Musings - Part 2

How Couples Counseling Can Strengthen Your Relationship

December 4, 2014 By: babyproofedparents1 Comment

One of our beliefs at Baby Proofed Parents is that a strong relationship makes a strong parent. We encourage couples to take an inventory of their partnership when expecting a child, and identify any communication difficulties or sources of conflict that could use some attention. If they have concerns, we urge them to seek out counseling because bringing a baby into the world tends to amplify marital issues rather than quell them.

That is when we hear the excuses: It costs too much. It won’t help. It takes too much time. It will be too hard.

Our friend and colleague, Louis Laves-Webb, LCSW, LPC put together a super informative graphic that dispels the common myths about couples counseling. If you have major concerns about your relationship, pre- or post-baby, this chart explains all of the ways that therapy might benefit you and your partnership:

Thanks for sharing this with us Louis! Feel free to connect with Louis or our professional counseling services if you have questions or want to move forward with scheduling couples therapy. ♥

Pregnancy and Parenthood – More Alike Than Different :: Monday Musing

November 24, 2014 By: babyproofedparents1 Comment

Experiences in the baby and parenting world are often broken down into prenatal and postpartum. Before baby and after baby. With all of the emphasis on these two states of being, you would think that a new chronological era begins after the birth of your little one. This can feel daunting. The truth is that there are numerous parallels between pregnancy and parenting. I’m going to argue that the prenatal challenges you endure actually prepare your body and mind to raise a little person. Here’s how:

Ten Trillion Decisions: The second that you and your partner see the positive pregnancy test, the joint decisions begin. Hospital or home-birth? Doctor, midwife and/or doula? What baby items do you register for? And on and on… When baby arrives, the choices don’t end, but you’ve had nine months of practicing effective decision-making with your partner. Bring on the the options, you are ready to make whatever decision comes your way.

Reminder: Take one decision at a time. Don’t feel like you have to figure out everything at once. Decisions about sleep-training, discipline styles and day-care can wait! Gather the information, weigh out your options with your partner and make a choice that feels right to both of you. Most of the time, you can change your mind and adjust as you go.

Physical Strains and Discomfort: Everyone knows about the physical effects of pregnancy: morning sickness, heart burn, sleep disturbances. Even dads-to-be often report vicarious symptoms. When you become a new parent and recover from the birth, most of the physical ailments disappear completely. Well… the nipples of breastfeeding moms take a little bit of a beating. And of course sleeping conditions do not improve for awhile. A long while. Fortunately your body is not completely caught off guard by these conditions. You’ve endured a lot. You can cope with these challenges as well, we promise you.

Reminder: Self-care is essential for expectant and new parents. You are going through a lot, but if you take the time to rest when you can and reach out for help when needed, your body will not disappoint you and will rise to the occasion. Just wait, watch and be amazed…

Emotional Highs and Lows: Pregnancy brings with it a tsunami of hormones and emotions. Most women find that they cry more than ever and experience a wild swing in how they’re feeling from moment to moment. Expectant dads are not immune to the roller coaster either. Parenthood brings more feelings with it. Add sleep-deprivation and the vulnerability that comes a long with a new baby into the mix, and the emotions run rampant. You might find yourself feeling both ecstatic and exasperated, all at once.

Reminder: If you’ve been a person who has always tucked your feelings in tight, the roller coaster of emotions might feel overwhelming. See this as an opportunity to let down your walls and release your inner drama queen. Emotions are healthy and normal and you are about to experience a lot of them. Releasing and expressing your feelings will help you to be a better parent. Of course, as we’ve said many times before, if your emotions seem insurmountable it might be time to reach out to your doctor or a trained counselor and get some help. Please don’t hesitate if this is the case.

Breathe and Let Go: If you pop in on a childbirth class, you’ll hear a lot about deep-breathing, staying focused, thinking positively and relaxing. If you can remember to use these skills and techniques, they’ll help you through your labor and delivery. What the childbirth instructor often forgets to mention is that these same skills will be handy for the next 18 years! Parenting can be a wild ride – remembering to inhale, smile and relax will help you to weather the many challenges that come your way.

Reminder: Even if you learn and practice these relaxation skills, you might forget to use them when you need them the most. This is when your parenting partnership will come in handy. When you see your partner feeling overwhelmed, give them a hug, remind them to breathe, share a few encouraging words and offer to take over for a while. You two have practiced some serious skills – you can do this.

Pregnancy and parenthood are two parts of one amazing journey. If you and your partner have tackled a pregnancy together, you will already have many of the skills you need to raise a child. Pull from the strength and knowledge you have already gained and get ready to rock as a parent. We know you will be amazing.

Here’s to Strength and Similarities,

Kirsten

My Children Come First :: Monday Musing

November 10, 2014 By: babyproofedparents2 Comments

My memory holds a snapshot, rock-bottom moment from my daughter’s bout with colic. I was emotionally, mentally and physically exhausted. I’d isolated myself, even pushing her father, J away. I felt I was the only one who could comfort her, even though I often couldn’t, because, well, she had colic. I stood there holding her, swaying as she howled, no breast-milk left, no known options left. Finally, I too began sobbing, thinking, “I’ve got nothing.” And it was true. I had reached an end. Facing this reality was in direct opposition to what I thought was THE reality, that as a mother I would possess an endless, cosmic supply of love and nurturing, and everything would be always be okay.

Most women are socialized to nurture, learning at a very early age to smile, be sweet, be “good girls,” and put the needs of others first even when said others are being a-holes. This naturally carries over into mothering, as we pressure ourselves to be boundless sources of comfort, milk and serenity. Many fathers and parenting partners also feel intense pressure to protect their growing families, and put aside personal needs to keep pace with the rapidly changing needs of both mother and baby. This pressure can overwhelm partners to the point of withdrawal and emotional shut-down.

Imagine a grocery store line. A well-groomed parent pushes a cart containing a sweet newborn asleep in her car seat, surrounded by organic food. If this parent says out loud, “My children come first,” most people will nod their heads in approval. Now imagine the same parent with spit-up all over her, holding a screaming newborn in one arm while pushing a cart containing an empty car seat and a maxi-pad-throwing toddler. This parent will likely feel too overwhelmed to say anything out loud, and will receive silent judgment from at least a few around her. That’s the rub. We feel pressure to have it all together, but to have even an illusion of control, we have to take care of ourselves.

Self-care. To many, this concept feels foreign and selfish, but let me be a voice, among the others I hope are around you, to argue vehemently for it. Give yourself permission to put your physical and emotional needs at least on the same page as your baby’s needs. You can and will run out of resources if you don’t also parent and take care of yourself. In the early days with a newborn, sometimes self-care is brushing your teeth, once, while the baby cries and cries. Sometimes it’s stepping outside your front door for one minute and taking in a big gulp of fresh air, once, while the baby cries and cries. Take any resulting feelings of guilt or selfishness as positive signs of the soreness accompanying your internal growth. Trust that the end result will be a more grounded version of you, capable of nurturing your baby and partner from a surplus of actual strength, instead of a pseudo-supply based on the obscene pressure we place on ourselves and receive from society.

