When my sensitive, sensory daughter was younger she went through a particularly difficult period where she had received a raft a diagnoses for learning issues and I had spoken to her so positively about it that I think I may have led her to believe that things would now change, that her needs would be understood, and her life would get easier overnight.  It didn’t.  Organising a support structure that worked for her was like putting together an incredibly complicated puzzle blindfolded during a hurricane.  Nothing was straightforward, everything took an age and every now and again a destructive force would come and mess up our plans.

She was angry, she was dysregulated, and she was full of shame and self loathing.  Restraint collapse from school or weekends away from us would take weeks to recover from and despite my efforts at ‘all the things’ I just couldn’t seem to reach her. Roughhousing, 24/7 empathy and special time helped but I had to find very specific ways to help calm her emotional storms enough to help her re-regulate and feel safe enough to breathe.

Timing was critical, the reaching out mechanism was critical and many many times I got it wrong.  

One particular evening during a particularly challenging melt down, I crept quietly into her room (after being rebuffed at least 5 times) and started colouring a mindful colouring book we often colour together.  Once I caught her looking a few times I pushed the pen pot slightly closer to her without looking up.  She accepted the invitation and began colouring too.  Very soon after, she felt safe enough for a cuddle and we slowed our breathing together.  We then resumed our colouring.  After another 5 or 10 minutes I said, ‘It’s tough being a big sister.  It’s hard having to share me sometimes isn’t it?  I wonder if sometimes you wish you had me all to yourself?’  Her eyes widened and she snuggled in for another cuddle.  I stroked her hair and told her what a kind and wonderful girl she was.  How her sister was so lucky to have her as a role model, a friend and a protector.  I also told her that it was OK to love her sister and also feel resentful.  She didn't say anything but snuggled in closer.  Something shifted.  I’m sure we both felt it.

About 3 (equally challenging weeks later) I had put the girls to bed.  I started bedtime slightly early as I had a call with my listening partner in 2 hours and a lecture directly after that and didn't want to rush them. Half an hour before my call was due to start and well after the kids would normally be in bed with lights out, my daughter ran out of the house in the pouring rain as part of an emotional reaction to the fact that me and my husband were going away that weekend.  She had known it was happening for a while and as far as I was aware was reasonably well adjusted to the idea.  However, that night, the idea was too much and when I held the empathic but firm limit that I was not going to stay at home and cancel my trip she ran.  It took a further half an hour to get her tucked into bed and to calm her sister down.  I had delayed my listening partner by 10 minutes and went up to check on her and that's when it came.  

She poured her heart out to me.  She wished she was a baby,  When it was just her.  When she didn't have to go to school or nursery.  When she could stay at home with me all day.  When she wasn't rushed.  Since her sister had been born she always feels like she is rushed.  There is too much to do.  It's too hard.  She sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and I kept as quiet as I could.  Just listening and repeating what she was saying.

This was HUGE.  This emotional release had been needed for such a long time and it was vital that I was there to hear it.  To make it safe for her to share it.  To validate it and allow her to process it.  

It would have been so easy to rush her through it.  To gloss over it.  To put on a story or her meditation audio and distract her so I could get on my call.  And a couple of years ago I’m sure I would have done just that.

These opportunities for healing often come at the most inconvenient moments.  When we are sleep deprived, have other deadlines, have been dealing with ‘this shit’ all day and we just want the break we assumed would have come an hour ago.

We have to dig deep.  This work is hard.  

The result?  It felt so right.  It was a moment I will always remember.  A moment that brought us closer together.  She was lighter, I was lighter and we both felt better for it.  That's the thing about Peaceful Parenting.  It's the only parenting strategy where both the child and the parent feels good during and after the process.  Even if we have to dig deep.