Something will go wrong. No human being is so perfect as to always be a good parent, and no matter how perfect a parent or a child is, every child will have problems—multiple problems. It’s when the really big stuff happens that you become nostalgic for the “normal problems,” but those normal problems never feel normal when you’re in the midst of them. Stepping back before acting—to try to get some perspective—is almost always a good idea: Look at the big picture. Remember your own problems as a youth. Think before acting.
It’s impossible to go very far in this discussion while referring to a an abstract problem—context is everything—but there are a few general issues worth discussing. First, guilt and/or shame almost always play a role, and if it doesn’t, you are likely to either have a personality disorder or be in denial or both. Second, there was more you could have done or something you shouldn’t have done, so best accept that and move on. Third, you cannot fix everything. And fourth, your children have limitations, no matter how old or how smart or how emotionally mature they are. All of these, whether it’s apparent or not, are about accepting your own limitations as a mere mortal parent (and if you know the myths, immortal parents frequently didn’t do so well either).
Guilt and shame in modern American society seem to be woven into parenthood. Perhaps Freud started it with his focus on the first few years of life and the problems in mother-child relationships that seem inevitable—particularly when mothers are both isolated and given the sole responsibility for a child. I think, however, that as soon as we considered the possibility that people aren’t “born bad,” parenting became the next obvious cause of all things evil.
Let’s, however, be clear about one thing: Society is responsible for its children, and it is society’s neglect of families that is ultimately the cause of many of our worst problems. The “solution” will be for society to play a more nurturing rather than punitive role in . . . well, everything, but particularly in helping families become healthier. In the mean time, families are on their own, perhaps lucky to have a supportive extended family but usually much less lucky.
As parents, we need to remember that we have done the best that we could under difficult circumstances, and all circumstances are difficult. I tell myself this while continuing to feel ashamed and guilty, but it’s important to not let self-incrimination prevent you from seeing what is happening or from taking necessary action. Whether it is substance abuse, behavioral problems, learning disabilities, or something you have never considered, seeing your child for whom they are and as needing you to be a parent is essential.
When something has gone wrong, some reflection on the past can help you understand the problem. Ignoring the past is a mistake because it can help us see both some causes and solutions, but dwelling on our mistakes or another’s mistakes won’t help either. The point of examining the past is to create a change in the future. To change, you have to accept that mistakes were made, clues missed, and actions taken that in retrospect weren’t the best, and then you need to forgive yourself (I am working on it). This takes work, but if we are to make things better, we must focus on what’s ahead—keeping in mind that nothing matters more than that we love our children and ourselves. Being conscious of what happened is frequently necessary.
Accepting that we can’t fix the problem is equally difficult. Our children will misbehave, screw up, have their hearts broken, get sick, and more. The best we can do quite often is to teach our children how we want them to behave, create learning experiences out of mistakes, cry with our children when they are heartbroken, tend to them when they are sick, and in general help them through the problems. Social support has been found repeatedly to make a significant difference in all kinds of problems. We cannot change the world or our children, but we need to mourn, get frustrated, look for best case scenarios, find ways to adapt, and whatever else you need to for yourself and for your child. Just don’t try to make the problem “go away” because no matter what, the problem, once arrived, will never cease to be.
Perhaps the most important task is to see and love our children for whom they are, not whom we want them to be. I remember bracing myself for this acceptance while pregnant with my first child, telling myself that no matter whom my child turned out to be that it wouldn’t matter, and I can’t imagine my children turning out differently than they have. This doesn’t mean that I don’t wish their behavior was different sometimes: Is it really that hard to put things away or to wash a few dishes? But they are whom they are, and I wish nothing different.
As my oldest child began to have real problems in school, I was confused and blamed myself for not working harder. I blamed myself for not protecting my children better. I blamed myself for not trusting my sense of what was happening more. As school problems first occurred, I examined the problems in the schools. I don’t regret this because I was right, and I found a school that would work with whom my child was. But there was a lot more I could have and should have done. When the emotional problems emerged, I became far more paralyzed and ignored my own expertise. I could’ve, would’ve, should’ve . . . But I failed. For all I “know” and all the experts I sought, a wonderful, happy ending was not the result. Rather, it’s been messy, painful and frightening, and an on-going process without end. I don’t have answers, but I do have hope and a loving relationship with both my children. We’ll figure it out as we go, and that’s really all a parent can do.