My self-care story might repulse you, make you smile knowingly, or both. The night after I’d reached my limit, we decided to reclaim a moment of “normalcy.” Our daughter, inexplicably, occasionally relaxed when lying on her changing table in our bathroom. I sat on the lid of the toilet, with J facing me on a chair, knees squished together, plates of food on our laps. Baby girl was next to us, in her zen space, calmly staring at the ceiling and listening to us laugh at how disgustingly beautiful the moment was. Our first family dinner, and the beginning of my fight to factor myself in again.

BPP Sanity Savers:

Remember that self-care is the pre-requisite to your sustained ability to care for anyone else.
Notice and push through any guilty feelings that keep you from factoring in your personal needs. Talk to a therapist or other supportive parents if you feel stuck.
Talk with your parenting partner about ways you can generously support each other with your self-care efforts.

Here’s to Sanity and Self-Care,

Cheryl

Why Am I Crying? :: Monday Musing

October 28, 2014 By: babyproofedparents6 Comments

A few days ago, I opened up one of those “iPhone auto-correct text mishaps” posts on the Internet, and within seconds, I was laughing so hard, I had tears running down my face. Real, wet-my-cheeks tears. This sensation of crying – without understanding what the heck I was crying about – immediately brought me back to my days of pregnancy and new motherhood. Looking back, I probably could have filled a salt-water aquarium with all of the prenatal and postpartum tears I shed.

Prior to having pregnancy hormones coursing through my body, I rarely cried in front of others. I actually took pride in the fact that I maintained a rather poker-faced exterior. My husband affectionately nicknamed me the Ice Princess (this was pre-Elsa, mind you) because the saddest, most sentimental movie couldn’t get me to tear up. The Notebook had nothing on me. I maintained this silly determination to stay dry-eyed.

All bets were off after I became pregnant. You only had to give me a sappy American Idol episode, a baby food commercial, or a mention of pregnancy from a passing stranger and I was immediately boo-hooing. When my baby arrived, the crying increased. I experienced tears of astonishment and joy as I stared at the amazing little creature in my arms. Tears over how damn hard a natural thing like breastfeeding seemed to be. Tears because I was sleep-deprived and, let’s face it, a little delirious. Happy and sad and exhausted tears. Not to mention the tears frequently coming from my newborn’s little eyes. We went from a quiet, stoic house to a home of sniffles and Kleenex.

So what was all this crying about? It turns out that the extremely small, almond-sized hypothalamus, which is at the core of our reptilian brain, can’t really tell the difference between being happy, sad, overwhelmed or stressed. It just knows when it is getting a strong, emotional signal and in turn, triggers our parasympathetic system, which then triggers our tear ducts. If you think about the times when you are crying, it is usually when you are having an overwhelmingly strong emotion. The tears almost act as an overflow valve, releasing some of your emotional tension and allowing your body to rest and reset. Add hormones and sleep-deprivation to already intense emotions, and the flood gates are open for business.

From a psychological and social perspective, the researcher, Dr. Oren Hasson argues that the act of crying demonstrates vulnerability. It helps people to trust and feel sympathy for you. Crying also communicates that you crave attachment. Hmmm…. I think he just perfectly described the needs of new parents and babies, don’t you?

For me, becoming a parent kicked my parasympathetic system into high gear… and it never turned off. Despite my pregnancy hormones being long gone and my kids growing older, I am still easily brought to tears, and I don’t try to hide them now. Vulnerability is currently my middle name. Our children get to cry openly and loudly. We should allow ourselves to let it go as well, whether we are laughing hysterically, feeling deeply touched or just plain sad. Crying is innately human and nothing to be ashamed of. When you are an expectant or new parent you might find yourself doing a lot of it. Just think of it as a pressure valve that is allowing you to release some steam and heaviness, calm your body and then move forward.

If you’re looking for a release right now, check out that humor post I was talking about, 35 of the Most Concerning Auto-Correct Fails of All Time. Be Warned: May contain 7th-grade-boy-level laughs, profanity, and just possibly, a few tears.

Here’s to Sanity and Kleenex,

Kirsten

Can I Do This? Facing Parenting Inadequacy Anxiety :: Monday Musing

October 13, 2014 By: babyproofedparents4 Comments

Kirsten’s awesome anxiety tip made a visual pop into my head: a big deck of gross cards, representing the multiple anxieties I had/have about motherhood. It took me a long time to connect with any sort of desire to have children, and when that drive finally became strong enough to push me through the intense fears that had repressed it, I struggled with infertility for over a year before getting pregnant. I had a little time to stack quite a few things to worry about. One of the biggest was in the form of a loaded question: Will I Suck as a Mom?

Most women I’m close with are naturally maternal, and always have been. Genetic’s tendency to skip certain people when handing out qualities, combined with the specifics of my childhood rendered me not naturally maternal. Growing up, my friends sweetly swaddled, fed and held their baby dolls, while mine dressed provocatively, drove around in my shoes (excellent barbie cars on a budget) and reenacted screaming matches between Erica and Palmer from “All My Children.” While I was still light years from wanting a baby, 7 of my close friends got pregnant within a year of each other. I watched each of their journeys, and the beautiful ways they stayed anchored to their natural maternal instincts through all of the struggles they experienced. I scanned myself for such an anchor, and felt lost.

It gets even more messed up. Anxiety has a way of dipping into your past and finding memories/connections to build its strength. It’s as if the anxiety tries to build a “factual” case to support and inflate itself. In third grade science, we had a classroom pet hamster who was pregnant. Our teacher suggested we have a prize drawing for which lucky students would get to take home the babies when they were old enough to become pets. This beautiful lesson on the magic of reproductivity went very wrong, when we arrived at school one morning greeted with the news that the night before, the mother hamster had given birth, and had then eaten her babies. “This is just what happens in the animal kingdom sometimes,” my distraught teacher explained to our open-mouthed, shocked faces.

To be clear – I wasn’t afraid I would eat my babies. But this harrowing memory linked up and added some emotional intensity to my very real fears about motherhood: that I would repeat painful patterns from my childhood with my own children, that I would not be naturally maternally strong enough to get through all of the transitions of parenting, that I wouldn’t be able to bond properly, that I just wouldn’t love them enough.

It took time for everything to warm up in me. I had to have help. I had to be honest with myself and with people close to me. I had to act “as if” I was naturally maternal, until I became naturally maternal. Holy crap, I love these kids. So much that it’s sometimes direct sunlight painful to look at them. I have fear to thank for that.

