I rarely share such personal information about my family, especially about my kids. And I really try not to do it so close in time to when the event actually occurred. However, this was such a powerful moment and so relevant to the practice for the 8th Day of the series that I just have to share it. All that said, if you know me IRL and you know my kids, PLEASE don’t tell my daughter that I did!
I’m also not sharing this with you because I want to look like a great parent. Believe me when I say that I am not perfect. I have good days and bad days, and really bad days. This example happened to be an exceptionally good day.
Everyone is just doing the best they can.
Even your kids.
Even when they are testing boundaries and limits.
The day this happened when we were smack dab in the middle of the 10 Days of Mindfulness Series. Perhaps it’s because of all the prep work I’ve done for that. Or the fact that I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about these ideas each day in preparing for the classes. For whatever reason, I definitely took a beat to breathe, pause, and reflect BEFORE I responded to any part of this situation. And I’m so glad I did.
Here’s how it went down. My daughter was lying to me. I was pretty sure it had been going on for a while, but I didn’t yet have proof: she was sneaking candy.
I knew she was sneaking candy.
She knew she was sneaking candy.
I was outside with her brother and she was alone in the house. After a while, she came out to see what we were doing (power washing foam exercise tiles, and trust me when I say it was VERY exciting). She looked like she was chewing something and I asked her what it was. She made up some excuse about stretching her jaw. Then she asked me a question and when she opened her mouth I saw a flash of red candy and a pink tongue.
Busted.
I told her she could tell me the truth right then and there or she could go to her room until she was ready. She knew I knew. She spent the rest of the day in her room. This happened at around 3:00. At some point I asked her to shower and eat dinner. She ate broccoli and then hid in her room for the rest of the evening.
In the morning she slipped me a note and then hid again. The note still wasn’t an admission of guilt. So we had a talk. And I pretty much had to say all the words because at this point she was hysterical and sobbing and hyperventilating. She clearly had been stewing about it all night and had been punishing herself.
I asked her if she felt guilty. Nodding through sobs. I asked if she was embarrassed. Nodding through sobs. I asked if she was going to do it again. Shaking her head through sobs.
I then chose this moment to ask about the pile of candy wrappers I found while cleaning the basement about a week ago. They were behind several large plastic tubs. I had my theories as to the culprit, but I had been biding my time. I asked if she would also like to admit to doing this. Nodding through sobs.
I asked if sneaking the candy was worth all of this turmoil and pain and anguish. Shaking head through sobs. I asked if she had learned her lesson. Nodding through sobs.
As she started to calm down a little bit, I asked her what she thought her punishment should be (that is one of my favorite questions). Shoulder shrugging through less severe sobs. I told her I thought she had already punished herself enough and that I had already forgiven her.
I told her that her job was to forgive herself. To come up with 2 or 3 positive affirmations to repeat to herself over the weekend and I gave her a few examples: I am kind, I am strong, I am smart, I am honest. Sniffling.
Our minds are powerful. They tell us stories. They tell us stories on repeat and for so long that we take them as truth. In her mind, for the 16 hours before that moment, she had already told herself how terrible she was too many times to count. I don’t even know how many positive affirmations she needs right now to undo that, but it won’t happen in one weekend.
She tested some limits (which is actually what she is SUPPOSED to be doing at her age) and she learned a lesson the hard way. She was harder on herself than I ever would have been. And she won’t forget this one.
And some day, she’s going to test limits in ways that are more dangerous and with potentially greater consequences.
So what I hope she learned is that it wasn’t worth it. The pain and anguish and the guilt she feels over this tiny little lie was absolutely not worth the small bit of pleasure from sneaking a few pieces of candy.
And I hope she learned that she can always tell me the truth, and know that I will pause and take a moment and a breath before I react.
And I hope that she learned that SHE can pause, and breathe before she reacts.
And I hope she learned that I will always believe that she is doing the best she can with whatever information and resources she has at that moment in time.
And I hope she learned that no matter what she does, I will always love her and I will always think she is an amazing, wonderful, smart, kind, brave, strong, and beautiful human being.