I increasingly worry about the lack of empathy and growing sense of entitlement in the people around us—particularly thosewho have the power to do some serious damage. Clearly, capitalism and the need to compete at all costs rewards some of the most despicable qualities humans can possess, but the way we raise our children can make a significant difference and to me is an important part of making the world a better place. I reject the idea that personality disorders and mental illnesses are ever entirely about the genes one inherits; the behaviors and ways of thinking we “inherit” from family is far more influential in my opinion. Many (Steven Pinker and Iain McGilchrist for example) have persuasively argued that the evolution of empathy has been essential for the development of human societies. When leaders, whether of countries, companies, or families, reveal a lack of empathy for the people they lead, we have wars, lay offs, and abuse that are devastating to the victims. Perhaps I will take on writing a convincing argument for why we need to nurture empathy as a way to save the human world later, but it’s much easier to consider how we might nurture empathy and an ethical stance that is healthier for the world in our children. As always, parents must decide what they want to prioritize.
Theorists have argued for various types of empathy, but there is general agreement that empathy is an innate ability of “normally functioning” humans. It often first becomes visible when an infant is witness to another person in pain and they react. Empathy is part of what helps us be social, and other primates are capable of some of the ways humans are empathetic, but our increased ability seems directly connected to our ability to think abstractly. Pinker argued that our increased ability to empathize is connected to the novel and our emersion in other people’s lives through these acts fiction, and research on theory of mind demonstrates that the ability to take the perspective of others develops gradually as a child’s understanding of the world grows. Piaget documented the stage-like qualities of perspective taking. When I argue for the need for empathy in our children, it is about both the early emotional reaction to the emotional states of the people around them and the later ability of children to fully understand that other people have experiences that are different from our own and reflect their unique experiences. To be fully empathic in my sense of the term, someone needs to comprehend the different perspectives and be able to feel them, but I argue that it will not develop if it is not in some ways nurtured in children.
The most important way of nurturing empathy is to offer it to our children. This means not being authoritarian in our interactions whenever possible but explaining the reasons for our actions and sympathizing with our children’s distress when our demands are unpleasant. This is not to say that the jades “This hurts me more than it hurts you” is appropriate. In fact, this is the opposite of empathy. Perhaps the lessons start with being sensitive to the likes and dislikes of our children. Both of my children were upset by water in their faces during baths, which made hair washing very difficult. I compromised, sympathized, and apologized during the process. After trying different methods, I found the best and safest way to give my infants a bath was simply to get in the tub with them, allowing me to give them and myself a sense of safety (after the seat I had purchased to give support flipped over!) while still accomplishing the task.
With almost all infants, physical closeness provides a sense of safety and comfort and can be a way to show empathy. Our bodies are important tools with young children. There are a few children who are so hypersensitive that they do not enjoy being touched, but even in these rare cases, being close can help. Closeness with just anyone does not help though. My oldest child hated being picked up by people she did not know well, and I found on vacations with extended family, that staying in my arms was her greatest comfort. My behavior seemed selfish to some of my extended family, but I could see how much distress my child experienced when adults attempted to pass her around like a toy and the bigger children all tried to show their maturity by picking her up. We were in Greece quite often when this problem presented itself, and my lack of being able to speak Greek probably made things more difficult. I tried to explain that my daughter didn’t like being picked up, but this became an early clash in cultures for us. Many additional clashes will clearly happen as there is growing awareness that making our children kiss and hug the scary new relative primes them for sexual abuse.
More importantly, I believe, is how we respond to our children after we punish them. I remember with one child, when she was two, she kept putting coins into the VCR (for the younger generation, that was what we had instead of dvd players). I could not get her father to stop dropping coins on the floor, posing various choking hazards, but as I relaxed about her not swallowing them, she found the alternative of putting them places. I would sweep her up and put her in her playpen, which really seemed to feel like jail to her. I would leave her there for only a minute, and then I would carefully explain why I had put her there. Every time. The explanation involved lots of hugs, sympathizing with her distress, and comforting her.
With my other child, the problem became hitting when she was three and four. This example is important because it combines the response to punishment and more active empathy building. As the younger child, she had competition for my attention and for use of toys. She never hit me, but a few times, she hit her sister. She would immediately get a time out, which always led to crying, and afterwards, I would sit with her to talk. I explained how important it was that she not hurt her sister or anybody if she could avoid it. I assured her that I loved her and worked out strategies for how to talk to her sister as well as working on controlling her temper. I wish I could remember the details better, but I remember very clearly working with her to think about how her sister felt. In both these cases, I was pushing them to understand the situation at a level beyond what they were currently capable of because this is how higher levels of thinking are developed.