Ahhhh, anxiety. Our constant, faceted companion. I have learned to appreciate one thing about it. It forces awareness. We all have blind spots, which make us human, and sometimes unexpectedly surface and face-plant trip us. Anxiety has a way of pulling things out of blindness, flooding them with light, sound and imagery. In this way, it preempts and dramatically reduces the risk that you’ll actually make the mistakes you fear. The trick is to then turn down the volume on your fears so you can focus on what’s in front of you, and avoid overcorrecting. Although with love, maybe overcorrecting is kind of okay.

Here’s to Sanity and Hamsters,

Cheryl

A Crack In My Armor :: Monday Musing

September 29, 2014 By: babyproofedparents2 Comments

You’re a real trooper.

I love receiving that compliment and I’m known to frequently dole it out myself.

Other versions of it go something like this: You’re a hoss. You’re super tough. You roll with the punches and keep on rolling.

When I hear these affirmations, I envision a thick-skinned warrior woman, covered in armor. No obstacle can get in her way. She is invincible.

My first pregnancy set me up to achieve full “trooper” status. Aside from experiencing some morning sickness and heartburn, the nine months flew by without incident and ended in a birth that went miraculously as planned. Morphing into a new mom wasn’t quite as seamless, but after I figured out breastfeeding and sleeping, I shifted things into cruise control and focused on falling in love with my new little guy. And fall in love I did.

I’ve got this pregnancy and motherhood thing down, I thought. I’m a real trooper.

When I became pregnant with Baby #2, small cracks began appearing in my armor. This time the path to parenthood wasn’t so smooth. The pregnancy was stressful – a diagnosis of placenta previa, three deaths in our extended family and a little toddler with sensory issues who wanted to prove that the Two’s really are Terrible. When the due date came and went – and then went a little further – our doctor made the decision to induce. My water was broken, the pitocin was pumped into me and that sweet little baby practically rocketed out of my body. I was left feeling drained and wary, unsure if I was ready to care for two babies under the same roof.

As I’ve written before, our challenges did not end there. Our two-week-old baby boy was diagnosed with a medical condition that sent us back to the hospital for observation and surgery. Ten days later, my little newborn and I received the great news that we could return home. But honestly, there was a part of me that didn’t want to leave the hospital, a part that was scared to manage my sickly newborn and testy toddler on my own.

I wanted to be a trooper. I wanted to roll with the punches and keep on smiling. Looking back, I was terribly depressed and not coping very well. I cried a lot during the first few months of being a mother of two. When my husband would come home after a 12-hour work shift, he often found me standing in the driveway, shoulders slumped, desperate for relief. Occasionally, while sitting on a girlfriend’s couch or hovering on a phone call, I would let my guard down and let the tears flow. Most of the time, I tucked my emotions in close and put on an act that I had everything under control. Put on an act that I wasn’t struggling with postpartum depression.

If I could hop in a time machine and go back to that year, I would sit myself down and have a stern talk. “Listen here girlfriend, you don’t have to be so strong. And you definitely don’t have to do this all on your own. Now is not the time to be a trooper and to maintain an illusion of perfection. Now is the time to reach out for help and say, THIS IS HARD, damn it.”

“And let me tell you something else,” I would add before jumping back in the time machine with a flourish. “It won’t always be this hard. Bit by bit, it will get easier and you’ll get your snap back. You’ll go back to work. You’ll go out on the town. You’ll even co-create a super cool blog (wink, wink). But right now, it is hard. So let’s take off the Wonder Woman costume and call in the troops. That’s an order!”

And back to the future, I would zoom.

The saying goes that “the shoemaker’s son has no shoes.” Well in my case, the counselor didn’t get counseling. If I had to do it again, I would pile on the help and support so high, I would be drowning in it.

Being a trooper is an admirable thing, but being a new parent who acknowledges when she or he is struggling and seeks help is even more admirable. When you have a new baby, there is no better time to give your armor, your shields and your weapons a rest and call in reinforcement. Let others hold down the fort and sometimes hold the baby. Let others prepare the meals and maybe wash the dishes. Let others care for you so that you can care for your kids. I definitely wish I had.

Here’s to Sanity and Time Machines,

Kirsten

Losing The Weight of Toxic Secrets :: Monday Musing

September 15, 2014 By: babyproofedparents2 Comments

We’ve all got secrets, and the varieties are endless:

Things we carry for others.
Things we’ve done that we wish we could undo.
Things we’re doing we wish we could stop.
Things others have done to us.

Our motivations for keeping secrets vary too:

Risk to ourselves: career loss, relationship loss, reputation damage.
More risk to ourselves: we’ve been physically or emotionally blackmailed into hiding the truth.
Risk to others: knowing the truth would hurt them emotionally or physically.
More risk to others: the truth would damage their reputations, relationships or status in their families.

Before having my babies, I once carried a secret for 2 years. I was certain if I revealed what I’d done, it would damage every aspect of my life. In the name of protecting myself and people I cared deeply about, I swallowed it and convinced myself I’d never tell. The sensations I experienced physically and emotionally are as empathically close as I’ve come to what cancer might feel like. It was devouring me. I started having dizzy spells, the worst of which made me miss the toilet and land on my ass in a public restroom – quite the reflection of my mental and emotional state. I had backed myself into a corner – to tell felt supremely scary and selfish, but to not tell was putting me in peril. In his book Family Secrets, John Bradshaw writes, “…there is a risk in disclosing [secrets]. But to do nothing is also to take a risk.”

All secrets are baggage. Some aren’t that heavy. We carry them like fanny packs (so stylish!), and they don’t seem to get in the way. Others flux – sometimes they feel light, but sometimes, when we really think about them, they weigh a Samsonite ton. The worst are the kind that wake you up at night, sit like a cinder block on your chest, cut off your air supply and separate you from people and things you love.

Nesting is a huge part of preparing for a new baby. Expectant parents clean, paint, purge and purchase in an effort to make their physical spaces perfect. But what about emotional preparation? Looking back, I can’t fathom how I would have survived the first years of my kids’ lives if I’d also been trying to hide. You are about to turn your body and your life inside out, and the less baggage you carry on the way in, the more agile you’ll be. Scan yourself for things you’ve buried too long. If you don’t have a close friend or family member to trust, a good therapist can be your vault, carrying the burden alongside you while you figure out what to do with it. The relief that comes with telling can render you stronger than you could have imagined.

Here’s To Sanity and Freedom,

Cheryl

Picture Imperfect – A Mother’s Social Media Outtakes:: Monday Musing

September 1, 2014 By: babyproofedparents7 Comments

Facebook and I have a love/hate relationship with each other. I love that I can now recognize the sweet faces of extended family when they pick me up at airports across the ocean. We don’t have to start from scratch when catching each other up on years of news. I also love coming across an article or a post that makes me think so hard my brain hurts. And there’s that handful of FB friends who really should have considered stand-up comedy, because their daily descriptions of the most mundane activities make me laugh so whole-heartedly, they test my bladder control.

