Elsa, do you have something you want to say to me? Are you angry with Mommy and Daddy?"

"Yes. I scared and I mad and I sad and I angry. I can't find you."

More apologies and more reassurances.

"Mommy and Daddy messed up tonight. We didn't mean to scare you and I can understand why you are angry and mad and sad. I am very sorry that this happened."

We rocked some more, her head nestled on my shoulder. When she had calmed down we headed out to the living room to finish getting ready for bed. On her own, she walked up to her dad and declared, "I scared and I mad and I sad and I angry at you."

Brent also apologized and offered reassurances and a big hug. Elsa continued on with her bedtime routine with a promise from me to snuggle before going to sleep. Shortly she declared she rather listen to another chapter of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory than snuggle - maybe tomorrow snuggle. As she bounded off with Ashagre and Brent to read another chapter, she paused and ran back to me, declared, "I love you mom!" and planted a big juicy kiss right on my lips.

We f*%$ed up tonight. Decompressing after the kids were in bed, Brent mentioned that any attachment therapist would argue that we really set any progress we've made back tonight. I challenged him to think differently.

Yes, we should have been more conscious and not triggered her deep-rooted fear of abandonment. Despite their huge growth in confidence over the past year, both kids still ask us every.single.night if we'll be there in the morning when they wake up. However, another part of therapeutic parenting is repair - making things right and reconnecting emotionally. Admitting when you screwed up and saying you're sorry; letting them express how awful they are feeling and acknowledging those feelings. Tonight we nailed the repair and Elsa:

• Quickly attuned to my calm state and was soothed by it
• Opened up emotionally
• Clearly and confidently expressed her feelings to both Brent and me
• Quickly regulated and went peacefully and cheerfully to bed.

She could.not. do these things last fall. Tonight I'm choosing to celebrate this tremendous growth and the deep connection the two of us made tonight after the fact, rather than beat myself up over the fail (maybe we've both come a long way).

Now if we can only equally as successfully repair things with our concerned neighbors that we somewhat flippantly blew off when we arrived on the scene. After the fact we realized how freaked out they were (the orphanage cry is terribly frightening) and how our business-as-usual approach to the situation probably didn't do much to acknowledge how upset they had been.