It was in the connection between my children that I worked most consistently and seriously on developing empathy. I talked consistently with them about thinking about how their sister felt, reminding them that they loved each other and helping them find better ways to resolve conflict and cooperate. I was as actively involved as I could be in those early years. Now that they are both teens, I need only remind them about their tone, and they have never had a drawn out fight—ever. I think of all the fights I had with my younger brother and realize that there generally was no adult in the room, and when there was, there was usually a simple and forceful demand that we stop fighting, period. Clearly, I developed empathy without this particular intervention, but I have the advantage of children who rarely fight and are far more loving with each other than I ever was with either of my siblings.
Thinking that involves empathy is best learned by involving our children in thinking that includes empathy. Lessons in morality and responsibility are best taught this way. In the last few years, my youngest daughter has given money to performers and homeless people while I was with her. I actively admire her giving of her own money, and we have talked about the different views about giving money to those in need. These are moment when we share our empathy for others and contemplate solutions. These types of conversations are, I believe, the most important ones to have with our children, but the task of raising caring, responsible, and intelligent children is accomplished in a million small conversations and actions. How have you nurtured empathy with your children?
Parenting is a responsibility, not a right, but the laws are having a hard time catching up with morality. Legally, a woman is no longer the property of a man, but socially, a man screaming for hours at his wife is still considered their “private business.” If he beats her, the police might get involved. Many years of fighting for women’s rights have led to limited legal protections possible in places like the United States. The effort to protect children has made similar progress, but children, for the most part, are still considered property. As with the ownership of women, there are laws that protect children from physical and sexual abuse and extreme versions of neglect, but children do no have the right to leave or choose a different way of life from their parents or even to proclaim that being routinely humiliated and degraded is abuse without “proof.” Most children, knowing nothing else, are not able to realize that this behavior is wrong or unusual. And when there is a conflict between the parents on how to raise a child, the courts are very limited in how they can intervene. There is evidence showing that emotional neglect and abuse alters the way brains develop—perhaps more than physical abuse—but the courts are still more concerned with parents’ legal rights than the what is best for children. The courts address obvious cases of abuse but are not able to address the equally dangerous neglect and abuse.
I don’t know what the way forward is, but I stand firmly that the responsibility, not the rights, of parents need to be more central in our legal system. My oldest child—at the age of six—began to argue for the rights of children. The argument was that children should have the right to live on their own and work. I tried to explain how there had been a great battle to protect children from work so that they could gain an education, even while I was proud of her sense of autonomy. I was forced during this and because of my research to think seriously about what my rights and responsibilities as a parent were. When does knowing more give parents the right to make decisions and when doesn’t it? Is simply being an adult rather than a child give one the right to make decisions for another? There is clearly the need at times, but what about the other times when it is not so clear?
I was also confronted with a husband who took no responsibility as a father, whom I had to petition to babysit if I had work to do and with whom I could not trust to take care of the children’s basic needs: When I did have to leave, I made sure the kitchen was fully stocked, the needs clearly outlined, and the time as short as possible. A lot of this sounds very similar to the stories of other women, but I’m not sure what to with this observation. I would frequently get a babysitter when my children’s father was home because his work (which routinely involved hours of online chess) could not be interrupted to care for his children, and now I am told by attorneys that his complete lack of responsibility cannot be used in our custody battle. The fact that I intervened when he became emotionally abusive and prevented worse abuse may have protected my children at the time but now prevents me from “proving” the need for legal protections for them.
Laws are rigid, so I don’t believe this basic problem can be legislated, but I feel the need all the more to fight for communities to play a bigger role. I could argue this from feminist perspective, which I support wholeheartedly, but it the more important reasons are about what is best for out children. I never wanted to be the sole caregiver of my children but was forced into the position. Having only one “parent” is less than ideal for children in numerous ways—from the problem of that parent becoming unavailable to questions about how to best integrate a child into the larger society—but it is not a standard part of main stream culture to have that community involved. I ask myself routinely, What world could we create in which children’s needs are truly central? When so much of parenting is relative—about priorities and specific contexts—how can we as a society move forward to create healthier children? If I feel I have no right to tell you how to raise your children, what rights should I have to decide how my children are raised? What rights should their father have?
In starting this blog, I stressed priorities. I don’t really feel I have a right to say what is good parenting and what is not, but of course that is a lie in so many ways. I have a lot of strong opinions about parenting. I refer to research because of the illusion that it is objective—unbiased—but I know that it is impossible for research to be completely objective. Yet it gives us a place to start a conversation, to consider what the researcher saw as a priority—a way to test some of our beliefs. I am inadequately exploring the bias in the research itself—maybe I’ll get to that—but let’s start with the bias in the questions we ask.