What do I hate about Facebook? That a typical scroll through my news feed leaves me feeling left out and inferior. I can’t speak for your home page, but on mine, everyone appears to be more involved, more attractive, more fulfilled and more successful in whatever endeavor they happen to be doing at the time. FB feels like the Land of the Mores and I’m hanging out in the Village of Less Than. My friends and counseling clients report similar feelings, so much so that I have begun quietly lobbying for a new therapeutic diagnosis: Social Media Syndrome – when your Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest accounts make you feel like crap. (You’ll notice that I left out Twitter, because people who tweet tend to tell you when they are having a rotten day, therefore making you feel more mainstream.)

I came across a quote recently that summed up my Facebook experience:

The reason we struggle with insecurity is because we compare our behind-the-scenes with everyone else’s highlight reel. — Steven Furtick

Amen, Steven. Facebook is not known for being a place of transparency and rawness. It’s more akin to a polished online scrapbook in which people showcase their best photos and their best days, with witty captions attached. It used to be the magazines and movies that made us feel like we had to live up to a certain ideal. Now, it is frequently our own peer group. While sitting in our toy-filled, chaotic houses, many of us parents compulsively view our friends’ sanitized, customized, Instagram-ed greatest hits. It’s like daily torture for the psyche.

You would think with all of my whining, that I would have kicked Facebook to the curb. I haven’t. If I’m being honest, I enjoy editing and presenting my own carefully crafted highlight reel. It’s a little bit art form, a little bit news sharing, and a lot of trying to score as many “likes” as possible. Alas, I’m no better than the rest of ’em. Here’s an example of a pic that made my FB cut a few years ago:

The caption next to this photo read: Sunday brunch with my boys. After posting it, I got a gazillion “likes” and a whole stream of sweet comments, including “Gorgeous family!” “ Do you ever change?” “Cute boys.”

Now let me give you this photo’s must-have-happened back-story. My husband must have been home that morning which allowed me to actually take a shower, in peace. I’m wearing a dress, which means hubby gave me a few extra minutes to shave my legs. My hair is brushed and not pulled pack in a rubber band; apparently no one threw a tantrum or needed a time-out before I finished with the hair dryer. A Curious George episode might have been involved. Everyone appears to have slept through the night – my face doesn’t look gaunt or puffy. The photo was snapped right after we arrived at the venue because my sons’ outfits (Hello – what was I thinking with the white shirt??) are spotless. (I can guarantee you that a few minutes later, that white shirt was adorned with some large, ketchup-colored stain.) One of the boys is smiling. He must have been excited about the dessert he was about to get. The other boy isn’t smiling, but hey, he isn’t crying, yelling, hitting or running. Score!! Take the photo, quick!!

Aaaand, we captured the perfect moment.

Most of our moments are not perfect. In fact, they are far from perfect. Since we’re being real here, I’ll share some parenting pics that didn’t make it to Facebook. And for good measure, I’ll attach the captions that could have been:

I just squeezed out a gigantic, screaming infant and I’m exhausted, but isn’t he gorgeous?

Yes, my nostrils, eyes and hair are fun to stick fingers in. All of the time. Said no mom ever.

You are a man-child and you really want me to hold you? Ok, c’mon up baby.

Is his life jacket suffocating him? Is he too hot? Can my worry lines get any more creased?

Stick a fork in me, I’m done. Kids are finally in bed. Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me. Don’t even come close enough to focus that camera. Just. Don’t.

Yes, we’re doing bath time, for the 245th time this year. Need anything?

This is my favorite, clearly taken by a four year old. I call it, “A Typical Day in the Life”, complete with teething baby, glasses, sweats, folded laundry, stacking cups and…mess.

So there you have it, my behind-the-scenes. They’re not pretty, they’re not shiny and they didn’t make the Facebook cut. But they are real and authentic, and they’re my life.

When my clients complain about the insecurities that social and mainstream media trigger for them, I encourage them to envision the back-stories. For every perfect photo, there are ten outtakes that were not so perfect. Even actress Olivia Wilde admitted that her infant son peed all over her couture dress during her latest breast-feeding photo-shoot for Glamour. After being a therapist for many years, and having hundreds, maybe thousands of clients sit on my couch, I’ve observed that everyone has their pee-accidents, their gunk and their bad days. Everyone. Sometimes the folks that look the shiniest and most polished on the outside are the messiest on the inside.

Ten years ago we admired our friends’ scrap books and special photo albums once a year, if that. Now we look at them every hour. Limit your usage and take breaks from social media when needed. Or get off of Facebook and social networks all together if they are bringing you down. That will give you more time to enjoy your own messy outtakes and unique lifetime movie. It might not be perfect, but it’s all yours. And that equals perfection in my book.

Here’s to sanity and pee-soaked couture,

Kirsten

Yes, that is a posed, Photoshopped head-shot pictured above. (Part of my highlights reel, for sure.)

And now that I have completely bashed social media, here is your opportunity to share. ; )

Emotionally Constipated? Repression’s Impact On Parenting :: Monday Musing

August 18, 2014 By: babyproofedparents6 Comments

I know the movie “Frozen” has created a somewhat disturbing obsession, but bear with me. I resisted it for a long time, but when a blue-eyed five-year-old is begging you…. Luckily, she was on my lap and couldn’t see my intense emotional reactions. Contorted face, holding back big sobs. Seeing a female character, a cartoon at that, struggling to allow herself to feel anything other than fear or shame was so refreshingly painful. “Conceal, don’t feel.” Oh, Elsa. I get you. There’s been progress, but emotions still seem divided along gender lines. Most men feel they are only allowed to express anger, holding all else inside. Women are often viewed as emotional, irrational and in need of containment, and if they express anger, it’s a problem.

My parents were raised in the post-depression era, in very sparse conditions. Their families were too busy surviving to discuss or express feelings. I grew up watching my mother choke back hard-earned tears, steeling her jaw and optimistic resolve against any emotions that seemed messy or useless. Add to that thrice weekly trips to our church, where flawless, “I’m Okay, You’re Okay” appearances were key. I internalized this message: expressing or even feeling emotion is not allowed, and it will hurt those around you. This internalized message has definitely NOT served me well.

My therapist explained it like this: when painful or exciting things happen, your humanity naturally burns with anger or or sadness or joy. Feelings well up like a wave, and in emotionally healthy people, that wave rolls through and resolves. Naturally. In people who repress, the wave crashes against a wall of shame, which tells them it’s not okay to feel or express the feelings. The feeling wave churns there in a circle against the shame wall. The wave can’t complete, so it just stays, and stays, and stays. The water stagnates, turns into depression and/or anxiety, and can lead to numbing addictions and NOT being down with O.P.E. (Other Peoples’ Emotion). The worst part is that people who repress often have no idea they’re doing it.

