Practice makes… less regret

I lay in bed last night with the boys just after finishing Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. It took us 9 months, but we were finally done. Now we can watch the movie! The boys were thrilled. I lay with each of the them, snuggling and talking about their days. I giggled along as Charlie declared he would no longer call Chap-Stick by its given name, rather (in Doofenshmirtz’s voice) “the lip un-chap-inator.”

I felt light.

I felt jovial.

I realized it was because I hadn’t yelled at the boys in a few days.

Instead of lying with them, hoping to undo the day’s regret with a nighttime snuggle, I felt at peace. I didn’t have to apologize for my transgressions and hope that they would be resilient enough to forgive their fallible mom… yet again.

And it wasn’t like the past few days haven’t been wrought with temptations to yell.

Finn had an epic meltdown yesterday morning. It was one of those meltdowns where no matter what I did or said, he continued to spiral out of control. I offered a “Finny wash.” I offered a calm down space. I offered help. I tried rationalizing with him. (He was upset because he woke up an hour later than usual. He thought he would be late for school even though he still had an hour to get ready– um, yes, we normally wake up pretty early in the morning!) No matter what I did, he could not recover. He was “going to be late for school” and it was getting later by the minute. He was spewing offenses at me and throwing anything in his path. When I didn’t respond, he took to insulting Henry and Tallulah. Admittedly, I wasn’t exactly zen throughout the meltdown, but I didn’t completely lose my temper (or yell!) and that felt really good.

I know that the temptation to yell is lurking around every corner, but small successes like the past few days give me confidence and hope. Not to mention that “Orange Rhino” tweeted back at me and actually read last week’s post!

Thanks to everyone who reached out and commented on my post last week (despite my Lenten ban on Facebook!) Knowing I am not alone in my quest for parental peace gives me strength. As Momastery says, “we can do hard things.” Boy, can we ever!

Advertisements

My yelling’s smallest victims

My heart was so heavy as I tucked the boys into bed tonight. 

Charlie has been detached lately. I’ve tried to chalk it up to growing up, but I fear it’s something more.

He came home today in fits of uncontrollable sobs. He was worried about a project that’s due next week and he doesn’t think he’ll finish in time. I tried working through a solution with him, but I still couldn’t calm him down. He snapped at Henry and Tallulah, which isn’t like him. He lay on the couch still sobbing with the blanket pulled over his head. I curled up next to him and said, “What is it, baby? We will work it out together. You are not alone in this.” When he didn’t respond, I asked, “Are you sure there’s nothing else bothering you?” I always fear he is being bullied at school or having trouble with friends.

He said, “It’s home.”

I said, “What about home?”

Biting his lip, he said, “It’s just that you and Daddy are always so frustrated.”

I was horrified.

He was right.

I am so frustrated.

I am so embarrassed to admit it.

I could have a million excuses, but none of them justifies my crying child on the couch.

I swore I would do better when I vowed to stop yelling at my kids and I have failed in every possible way.

When Joe saw that I was going to try to stop yelling at them, he questioned why I would do that to myself. He said I was going to bottle up my frustration and drive myself crazy. He felt I was putting too much pressure on myself to be perfect. I didn’t see it that way. Perfection is never my goal. I just want to stop feeling guilty every time I put my head on the pillow at night.

I have tried. I started writing down my triggers (like Orange Rhino suggests). I’ve found that I yell when Finn hits one of his siblings and when everyone is crying at the same time (don’t laugh, it happens a lot!) I was working on it, but then I just gave up. I slipped back into old habits.

I can’t seem to get a handle on my anger. When the twins are crying and pulling each other’s hair and then Finn freaks out because he refuses to get a wrong answer on his homework, who could possibly keep a level head in that situation? Certainly not me. (Have I told you that I’m not perfect?) But I also have to concede that I am also the one causing some of that stress. My frustrated response escalates their frustration and sets a bad example. Do you know how many times I have yelled at them to stop yelling? Ugh. Worst of all, I fear that Charlie is the one who suffers the most. He suffers because he either forces himself to be a helper or he sacrifices his own needs to avoid burdening me with another request.

It has been said that autism parents have stress levels similar to that of combat soldiers. (I’ve always hated that analogy.) But, if that were true, what does it say about the stress levels of autism’s siblings?

Charlie has always had a light about him. He is a leader. He has a moral compass unlike that of many 8 year olds. We’ve always said he is an “old soul.” He always chooses right over easy, but lately I fear it’s becoming harder for him to choose happy over sad.

My little extrovert playing the role of "Hansel" in his theatre company's summer play.

My little extrovert playing the role of “Hansel” in his theatre company’s summer play.

He cries himself to sleep on Sunday nights. Some mornings, I can barely get him to get out of the car and onto the bus. He seems disinterested in his friends. I fear he is depressed and I don’t know what to do. What’s worse is that I fear he is depressed and there is something I can do.

I have to stop yelling at them. 

In my head, I am justified when the explosion comes out of my mouth. I’m pretty sure 9 out of 10 moms would do the same thing in my situation. But it still doesn’t make it right. I need to be the beacon in their storm, not the storm itself. This is not the mother I set out to be.

When Charlie was a newborn, Joe and I were walking him on the boardwalk in his stroller. We saw a Mom with a crying four year old. The child was hysterical; the mom clearly at her wit’s end. She yelled at the child, “Stop crying!” I recoiled. I couldn’t believe this mother could be so insensitive to her child who clearly needed her comfort. I remarked to Joe, “Let’s never tell Charlie to stop crying like that.”

Oh, karma, you are a cruel mistress.

Now here I sit wondering how many times I replaced anger with what should have been comfort– parenting from a place of frustration instead of compassion.

Well, once again, I say “no more!” I am recommitting myself to parenting with purpose. I don’t know that I will NEVER yell, but I have to try for Charlie– for all of them and for me.

030

 

1491676_10202754859333520_411930348_n