I was just reading about the benefits of diverse schools here: How Socioeconomic Diversity In Schools Helps All Students. One of the few things that is clear from research—if you examine grades and standardized test scores—is that children from impoverished homes are less likely to do well in school than middle-class children. People tend to think that success in school is objectively a good thing, but there are even reasons to doubt that (another thing to come back to). There is a lot to consider in this clear fact, and there have been numerous “efforts” to change this (though politicians seem quite unwilling to consider the possibility that poverty itself is the problem). If you follow the link within the above article, you will find another article that discusses the benefits of economically diverse schools for middle-class children, at least if you want your kids to be “successful” in a diverse world because you believe that embracing diversity will improve your child’s chances of success. I believe in diverse schools—so much that I put my children into a private school with one of its missions being to have an ethnically and economically diverse student body—but this is because of a belief in social justice and a need to struggle for a better world. In all honesty, I have no idea how to help my children succeed in the world at this point. I keep half-joking with them that perhaps outdoor survival training would be best, and when I talk about careers with my students, I sadly have to tell them that there are no guarantees and that preparing for flexibility is the best advice I can offer. If I dwell on this too much, I will have an anxiety attack.
So what does it mean to be a good parent? Perhaps I am writing this primarily to figure it out a little more for myself. I wanted to have true co-parenting for my children so that they would experience a more gender neutral world and the support of two committed parents. Sadly, I failed to make this happen because it takes two committed parents. I thought I was doing what was best for my children by working to keep their father as involved as possible—because children, I believe, are best off with as much adult support as possible—but I now believe that they would have been better off without him. I believed in helping my children excel in academic skills, allowing my husband to pressure me into emphasizing academics more than I was comfortable with, and my child can do amazingly well on standardized tests but is too anxious to leave the house most days. I made a lot of choices that I wish I could take back.
Fighting for a better world for me is a value that is intertwined with being a good parent. In some ways, having children once seemed like one way to improve the world. Now I begin to think that the greatest challenge as a parent might be to instill hope in our children—hope that the world can be better, hope that they can have a meaningful life, hope for a future worth living. Perhaps the greatest challenge as a parent is helping our children want to live. There is a lot of research that considers how poverty impacts children (for example here), and the role early experience plays in developing neural networks is an adequate explanation, but one that only addresses the biological aspects of the mind. A more artistic, perhaps meaningful, explanation is that children is desperate situations never develop the hope they need to thrive. Helping all our children develop hope is a battle that must take place on two planes: in our parenting and in how we relate to the world around us.
Do you play with your children? I cannot refer to a large body of research to argue for or against parents playing with their children, but I think the question is a good one for thinking about what it means to be a parent.
Someone asked me a startling question awhile ago: why do I spend so much time with my children? and I’ve been noticing since then that parents are often talking about needing a break from their children. Of course, my children are teens now, but I don’t remember ever wanting a break from my kids for more than getting more work done or more sleep. This led me to begin wondering what people mean by “a break” and why they couldn’t take some breaks with their children.
Perhaps the better question is, Do you enjoy being with your children? I made a conscious decision when my oldest was two years old to enjoy my time with her rather than trying to make her conform to my desires or comforts (which resulted in frustration usually when I tried). I for instance transformed our walk to and from daycare from one of battling about whether she would ride in the stroller, walk, or be carried (at 1, she began to refuse to ride in the stroller) into adventures of finding pine cones and learning to get the fuzzy seeds to fly off dandelions when her breath was not strong enough to blow them off. Those walks have become some of my fondest memories, and some of the pine cones are still on a shelf. I decided then to have fun with my children as often as possible, and I recommend it.
Parenting, of course, has changed enormously over time, and it varies lots between and within cultures. I don’t think my parents ever got on the floor to play with us or gave voice to a toy, and I’m certain my grandparents didn’t even throw a ball with any of their children. Perhaps this shift reflects differences in our jobs as much as our ideas. Research by Bernstein in the 1970s compared class differences in London to find that–to some degree–parenting practices reflected the kinds of jobs parents had: Parents who were professionals and were friends with their bosses tended to talk with their children in ways that were more “elaborated.” Parents who worked in jobs that required deference and formality with their employers tended to require obedience and formality from their children, using a “restricted code.” I think this difference is really about the same parenting styles Baumrind described with authoritative and authoritarian because the way we talk with our children is most of what it is to parent. The way I view it, the more parenting is about obedience, the less it is about joy and love.
If you want a warm and supportive family, you need to be warm and supportive. If you want an obedient and respectful family, you need to model the behavior you want: be disciplined and respectful. Parents begin creating the kind of family they want from before the time their child is born. I recommend making sure you have some fun in amongst all the chaos and work and exhaustion. If you find child rearing boring and tedious (which of course it is at times), your child will think it is about them. Value the time you can spend with them, and don’t be afraid to say when necessary, “I’m sorry. I am busy right not. As soon as I am done, we’ll play,” and then make sure you do. You can’t spend all your time playing, but make at least a little.