Pregnancy and birth shattered my repression tendencies. I was six months pregnant, and about to celebrate my birthday at a favorite coffee shop. My sweet friend Val was driving us, and she accidentally closed the car door on my fingers. It hurt, but not THAT bad. The little bit of physical pain made something break inside me, releasing a ton of pent up feeling. I could NOT stop crying. Beautifully empathic Val started crying too, and it took everything I had to pull it together in time for my little party. Arriving puffy eyed and mascara streaked, I was on the verge of tears the entire day.

“Fear? Grief? Pain? Chaos? With THIS awesome dress and precision haircut? I think not…”

Then came birth. When my first contraction hit, it felt like this: “WWWWHHHHAAAAMMMMMMM!!!!!” My repression brain kicked into gear and said, “Oh dear. That smarts just a bit. Well, this must just be how these things go. Nothing to fret about.” This denial was the frame from which I called my midwife. In a breezy tone, I announced that I’d begun labor. She told me I’d be in this stage for a long time, and suggested that I try to get some sleep. 2 hours and 45 minutes later, my daughter completed her precipitous swan dive through my body (as I screamed, literally running in circles from the pain like the Tasmanian Devil). She landed safely in my midwife’s hands, who had arrived just 4 minutes prior. This event force-opened my eyes wide to the impact denial and repression can have on parenting. My unhealthy ability to repress my feelings, intuition and physical sensations could have put both me and my baby in danger.

I have worked hard to overcome repression. I tell myself it’s okay to feel my feelings and make space for them, even when they can’t come. I fight my hard-wired reflex to say to others, “Stop feeling so much. Because it makes me so uncomfortable. Because I am so uncomfortable with my own feelings.”

I sit in sessions, awe-struck by clients who let go with me, crying or yelling or seething with jealousy. I feel intense gratitude for the trust and vulnerability they give me. My son unleashes when he’s angry or sad or hurt, howling like an animal. I scoop him up and hold him close. My daughter hides when she’s upset. I respect her space, but go just to the edge of it to remind her she’s not alone. I squeeze her tight when she’s ready to reconnect. I want my clients to feel safe with me. I want my kids to feel safe with me. I want my friends to feel safe with me. I want to feel safe.

To feel is to be real. See what happens.

Cheryl

Featured photo copyright: bowie15 / 123RF Stock Photo

Free-Range Helicopter :: Monday Musing

August 7, 2014 By: babyproofedparentscomment

Wander over to the parenting section of a bookstore, and you’ll find shelves crammed with various child-rearing philosophies: Attachment Parenting, Slow Parenting, Tiger Parenting. Everyone has advice to give and they often seem to contradict each other. You’re not alone if you find this to be overwhelming. Occasionally I’ll find a gem of a book or a website and commit to doing things differently. For the most part, I’ve learned to avoid that section of the book store all together. I find that the best advice comes from my friends who are in the trenches with me.

The parenting style that has been getting the most negative press these days is Helicopter Parenting. You’ve heard about it, the tendency of modern day moms and dads to hover over their children continually, preventing them from taking risks and making their own choices or failing. The critics argue that our generation is raising kids who lack independence and initiative. Little robotic clones who only move with direction and never learn their own limits. I see evidence of these claims in my therapy practice. I often work with young people who struggle to apply for jobs, cope with stress, or make major life decisions on their own.

The push-back to the hovering helicopter is another buzz-worthy term, Free-Range Parenting. Just like chickens, the free-range proponents encourage parents to unleash their children and let them wander and explore independently. Kids are allowed to stumble and often get hurt, in hopes of teaching them self-regulation and natural boundaries. But here’s the deal: although this form of hipster parenting has plenty of positive attributes, I have also seen some negative after-effects in my practice. Many of my clients who were raised in the “kids are meant to play outside all day” 20th century, have been victims of various forms of sexual abuse or neglect and are still trying to heal from the trauma. I often wonder aloud how their parents missed the red-flags indicating that their kids were in trouble. I also wonder if helicopter parenting was born in response to the neglect that many X-Generation parents experienced.

Ask my husband about my parenting style and he would say that I do a constant dance between helicopter and free-range. Sometimes I’m a nervous wreck about the amount of candy or screen time my kids have ingested in one day. Other times, I’m THAT mom, who allows my kids to skateboard down our steep-as-a-ski-slope driveway or explore our large neighborhood (sewer drains included) on their own. Most of the time, I attempt to land somewhere in the middle. Kind of like a free-range helicopter who soars calmly overhead, keeping a watchful eye on the activities below, swooping in only when I see signs of serious danger or distress.

Parenting is not an exact science. We waste a lot of emotional energy when we try to be perfect child-rearing specimens who follow all of the latest trends and research. My advice is to allow yourself to flex back and forth as a parent, learning and growing as your child grows. Read the books and web articles, take the advice of your friends but in the end, observe your kids. They will let you know whether you are hovering too closely or needing to build more fences around their virtual chicken coop. Free-Range Helicopter or Slow Tiger, in the end what matters most is that you remain conscious and loving… the rest will usually float (or flutter) into place.

Here’s to Sanity and Chickens,

Kirsten

Want to read more? Here are two great essays on the subject from other blogging mamas:

In Defense of Helicopter Parenting

Risk Assessment: The Case for Free-Range Parenting

What’s Your Story? :: Monday Musing

July 21, 2014 By: babyproofedparentscomment

Until I had a baby, I had no idea how important it would be to tell my birth story. I understood the educational component of tv shows on the subject, and noticed how passionately new moms talked about their experiences, but I didn’t really get it. Now, if anyone seems even remotely interested in hearing about the births of my two, I can feel heat rise in my cheeks and hear my voice getting louder. My habit of talking with my hands goes nuts as I become more traffic director than story teller.

I’m certain you’re intrigued, so here’s the cliff notes version: my daughter arrived in a little under 3 hours, which is rare for a first time mom. None of us were prepared for this, including my midwife, who had just enough time to slip on a pair of surgical gloves as she ran from our front door to our bathtub, catching our baby after my last push 4 minutes later. I wouldn’t change anything, but at the time, I was terrified to the point of emotionally leaving my body – it was as if I was watching myself go through it from somewhere near the bathroom ceiling, as J did his very best to keep us both on the ground.

A difficult emotional component of many new moms’ experiences is the massive, abrupt attention shift from her pregnancy and needs to the needs of the new baby. The birth is often skipped over, even though it is the most formative and insane process imaginable for first time parents. Suddenly the baby is here. Everything changes. And there is precious little time to emotionally catch up to the here and now, let alone fully assimilate what has just happened physically.

Kirsten and I use the word “processing” constantly. Processing is more than just chatting. It’s talking with intention, venting things out, sifting through messy feelings and patterns we don’t fully understand. The result? Lightness. Both in having emptied out burdens, and actual light being shed on things that weren’t quite clear. And if anything warrants some intense processing, it’s a birth.

