Truth, lies, and trust
I think I've been pretty transparent about my parenting journey. How I started out being exceptionally consequence-based... and it working for our first five children... leading me to think I totally had this parenting gig figured out. And then we brought home our first child who had experienced a high degree of trauma and our world fell apart. That didn't stop me from trying all my best consequence-based parenting tricks, over and over and over, but they didn't work. It took me years to slowly realize that I needed to parent a completely different way.
In the process of figuring out what that was going to look like, very early on I remember watching a DVD made by Brian Post talking about lying. What I remember most was the story he told about Gandhi. Gandhi's son was late picking him up from the airport one time, but instead of telling the truth about why he was late, he lied. Eventually it came out that there was a real reason for the son's lateness. Upon learning this, Gandhi had his son stop the car and he got out, proceeding to walk the rest of the (long) way home. His explanation was that he had failed somewhere along the line that his son didn't trust him enough with the truth.
What stuck with me was the idea that telling the truth is based on trust. Trust that you are going to be okay if you are honest. Trust that the other person isn't going to flip their lid. Trust you are not going to get hurt. Trust that the other person will still love you. It is actually a very complicated thing once you stop and really think about the emotional transaction involved. It was the first real crack in my certainty that my previous way of parenting was the best.
I cannot tell you how many times I've written the words to struggling parents, "I'm sorry to have to say this, but I'm afraid that lying and stealing are some of the last hard behaviors to disappear as a child is healing from past hurts." Whatever the number is, it's a lot. I also know that this pair of behaviors are some that parents really, really struggle with. There are good reasons for being concerned about these behaviors, I know. I also know, though, that I blew them up and all out of proportion. I was focusing on the external behavior and not dealing with the root of the problem.
Simply, the root of the problem is trust. Does your child trust you enough to tell you the truth safely. Does your child trust you enough to provide for their needs? Does your child trust you enough to believe you have their best interests at heart? Does your child trust you enough when you say you love him to really believe this?
I back up and tell so much backstory before I come to the real point of my post because I want to be very clear that I don't always get this right. And there was a time when I never got it right. I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for the missed opportunities for showing my child grace and love and to build a little more trust into their lives. This is why it feels like such a victory when I do get it right, such as this afternoon.
A child came to me today to complain that some Pokemon cards were missing and that ---- had taken them. [I am going to try to write this as anonymously as possible to protect children's privacy.] This is not the first time we have dealt with this over any number of things.... small amounts of money, whatever the popular item du jour happens to be, sometimes it's just something silly. I will admit I am not always sure to handle it. I'll also admit that there are plenty of times I don't handle it well.
The aggrieved child was visibly upset and it made me realize that earlier I had seen the other child relishing the stack of Pokemon cards and telling me how much they were liked. I realized that there was a reason I had a vague feeling of surprise over the number in the stack. I was making instant oatmeal, so it seemed like a good time to tackle the issue. I could keep working while we chatted, taking a little of the emotional edge off. I call the child in question over, and ask, "Hey, I remember those Pokemon cards you showed me earlier. Where'd you happen to get them all? I didn't realized you had so many." Said in as conversational a tone as I could manage.
Silence. Followed by some feet shuffling and nail picking.
I let the silence sit there while I continue with the oatmeal. I finally asked if that seemed like a difficult question to answer. More silence and feet shuffling with perhaps a shrug thrown in for good measure. I knew the child in question was waiting for the discussion about not taking other people's things. Since I've tried that before, I knew that while it feels as though I've ticked a parenting box, it also never feels as though we've gotten to the real heart of the matter. Because we were dealing with honesty issues, I had been pondering the Gandhi story as I cooked, which influenced my next statement.
" ----, I am so very sorry that you don't trust me enough to tell me what you would like and that you feel as though you have to get it for yourself. I love you and want to give you good things," I said, stopping my cooking and turning towards the child. I wasn't sure what to expect from flipping our usual script, but I'm not sure it is what I got. I look and discover the child in question is standing there, quietly sobbing, with huge tears pouring down cheeks.
I held the child in my arms until the tears abated. We spoke some more about the incident. How if I knew that Pokemon cards were so desired, I would be sure to get some for this child. How I cannot read minds to know what is desired. How badly someone feels when something important is taken from them. Etc., etc., etc.
The end result? The Pokemon cards were returned. The children with extra Pokemon cards all chipped in to give the child desirous of cards some of the coveted item. And on my way home from Bible study tonight, I stopped and bought a bunch of Pokemon cards. (Why... why... why are little bits of cardboard so expensive?!) The child was thrilled to open them up and look at them.