With everything I write or say about parenting or psychology, I feel that I must insert this phrase: “But it’s complicated.” We (“experts” and anyone who thinks they know something) can make the task of raising children sound easy. I caught myself doing this with a student recently who was observing a class of disabled students (the focus being on education rather than parenting at the time): I listed off a range of strategies that can help a person with ADHD, such as finding socially acceptable ways for them to fidget rather than trying to force them to be still, striving for routine exercise and breaks, and redirecting the person to the task with simple, non-judgmental prompts. The student responded that they were doing all that in the class she was observing. I took a breath and smiled.
The problem is that it takes time and consistency and then the strategies you picked might not work. Ideally, you involve the student in picking the strategies because what helps one person might not help the next and choice can be empowering. I’d like to believe that if a sensitive and intelligent person takes the time to get to know the child and involves them in the process, they will always find a way to help eventually, but sometimes we don’t. And I wish I had said all that and more in class, but I was too caught up in recognizing my own glibness. (I don’t remember exactly what I answered at that point.) The fact is that all the best strategies ever devised fail as often as they help. And when it is your child, the stakes are higher and your ability to think through things clearly are typically impaired because you care so much and you need to fix things.
The hardest part of parenting for myself has been accepting that I can’t fix everything. I can’t make my children’s father into the kind of father they deserve, I can’t find better schools, I can’t make my children overcome bad habits and personal struggles, and I can’t make their lives easier or happier. One of my children is struggling enormously, and I’ve had to let go. I haven’t given up, but I can only offer my help and wait until my children want it when it comes to the important things.
Particularly as our children approach adulthood, we cannot control them. In fact, we can never control them and should not try. I don’t like the word control. There is a lot I like about Bandura’s self-efficacy theory, but self-efficacy is frequently equated with control beliefs. This focus on control is, I think, a Western form of madness. Not only do efforts to control create enemies and rebelliousness, but it makes us obsessive and frustrated. Breath, I tell myself. This is something I can’t control.
It is on this issue of control that the effects of our power as parents can become dangerous. Our job as parents is to do everything in our power to help our children while loving them–being amazed by and in awe of them–no matter whom they become. The research on parenting doesn’t exactly lead to that phrasing, but the idea of unconditional love has long been a successful tool in therapeutic situations. I would argue that reminding ourselves how lucky we are to have our children helps us deal with the frustrations. It is, after all, amazing that they came into our lives!
There are many different philosophies about parenting. Some say that our children have a great responsibility to us while others argue that it is only the parents who have a responsibility to the children. Some believe we should push them to be independent while others encourage interdependence and sometimes dependence. Some drive their kids to success while others support their children’s decisions. Examples of every approach working and failing can be found, and these differences are about values really and beyond the scope of “science,” but logic dictates that only parents who feel they are owed something and feel the need to control their children will be disappointed. It is the selfish aspects of parenting that create disappointment because we were relying on our children to satisfy our pride, make us feel wanted, or even to provide us with material supports as we age. Control is about getting what we want, not what our children want. We are disappointed when we wanted something. Worry, anxiety, love, and empathy are about our children, but disappointment, anger, grief, and embarrassment are about us. This is not to suggest that we must be perfectly selfless as parents–I know very well that acts of “selflessness” frequently include feeling better about myself–but when we feel that disappointment, we can remind ourselves that it comes from what we want rather than what is necessarily the best thing for our children. We can never know what is the best thing.
My goal in writing this blog is to begin a conversation by sharing my reflections on theory and research, so please respond so we can make this a dialog. I hope we can collectively create a way of thinking about parenting that is neither guilt inducing nor paralyzing. But thinking it all through does not immediately or reliably change our children or the world we live in. It might allow us to have the kind of influence we want.
The research on attachment makes it clear that sensitivity to the child’s needs is connected to more confident and well-adjusted children. The research on parenting styles similarly suggests that responsiveness (and also demandingness) are best. But as with everything, oversimplifications can lead to problems: being so opposed to the way our parents did something, for instance, that we go to the other extreme, causing new problems. In overcoming one problem, it seems inevitable sometimes that we create a new one. What does it mean to be sensitive and responsive? I will work on some specific examples, but I think it is about constantly asking, what are these children experiencing? And making space for the children to communicate what they want, even if you have to say no.