One of my favorite moments of birth processing happened with my friend Shannon. She listened attentively to my story, asked tons of questions, and identified with me. When I was finished, she shared hers. It was awesome, especially her description of the part of her labor when she felt like a cow trying to push out a calf. She actually got down on all fours and demonstrated the lowing sounds she had made. We laughed and cried and just sat there reflecting on what a crazy experience it is. We decided that someday, we will host a birth recreation experience for moms. Wine and a stage and an invitation to get up there and process-perform their labor. Audience members are invited to cheer, “Go, Mama!!!” We shall call it, “This Shit HAPPENED To ME.”

If you’re a new mom, and you haven’t told your birth story to someone who is hanging on every word, see if you can make that happen. Even if it means a nice long phone conversation with a best friend who doesn’t live here. Share with your partner, as he or she needs to process too, and you were likely tuned into completely different details. I used to ask J, “Will you tell me the part about when you thought I was a total badass again?” If your birth story was traumatic or a complete departure from what you’d hoped for, consider sharing your experience with a therapist. Some things change us forever, and if we don’t assimilate the past, parts of us get left behind. Scoop all that up and bring it. Terrible or amazing, it has refined you, which renders it beautiful.

Here’s To Sanity and Processing,

Cheryl

Label My Child, Please :: Monday Musing

July 7, 2014 By: babyproofedparents4 Comments

Being married to a therapist, my husband has participated in his fair share of parenting strategy sessions. Ok… maybe MORE than his fair share. (This would be an appropriate time to bestow a little sympathy on spouses of therapists everywhere.)

One of our initial co-parenting talks took place while I was pregnant with our first child. While he sipped his beer and I sipped my hot tea, we agreed that we would avoid using labels with our new baby. The negative labels (difficult, clumsy, shy, fat, skinny, ugly) are obviously damaging to a child’s developing self-concept and can put the kid in a box that is hard to break free of. The positive labels (smart, good, beautiful, perfect, athletic) can be equally harmful. Labeled with these adjectives, a child feels like they have certain high standards that they have to live up to. If they no longer consider themselves to be “beautiful” or “perfect”, they can feel like they have somehow failed or that they’re not OK. In fact, ample research has been done on the overuse of the compliment, “smart”. When children are told continually how smart they are, they begin to feel like everything should come easily to them. And when they have to work at a task, or God-forbid, fail a few times, these same kids get frustrated and give up easily because it doesn’t fit with their preconceived notion of how smart people perform.

Instead of using the good, the bad and the ugly labels, we agreed to give our kids good ol’ fashioned unconditional love (I love you. Period.) and to focus our compliments and comments on the effort they were putting into their activities and learning (I can see how hard you are working to stack those blocks in a really tall tower. And now you’re putting all of your energy into knocking them over!) Ok, we don’t always talk like that, but overall my husband and I try to focus more on our children’s efforts and less on empty praise.

The labels that we didn’t prepare for are what I call the big box, or diagnosable labels, such as colic, Autism, ADHD, allergies, learning disabilities, chronic illness, etc. We weren’t avoiding discussion of these labels… it just didn’t occur to us to bring them up. I think we assumed (since I was taking my pre-natal vitamins, of course!) that we would never have to use any of these stigmatized descriptors. There was probably a little bit of pride and stubbornness mixed in there. But ultimately, we subscribed to the “Why worry until it happens?” philosophy, which I strongly recommend to any expectant or new parent.

So we didn’t worry… until my son was about 3 years old. That was the age when we began to notice some troubling quirks that we couldn’t ignore. Aidan had the loudest voice in the room, but couldn’t tolerate loud noises himself. He was exceptionally rough and violent with his new baby brother, but was extremely sensitive to touch and rough clothing. Teeth brushing, nail trimming, haircuts and doctor’s appointments were always accompanied by prolonged, blood curdling screaming. His favorite activities involved burrowing himself into couch pillows or throwing toys around the house. I won’t even go into the toilet training challenges we were having. At his 3-year wellness check, when his pediatrician asked, “How are things going?” I almost burst into tears as I listed off the challenges we were dealing with. That was the first time that I heard about the condition, Sensory Processing Disorder.

Later that day, my wise Cousin Val, an Occupational Therapist in Australia, confirmed the doctor’s suspicions via e-mail and gave us a long list of suggestions. Thus began a series of bi-weekly OT sessions for Aidan, or what he considered to be fun gymnastics in a place we called the “Playhouse.” No time was wasted – we were ready for some help. We surprised even ourselves with our rapid acceptance of the Sensory Processing Disorder diagnosis when we so vehemently rejected labels in the past. Looking back, there were three reasons why the label of SPD saved our little family:

It gave us understanding. Suddenly Aidan’s extreme sensitivity to everything under the sun made sense. His explosive behavior and tendency to want to squeeze himself and everything around him also had an explanation. Instead of feeling continually frustrated, we had a framework to understand our child’s behavior and we could offer more compassion and patience.

Pillow Pile for Diving

It gave us tools. Now we had more than time-outs and reasoning to help our son work through his challenges. When he seemed edgy and explosive, we threw couch pillows on the floor and let him dive in and channel his destructive energy. Massaging or “brushing” his body helped him to release the negative tension. Squeezing him between pillows (similar to Temple Grandin’s hug machine) or giving him weight-bearing exercises also helped his body to regulate. We bought sound-blocking headphones, softer clothing, and made sure he got plenty of sleep and minimal sugar. The more we consciously regulated his environment and triggers, the more his body “toughened up.”

It gave us relief. My husband and I got to trade in our “Worst Parents EVER” badges for “NO WONDER We Were Struggling!” t-shirts. The more we learned about SPD, the more we realized that Aidan was dealing with a fairly common condition that could be managed and remedied. We learned that approximately 30% of so-called gifted kids (oops, there’s a label) deal with some form of sensory issues. The diagnosis of SPD enabled us to let go of some of the self-blame and shame we were struggling with and reinvest our energy into learning about Aidan’s condition and helping him to recover.

Parents as a whole feel SO MUCH pressure to get everything “just right” and raise kids who are relatively perfect. Sometimes letting go of our fear of labels and acknowledging issues when they arise can open the floodgates for support and information.

Some examples?

If your newborn is crying uncontrollably for hours on end, don’t hesitate to reach out to your pediatrician. It might be reflux, or perhaps it is colic. Most likely it is nothing you are doing wrong as a parent.
If you are a new mother dealing with extreme depression, anxiety or intrusive thoughts, resist the urge to isolate and cope on your own. You might be fighting Postpartum Depression and we want you to get the support and encouragement you need.
And if you are really struggling with your child’s behavior, don’t automatically adopt the title of “Incompetent Parent” like we did. Read, ask questions and reach out for help. Even if your kid is “just being a kid”, it doesn’t hurt to consult with an expert – you don’t have to figure this out on your own.