So yes, in a sense, I rewarded the child who stole from a sibling with what was desired. Yes, it seems backwards. But really what I did was to take advantage of an opportunity to shower extravagant grace and love upon a child who still so desperately needs to tangibly feel those things. They weren't earned. They weren't deserved. And as a result the feelings of love and value were so much sweeter.
In the process of figuring out what that was going to look like, very early on I remember watching a DVD made by Brian Post talking about lying. What I remember most was the story he told about Gandhi. Gandhi's son was late picking him up from the airport one time, but instead of telling the truth about why he was late, he lied. Eventually it came out that there was a real reason for the son's lateness. Upon learning this, Gandhi had his son stop the car and he got out, proceeding to walk the rest of the (long) way home. His explanation was that he had failed somewhere along the line that his son didn't trust him enough with the truth.
What stuck with me was the idea that telling the truth is based on trust. Trust that you are going to be okay if you are honest. Trust that the other person isn't going to flip their lid. Trust you are not going to get hurt. Trust that the other person will still love you. It is actually a very complicated thing once you stop and really think about the emotional transaction involved. It was the first real crack in my certainty that my previous way of parenting was the best.
I cannot tell you how many times I've written the words to struggling parents, "I'm sorry to have to say this, but I'm afraid that lying and stealing are some of the last hard behaviors to disappear as a child is healing from past hurts." Whatever the number is, it's a lot. I also know that this pair of behaviors are some that parents really, really struggle with. There are good reasons for being concerned about these behaviors, I know. I also know, though, that I blew them up and all out of proportion. I was focusing on the external behavior and not dealing with the root of the problem.
Simply, the root of the problem is trust. Does your child trust you enough to tell you the truth safely. Does your child trust you enough to provide for their needs? Does your child trust you enough to believe you have their best interests at heart? Does your child trust you enough when you say you love him to really believe this?
I back up and tell so much backstory before I come to the real point of my post because I want to be very clear that I don't always get this right. And there was a time when I never got it right. I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for the missed opportunities for showing my child grace and love and to build a little more trust into their lives. This is why it feels like such a victory when I do get it right, such as this afternoon.
A child came to me today to complain that some Pokemon cards were missing and that ---- had taken them. [I am going to try to write this as anonymously as possible to protect children's privacy.] This is not the first time we have dealt with this over any number of things.... small amounts of money, whatever the popular item du jour happens to be, sometimes it's just something silly. I will admit I am not always sure to handle it. I'll also admit that there are plenty of times I don't handle it well.
The aggrieved child was visibly upset and it made me realize that earlier I had seen the other child relishing the stack of Pokemon cards and telling me how much they were liked. I realized that there was a reason I had a vague feeling of surprise over the number in the stack. I was making instant oatmeal, so it seemed like a good time to tackle the issue. I could keep working while we chatted, taking a little of the emotional edge off. I call the child in question over, and ask, "Hey, I remember those Pokemon cards you showed me earlier. Where'd you happen to get them all? I didn't realized you had so many." Said in as conversational a tone as I could manage.
Silence. Followed by some feet shuffling and nail picking.
I let the silence sit there while I continue with the oatmeal. I finally asked if that seemed like a difficult question to answer. More silence and feet shuffling with perhaps a shrug thrown in for good measure. I knew the child in question was waiting for the discussion about not taking other people's things. Since I've tried that before, I knew that while it feels as though I've ticked a parenting box, it also never feels as though we've gotten to the real heart of the matter. Because we were dealing with honesty issues, I had been pondering the Gandhi story as I cooked, which influenced my next statement.
" ----, I am so very sorry that you don't trust me enough to tell me what you would like and that you feel as though you have to get it for yourself. I love you and want to give you good things," I said, stopping my cooking and turning towards the child. I wasn't sure what to expect from flipping our usual script, but I'm not sure it is what I got. I look and discover the child in question is standing there, quietly sobbing, with huge tears pouring down cheeks.
I held the child in my arms until the tears abated. We spoke some more about the incident. How if I knew that Pokemon cards were so desired, I would be sure to get some for this child. How I cannot read minds to know what is desired. How badly someone feels when something important is taken from them. Etc., etc., etc.
The end result? The Pokemon cards were returned. The children with extra Pokemon cards all chipped in to give the child desirous of cards some of the coveted item. And on my way home from Bible study tonight, I stopped and bought a bunch of Pokemon cards. (Why... why... why are little bits of cardboard so expensive?!) The child was thrilled to open them up and look at them.
So yes, in a sense, I rewarded the child who stole from a sibling with what was desired. Yes, it seems backwards. But really what I did was to take advantage of an opportunity to shower extravagant grace and love upon a child who still so desperately needs to tangibly feel those things. They weren't earned. They weren't deserved. And as a result the feelings of love and value were so much sweeter.
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