How we hear/read advice can easily change the impact, which is why the “complicated” rule is important. Research, for instance, has found that “yelling” can damage children as much as spanking, such as is described here: http://www.todaysparent.com/family/parenting/yelling-at-kids/. I can’t speak to the quality of this specific research, but the accumulation of research about brain development, the role of cortisol, and the effects of emotional abuse and neglect strongly suggests that there is an accumulative effect that influences how our brains develop. Is yelling serious? Yes. Just keep in mind, that it’s complicated, and striving for improvement is infinitely better than condemning yourself or being overcome by guilt.
I strongly believe that children are far better off staying with even the most abusive parent if that parent commits to change and seeks help in making it happen. It’s an opportunity for the children to truly feel loved and to learn about commitment when a parent faces their darkest parts and become better for their children. It becomes an opportunity to see that we can make a choice to change–to rid ourselves of bad habits, carelessness, and cruelty.
Everyone loses their temper, and believing that it is a problem is not the same as arguing that if parents aren’t perfect, their children are doomed. The reaction of many parents to the research was as interesting to me as the research: Some felt that the demands and guilt being thrust on parents was absurd, but are parents so threatened by the possibility that they are imperfect that their behavior cannot be explored? I made the choice to apologize to my children when I lost my temper (or made bad parenting decisions) and to soothe their distress because I wanted them to believe that the lack of sensitivity we all show at such times is not a good thing–that we should always strive for better, take responsibility when we fall below our standards, and work to make amends when we’ve injured someone. A world where that happens routinely is the world I want to live in.
Ultimately, it comes back to the question of what we do with the power we have as parents and whether or not we use it to truly pursue what is best for our children rather than what’s best for us. We must take care of ourselves if we are to be there for our children (something I’m finally taking seriously), and finding the balance between that and what is best for our children is the ultimate balancing act. In the end, we must put our children first. The problem is in deciding what’s in their best interest.
I really need to start getting more specific. Next time!
I don’t have clear research to back up my take on Baumrind’s parenting styles and the role of “power,” but it follows from some of the thinking about corporal punishment, which has been correlated with a wide range of problems in children and adolescence. More importantly, it is a helpful way of thinking. In part, it follows from my philosophy on spanking: When we spank, we teach that “might makes right” and that the strongest gets to set the rules, which is exactly what happens when we use our power as parents rather than our authority–when we make a demand based on being the parent rather than knowing there is a good reason for the demand.
Think of the child who cries or screams to the point of making us lose it. It is not the end of the world if we lose our temper and yell, but think about the difference between screaming for the child to stop, which in essence is a demand to do what you say, not what you do. Instead, I have successfully quieted children with “You’re hurting my ears” and “I want to help you but I can’t understand what is wrong.” In the first, I was able to encourage my children’s empathy, and in the second, I was able to express my desire to help, if only they could express themselves so I could understand, showing my desire to help while giving the child a way to help themselves. Of course, it was never a simple statement. I had to exaggerate the pain caused by their screams, and I often had to help my children calm themselves, which I did my guiding them to breath deeply and to count to ten, etc. It required that I get close, touch them, and give them my undivided attention, but I had a lot less yelling and crying as a result. Most importantly, I developed their empathy and their thinking, and that was always my priority.
I’m going to have to develop this one a little at a time, I think, but our children need to know we’re there for them, and if we want them to become good, thoughtful people, we need to be good and thoughtful parents.
I was in the beginning of exploring how power and solidarity play out in face to face interactions when I became a parent, and this influenced my parenting enormously. And of course parenting has influenced my questions about power in relationships. The basic question about how authority and power affects psychological development is at the core of my intellectual quests, and it certainly has played a central role in my personal struggles, yet too much remains purely speculative and undone. Current political events have inspired me anew to consider the parallels between the microcosm of nuclear families and the macrocosm of political movements, but I’ll leave that mess for another day and stick with the relatively easy mess of parenting.
There are many opinions on parenting, and Diana Baumrind’s famous work on parenting styles is an excellent place to begin, in part because every child psychology book discusses it and partly because of its simplicity. There is an enormous body of research addressing Baumrind’s work, applying it to other areas such as teaching styles. A nice review of the work by Wentzel and Russel is available here: http://www.education.com/reference/article/parenting-styles1/. The basic idea is that there are two major dimensions in parenting: demandingness and responsiveness.
As parents, we almost all acknowledge the need to set rules and expectations for our children: This is demandingness. We demand the use of the toilet, the use of forks and spoons, no hitting, trying in school, and the completion of chores. These demands are our efforts to socialize our children and prepare them for the world.
Responsiveness is simply about how we respond to our children. Do we listen to what they say and care about they’re preferences and difficulties? Do we encourage them to speak up and participate in decision making? Do we look to them to decide how to respond? Or by contrast have we decided ahead of time how things will be without concern for our child’s preferences or unique abilities?