Today our son is a 4th grader who, for the most part, has outgrown his sensitivities. We still make sure he gets plenty of sleep, healthy food and consistent routines. We still throw in sound-blocking headphones when we’re going to see fireworks or a concert. Just like other parents we limit his screen time and make sure he gets regular exercise. If you asked Aidan about Sensory Processing Disorder, he would say, “Huh??” He doesn’t identify himself with that label. As far as he knows, he is a normal 9 year old who occasionally drives his parents crazy. Mission accomplished in our opinion. The label we used to understand and help our child is the last descriptor he would use to define himself. And that is the kind of label our family can buy into.

Here’s to Sanity and Pillow-Diving,

Kirsten

I’d Die For Them – A Modern Family’s Tale :: Monday Musing

June 23, 2014 By: babyproofedparents3 Comments

Occasionally at BPP we make things personal. Our hope is that revealing some of our own struggles and triumphs will resonate with and inspire you. Cheryl submitted this essay to the Gay Dad Project, an online resource for families in which one parent has come out as LGBTQ. The Gay Dad Project provides a safe space for families to tell their stories, connect and raise awareness. We decided her essay was worth sharing with you too.

I’d Die For Them – A Modern Family’s Tale

It’s easy to say you’d die for your kids. It seems standard to parenting – this unflinching belief that you’d throw yourself between them and the train or the rabid dog, drape your body over them as the tornado touches down, over the grenade as it detonates. We visualize these scenes and marvel at our selfless love. I’d reflexively sacrifice my life for them.

What I marvel at now? How much harder it is to sacrifice my ego. Even for one day. If I died, I wouldn’t have to witness the aftermath. Living, I have to watch the steady impact of how ill-prepared I feel for navigating the four of us through this alternative universe of modern family-ism.

Before J and I married, we had a secret exchange. Facing each other on his twin bed, I learned about his bisexuality, and he learned about my painfully colorful past. We offered each other absolution and acceptance. I fell in love with his jawline and his way of sitting quietly next to me whenever I cried or screamed. We plowed ahead for 13 sweet years, helping each other heal and deprogram the shame we’d been fed a steady diet of since birth. We started to outgrow the construct of our marriage when we had our daughter, and when we had our son two years later, we combusted. I never recovered my desire to be intimate with him after my first pregnancy. I blamed hormones, stress, my history of detaching emotionally, anything I could find to avoid seeing what was slowly changing right in front of me. His lifelong fight to live comfortably in our hetero world and inflate the slight side of himself that was attracted to women was diminishing.

At bedtime, we tell our children, “We love you no matter what.” He sat in duplicity night after night – saying it to our daughter and son, but incapable of saying it to himself. While he silently swallowed back his knowing and his fear, I started having feelings for another man, rendering my explanations for my lack of libido moot. Then there was the night. I walked into the house, took his hand, led him away from the roasted chicken sitting on the table and into our bedroom. I spilled my guts. 48 hours of crying and talking and yelling and silence later, he came out.

I can’t begin to fathom J’s pain, and it’s not mine to share. My grief was rage. My tears were sweat. Buckets of it, spilled on weights at the gym, on the streets of our neighborhood as I ran in the dark watching the houses wake up, on one tiny square of kitchen floor tile as I danced late at night like a rave maniac raising blisters on the soles of my feet. Music blared into my ears, as loud as I could get it. I exponentially worsened the hearing damage inflicted in college when Gibby Haynes came onstage firing blanks from a shotgun. I was trying to move my body away from this new reality and drown out the sound of breaking.

Regarding perspectives, I’m Team Frankl: they’re chosen, and I prefer mine fresh. My ego begged me to make J’s sexuality personal. “See? You knew this risk all along. You signed up to get duped. You’re not woman enough to sustain him.” But it’s not about me. It’s not about him. It’s about freedom. The freedom to choose: live a facade, or acknowledge that something big grew from within us and had to break our construct into a million pieces if any of us were to evolve. How strong is the father of my children? He’s more masculine than many straight men I know, because he had the balls to reveal his true identity to himself, his religion, his family, and in what now feels like a gift, to me. And I got to receive the gift first.

It’s fitting. Our friendship became lust at Six Flags Over Texas. Our split went down roller-coaster style, as we held hands and eye contact, and stepped out over the abyss. We’re slowly guiding two gorgeous little people through what it’s like to live with parents who sometimes have no clue who we are. We narrate as we go, answering their 3 and 5-year-old questions with the constant underscore, “Your parents respect and love each other, and give each other freedom.” We’re fearfully and proudly living as a modern family: divorced part-time housemates/besties/co-parents rotating through the home where our kids live full time and an apartment where we individually live part-time. You’d just have to see it to understand it, but it’s beautiful and it works. We surround ourselves with people who support us. And love those who don’t, but politely remind them where our door is located should they need it.

If we’d give up our lives for our kids, can we give up our egos and our grand plans and our “situations”? Because what are those things anyway? Especially when they’re situated comparatively next to evolution, freedom and love? Give me huge servings of the latter.

The Hardest Job :: Monday Musing

June 9, 2014 By: babyproofedparents1 Comment

Parenting is the hardest job you’ll EVER have. I repeatedly heard folks say this before I had my first child but I had no earthly idea what they meant. “I think I’ll take up scrap booking while I’m home with baby… you know, something to fill up my time,” I casually mentioned to one of my co-workers toward the end of my first pregnancy. She chuckled, slowly swiveling her chair back toward her computer monitor, unable to dignify my statement with a response.

Later, I discovered that I would have NO time for scrap booking and that parenting truly IS the hardest job. It’s also the most rewarding and the most courageous job. But let’s just be honest, it is DAMN hard. And to illustrate this point, I’d love you to participate in a visualization with me. I would ask you to close your eyes… but then you couldn’t read… so just work with me for a few minutes.

Imagine THIS:

You and your spouse/partner get the news that each of you just landed your dream job. Better yet, both of you will get to work for the same company, in the same office, on the same start date. How fun is that? The only catch is that you don’t report to work for nine months. And during those nine months, you will have very limited and sporadic job training. Just a few hours here and there, in which someone will share with you what your job might be like, but they really can’t tell you for sure.

Your excitement and anticipation grow as the months tick by, but while you wait, you are plagued by some (or all) of the following: excessive weight gain, heartburn, constipation, insomnia and occasional nausea. What a splendid way to start my job, you groan, while hanging out in your new favorite spot, the restroom.

As the nine-month mark approaches, it’s go-time. You get the news that it’s time for you and your partner to report to work. How cool! But WAIT. Before doing so, you will need to go through the most physically and psychologically exhausting ordeal that you have ever experienced. The same goes for your partner, who will emotionally and vicariously stand by your side through this process. Your excitement is through the roof any way, because hey, you’re starting your dream job, right?

