“If you think you are too small to make a difference, try sleeping with a mosquito.” – Dalai Lama
I got angry at my kids yesterday morning. It was a mixture of things – things were tense on a work project so I was already primed and then Miss O’s first words on a Monday morning were “Why does Mr. D get to?” But it was a completely whopper of one – “Why does Mr. D get to sleep in his own bed?”
Umm, it’s as if all the efforts I’ve made to get her to sleep in her own room instead of mine were completely forgotten. The lighting, the sheets, the help cleaning her room, the cozy warm blankets. And I’ve done this multiple times, over and over and still she wanders into my bed in the night or chooses to start there.
So the injustice of the question pricked me and I got angry. I didn’t yell but I said it was a completely unfair question that not only had we had talked about before but also was her choice, walked out of the room and slammed a few cupboards as I was making lunches.
Anger is not an emotion I’m comfortable with. I grew up with an older sister that was consistently angry and my mom can flash pretty hot although she doesn’t do it very often. It’s not that I swallow my anger – it’s that I don’t feel it very often. I feel frustrated, disappointed, discouraged much more often than I feel mad. Or at least so I think.
But it was what happened next that surprised me. My kids didn’t fuss at all at getting ready for school on a Monday morning. They did everything they were supposed to when they were supposed to do it more or less without whining, crying or protesting. They banded together, helped each other, and cooperated beautifully.
In that respect, my anger made things work way better for me. And it made me wonder if it’s such an effective tool, why would I not choose to use it more often? Other than the fact that I’m not a very good actor and couldn’t pull it off.
That’s a theoretical question of course. My experience growing up taught me how corrosive anger is. If I used anger as a tool, I might get what I want on the surface but I wouldn’t have many real relationships – not ones where people were vulnerable and shared. Not relationships where we could dare to explore together. And it would undercut the honest expression of growth and humanity.
It reminds me of the “power over” model. Researcher and author Brené Brown differentiates power over as power that leverages fear as opposed to power to, power with and power within which are collaborative and growth models for power.
In respect to my kids, I might be able to control them better for a time if I tried to pull off a power over model but it feels like it would be a step backwards in all the learning we’ve done to try to acknowledge our emotions and still do what needs to be done. Moreover, it feels like it would prime them to go out into the world thinking that fear is an effective strategy in dealing with others. And my teeny, tiny microcosm, that feels like I’d be adding to the aggression of the world instead of the compassion of the world.
In short, it feels like that the power over/anger/fear model is being a crappy leader. Especially when using Brené Brown’s definition of a leader as “anyone who holds him or herself accountable for finding potential in people or processes.”
So, on the Monday morning in question, I choose to instead apologize for my anger and we went off to school and work with hugs all around. I sense that I’m choosing a style of parenting that takes more energy for now but in the end benefits our relationships with each other and the world. And that seems worth the effort.
(featured photo from Pexels)
Surprised By Joy 