These two dimensions are a way of framing how we love our children, but not how much. I believe that the how and the how much are both very important, but I am reluctant to consider ways of measuring or qualifying the “how much.” We could consider selflessness or passion or even awe, but I see dangers in any effort to show that some parents love their children more than others, despite being certain it is true. The examination of how allows us to consider particular behaviors and their effects on children’s development. What can demandingness and responsiveness do for us in our quest to be the best parents we can be?
To begin, we might consider how they relate to different topics within parenting. How are topics like affection or spanking relevant? Affection is one way of being responsive, but if affection is given without attention to whether or not the child wants to be hugged, then it is the opposite of responsiveness, and clearly a parent can be responsive without being physically affectionate. Spanking (though I advise against it) could be used in both responsive and non-responsive ways, possibly explaining some of the mixed research results in regards to corporal punishment. So these dimensions do not suggest clearly which parenting behaviors are best but shifts the focus to how they are used. In short, it’s complicated (a statement that needs to be repeated often.
I have found the goal of being both demanding and responsive as a parent to be a great strategy for deciding on actions. I, however, am certain the concepts are limited as analytical categories because of the frequent differences between intentions and actions, actions and perceptions, and the importance of context. Our great parenting philosophies frequently don’t become realities for lots or reasons, despite our best efforts, and research frequently examines parenting styles by asking parents how they would behave, not how they do, or observing behaviors in when parents are never going to show the worst in front of an observer. Furthermore the ways our children perceive our actions are influenced unfortunately by far more than our actions. In the end, context is everything, and in future posts, I’ll discuss some contexts to elaborate on how these concepts can help think about them. (Suggest some also!)
For a general approach, the attempt to make demands that are responsive to the needs and individuality of our children works, but there is no magical way to divine their needs. Listening and watching and when appropriate asking is the only way forward, and it takes time and effort. A demand to do well in school should be different depending on a child’s experience of school. The demands to help around the house must depend on the child’s capacity to help. There is nothing particularly earth shattering about these ideas, but practice and thinking it through will lead to better relationships and happier children.
In the beginning, I wrote that I had been thinking about power and solidarity, which comes from work by Hodge and Kress, and to some degree these map onto demandingness and responsiveness, but they bring out different aspects of these dimensions. It is only from a position of power that demands can be made, and solidarity can be communicated by being responsive, but there is not a perfect correlation. The intersection of the two sets of concepts, therefore, provides a more nuanced understanding.
The connection of demands and power are the most important to explore, I think, because often parents make mistakes when they need to feel powerful. This is rarely malicious or uncaring because, at its root, we all need to feel effective, and when we feel like our parenting strategies are failing, we can get desperate and put our own needs ahead of our children’s needs. We then NEED compliance, but demanding this compliance only because we are the powerful ones can be psychologically damaging to children and damages our relationships. If a conflict becomes about power, then it has ceased to be about parenting. I believe it is a good lesson for children to see a parent say, I’m too upset to talk with you right now, but when I am calmer, we will talk (and then you need to have the talk). I recommend stepping back during moments of crisis and asking yourself, Do I believe this demand or punishment will help my child? If your actions are simply about affirming your authority, then you are abusing your authority. Your behavior is in effect weakening your authority. I’ll expand on this in future posts but want to finish sketching out the basics first.
Solidarity is a less immediately intuitive term than power, I think, but the idea is simple: When we communicate, we send messages about whether or not we are on the side of those we are talking with—whether or not we are in solidarity with them. The old idiom of “This will hurt me more than it hurts you” or “This is for your own good” are (lame) attempts at showing we’re really punishing you because we care about you and want what’s best for you rather than just being mean or authoritarian. Saying it in a convincing way is essential because our children need to know we’re on their side—fighting for them, not against them. Making it responsive to the child and to the situation is also going to be more convincing.
I want to try weaving these ideas—with the need for attachment always in the background—into the practicality of parenting because it really works. That will be the subject of many blog posts to come.
Before I can get back to writing this post, I must confront the reasons I paused in writing it—just after having begun it.
I always wanted to be a parent, but I was not so certain about being a wife. I’d never seen a marriage I wanted to be in, though recently I’ve seen some that are a little closer to my ideal. Therefore, I backed my way into marriage and tolerated 16 years of abuse with the growing fear that if I lost my temper, he really would kill me, the occasional violence that proved I was too weak to protect myself, and the insidiousness of the cycle of abuse that makes a person increasingly blame themselves while feeling they need the abuser ever more. I have been unable to confront what this cycling toward greater conflict did to my children or to me or how I allowed emotional abuse and neglect of my children. I’ve always known that conflict between parents was devastating to children because I grew up in a home with conflict, and of course theory recognizes the problems in multiple ways. The argument that yelling was bad for children, however, never seemed to have an impact on my husband, yet I believed I could slowly change him—the arrogance of being a psychologist and an optimist—and in the process, I failed my children.