You are officially in your new position now and you are overjoyed. For the first couple days, a few sweet, well-meaning individuals pop into your cubicle from time to time, and give gentle suggestions. But for the most part, you and your partner have to figure out the new protocols and procedures on your own. You quickly realize that you will not get to leave your workplace to rest at night. Even coffee and lunch breaks are obsolete. Every time you do get some sleep, you will randomly be jolted awake. In the meantime, your body is still recovering from everything it went through a few days ago, and your hormones are raging. Add this to the sleep deprivation, and you alternate between beaming with pleasure and sobbing uncontrollably. You begin to wonder if you’re developing multiple personalities. You’re trying to figure out if your partner is an angel sent from heaven or a demon trying to confuse and frustrate you further.

For the first few days, the new system you are working on is fairly quiet and peaceful, but after a week or so, it suddenly wakes up and there is no rhyme or reason to how it is functioning. You reach out to others, who have worked with this “hardware” before, and they give you vague pointers, but it seems like your system is different from everyone else’s. Not to mention, noisy! Never fear though – as the weeks stream by, you and your partner begin to figure out your job duties. You even give each other fist bumps for rocking your new positions. And yet, every time you say, “We got this thing!” – everything changes – and you have to figure out the new protocols all over again.

Despite the hardships and bewilderment, you and your partner are still in an odd state of satisfaction, so you stay with the company for 18 years, knowing that every few months, your job requirements will completely change, with no additional training, and you will be challenged in ways you never knew. But you know that it will all pay off in the end – and you experience daily (or weekly) glimpses of the purest pleasure you’ve ever known.

THAT is why parenting is the hardest job. There’s no training, there’s no user manual, there’s no report card or annual review to let you know you are doing OK. There are physical and emotional strains on both you and your partner. And your child and parenting situation are uniquely challenging and amazing all at once. But if you ask any parent if they would take on this job again, their answer is always YES. In fact, quite frequently, one to two years after accepting the first job, parents sign up to do it all over again. Wha???

Cheryl and I have both reported to the workplace of babyhood, and we know it can be a doozy. Try to think of Baby Proofed Parents as that nosy, but super sweet & helpful co-worker who wants to give you tons of advice (and a touch of juicy gossip) while you’re adjusting to your new position. We may not provide on-the-job training, but we definitely offer on-the-job encouragement and a much-needed fist bump here and there. You will ROCK the job of parenthood, we just know that you will.

Here’s to sanity and cubicles,

Kirsten

Playing With Fire – Relationship Damage Control :: Monday Musing

May 26, 2014 By: babyproofedparentscomment

My ex-husband J and I are both therapists. We used to joke that we met in group therapy, because we were both taking a graduate class on the subject when we started dating. When people hear this, they often laugh nervously and ask, “So… do you two sit around and analyze each other?” Naturally. While being married to another therapist had its intense moments, one benefit was finally figuring out what was happening to us during conflict, and learning from our destructive patterns. We had the same fight, on repeat, with slight detail fluctuations. The root of it was our difficulty trusting that we were completely emotionally safe with each other.

J and I both had our share of crappy relationships. We entered our marriage with some baggage, which got triggered almost every time we fought. When we had intense conflict, my irrational fear was, “He doesn’t really care about my feelings, and is on his way out.” His was, “She doesn’t respect me, and she is purposefully trying to hurt me.” When you make these kinds of assumptions emotionally, your thoughts and reactions (body language, words and tone of voice) follow, and the storm swells. Forget about what started the argument. Whose turn it was to diaper the baby, do the dishes, or make the grocery run no longer matters. You are on the defense and incapable of rational thought, and whatever root fuels your arguments will be driving.

Before I proceed, can we agree on something? Aside from keeping them alive, the best gift you can give your children is your personal sanity, and if you have a partner, an example of a mutually respectful, loving relationship. Here are some thoughts on how to do that.

Work on Fire Prevention. Psychotherapist Kelly McDaniel says that in healthy relationships, partners recognize that their union is, in part, for the purpose of healing. This is beautiful. It involves understanding how your past experiences and pain influence your expectations and behavior in your current relationships. Safe, healthy relationships give you the space to air out the baggage, and support each other in moving on, so you can fully enjoy the goodness right in front of you. I like the assumption that your junk from the past will come up, but with mutual love and support, you can help each other evolve.

Practicing kindness toward each other is a great way to convey love and prevent intense conflict. Here are two takes on kindness that stick with and recenter me:

Carl Sagan described a way to categorize all of our choices, actions and reactions – they can either further compassion, or further aggression. That’s pretty clear.
In his book The Seven Principles For Making Marriage Work, Dr. John Gottman encourages couples to treat each other with the same kindness and respect they would an honored guest in their home. In this scenario, little room remains for bitter sarcasm, snapping or cheap shots.

Create a Fire Escape. So, that’s all lovely. But the truth is, we’re human, and in certain circumstances (such as those brought on by the sweet chaos of a new baby) we possess the emotional intelligence of, I don’t know, squirrels? They’re nuts. Sometimes I have an old man sense of humor. Couples find themselves at a fever pitch in fights, and after receiving and inflicting pretty serious verbal wounds, drag themselves into my office. I’ve been there too. If your house is on fire, you don’t stand in the heat and smoke and try to resolve “issues.” You just get the hell out. Later, when it’s safe, you can go back in and figure out how to repair. Here’s where the need for a Fire Escape comes in: in an intense fight, recognize it’s time to take a cool down, and give each other physical/emotional space until you’re ready to rationally resolve the issue.

Plan the terms of your fire escape when you’re calm, not during an argument. It can take many different forms. Sometimes simply going into separate rooms and focusing on slowing down your breathing for a few minutes is all it takes. For J and I, when either of us sensed we were losing our grip, we’d call a time out. He would go outside, and I would stay inside, giving him space to cool off, reminding myself that we’d eventually work it out. This time apart can be excruciating, but it’s better than saying things you can’t take back. Remember that you both want resolution and to feel close again, but you need a moment to cool down if that’s to happen without damage. If you take a breather and still don’t feel ready to reconnect, like Kirsten says, it’s okay to go to bed angry and try again after some sleep.

Even if the dynamic in your relationship changes through separation or divorce, it’s never too late to improve your communication and esteem for each other (more advice on this from an awesome single dad we know, Terry Cox.) J is still one of my best friends, even though we went through a painful split. We work hard to put our egos aside and show respect for each other, giving our kids a healthy, loving friendship between their parents. We’re not perfect and get it very wrong sometimes, but conflict recovery is easier when we remind ourselves that we’re in good, safe hands with each other. I hope you have that peace of mind in your relationships, because you deserve it. Anyone who would tell you otherwise can eff off.

Here’s to Sanity and Squirrels,

Cheryl