The result is that my oldest child has had significant difficulties. Perhaps she always would have had some difficulty because of being “different,” but her childhood was never what I would have wanted. It’s hard to not feel like a failure as parent when so much has gone wrong. Feeling ashamed and embarrassed, how could I go on to advise other parents?
In general, it is a problem: There is little forgiveness for imperfect parents—most of all from ourselves. “Mom blaming” was perhaps started by the Freudians, and in reaction, some people misinterpret efforts to improve children’s lives with better parenting as an impossible pressure on parents. For instance, I greatly respect what Gabor Mate has to say, but I have been startled by how people can hear “mother blaming” when I hear “society blaming.” We do not have a society that supports families, and too often a parent gives way to the pressures of life and fails their children, but as Gabor Mate makes clear, it should never be up to one parent to assure that a child is getting what they need. It is society that is failing our children. It is society that leaves couples to work out their problems on their own—no matter how devastating the “conflicts” might be. Children really need more than two “parents,” which was much easier when extended families still lived together and when we did not all disappear into the privacy of our homes where anything could be happening.
I am not naïve enough to argue that small towns or communal settings are better, though, because too often the controlling aspects of these communities can be equally damaging. Nevertheless, it is clear to me that we need connections more than Western Society and Capitalism would have us believe. We need to do better.
I have always wanted a sense of being connected to many adults and a community for my children and myself, but I found myself increasingly isolated by circumstance and an abusive husband, always thinking that after this crisis or the next, life would get easier. In the last two years I’ve gone through many stages of grieving the loss of my illusions of having a loving marriage and perfect children, and I suffered more than I could have anticipated. It has taken far longer than I would have guessed to begin feeling like I’m coming out the other side of this storm. In this, I have caused my children additional problems as they’ve witnessed their mother’s melt down.
All of these experiences are life, though, and I will not be ashamed any more. The theories and research that I know strengthens my ability to support my family, helping me understand the good and the bad in all that has happened over the last 18 years (I did not fail my children in all ways!), and becomes more meaningful as I accept the mistakes I have made as a parent. We are all doing the best that we can, and we should strive to do even better without shame. My understanding of theory is helping me move forward to help my children become beautiful, kind, faithful, and intelligent adults, who will always know that life’s obstacles do not need to destroy them. And finally, I am forced to be humble and thus might avoid falling into the trap of arrogance that an education can bring someone.
All the knowledge we’ve created about being good parents is contradictory and overwhelming in its volume. Some theories have been proven wrong, but mostly they contradict. I’ve spent far too much time thinking about a lot of these issues, so I hope that sharing these thoughts will be helpful to someone else even as it helps me to work through the contradictions. There is no such thing as being a perfect parent or having an easy life, but we can use our minds to strive for something better and create new ways of parenting and of being family.
The theory that has influenced my parenting the most is Attachment Theory as developed by John Bowlby and Mary Ainsworth, and supplemented by a bunch of others. The book that influenced me most was written by Robert Karen, Becoming Attached: First Relationships and How They Shape Our Capacity to Love (1998). It is definitely worth the read for the details and so you can make up your own mind.
It convinced me that parents are vey important but that it’s sad that children had only two parents. In brief, an insecure attachment with the primary caregiver, who is traditionally the mother but could be the father, a grandmother, aunt, or nanny, can have irrevocable influence on children’s development. This one relationship influences all future relationships and has the power to give or permanently damage a child’s self-esteem. It’s harsh, but I am convinced.
You should be asking yourself why I’m convinced. It starts, for me, with Harry Harlow’s work with rhesus monkeys in which he found that baby monkeys, who have been removed from their mothers, care more for a wire shape covered in foam and cloth than a wire shape that gives milk. I find this to be powerful evidence that affection or love is in some ways more important than food—not for survival but for the fulfillment of psychological needs. Add to this that research with human children has found that death might be the result of having no affection (according to work by Rene Spitz as discussed in Karen, 1998) or may be linked to a range of other problems. Insecure attachments—those cases when for whatever reasons children do not show behaviors that indicate secure attachments—cause significant difficulties even in adulthood. A great deal of research supports this. We should not overreact because these problems are not one-sided, and we should be careful to NOT interpret this as saying mothers need to stay with their babies at all times . . .