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Parenting in the Age of Polarization

Posted on March 2, 2018

My two kids have always had a competitive and contentious relationship. Now that they are teens, this friction often expresses itself as fierce disagreement on social and political issues. As the wider culture has grown increasingly polarized, so had our dinnertime conversation. Name any hotly debated topic – gun control, abortion, immigration – and one kid would be strongly on one side while the other kid took the opposite viewpoint. My dining table had become a tiny version of larger societal debates, where both sides screamed and yelled at each other, and listening, compassion, and empathy were in short supply. As you can imagine, this made dinner time about as much fun as a congressional filibuster. Something had to be done.

We tried instituting rules of fair engagement, but the incitement to provoke the other to tears or incriminations proved irresistible. For a while, we tried banning political conversations. This not only proved ineffective, it felt like the wrong message to send. Was it really right to teach them that we just don’t talk about things that we find uncomfortable? Then, I hit upon an inspired idea which has largely solved our nightly problem. The rule is simple: no topic is off limits, but you must argue your opponents side. When we discuss gun control, the kid who supports a person’s right to bear arms has to come up with reasons why it might make sense to put limits on gun ownership, and the pro gun control kid has to explain why protecting second amendment rights might be important. And my husband and I have to do the same. (Let’s just say I’ve learned a lot about the second amendment recently.)

I can’t claim that implementation of this new rule as gone perfectly smoothly. The initial reaction to my suggestion was shock, followed by righteous indignation: shock that there might be another viewpoint with merit enough to investigate, and righteous indignation that they would be asked to climb off their ideological pedestal to do so. Yet even the request seemed to shift something. We were asking each kid to think outside his or her comfort zone, and the immediate effect of this was that the rhetoric toned down.

Not only has this new policy made for more pleasant dinnertimes, I feel good about helping my kids to think critically and appreciate viewpoint diversity. Being able to see only one side of the argument is dangerously limiting. Author and social psychologist Jonathan Haidt founded Heterodox Academy to promote viewpoint diversity and “constructive disagreement” on college campuses. This short video makes the case for why a range of view points can be so important in teaching kids to become critical thinkers.

Shutting ourselves off from other viewpoints and perspectives may mean that we miss the “big picture.” It calls to mind the Indian parable of the three blind men and the elephant. None of the blind men have ever seen an elephant before, and they are all touching different parts of the animal in an attempt to learn about it. The blind man touching the elephant’s tail asserts that an elephant is like a rope. The man touching the leg gets angry at the first man, saying that an elephant is like a great pillar, not a rope! The third man becomes enraged at both of the others, proclaiming that an elephant is like a broad leaf as he strokes the animal’s ear.

All of us – parents and kids – are being encouraged to see things through the narrow lens of bitter partisan squabbles. I want my kids to learn to think for themselves and to feel heard and respected, even when I disagree with them. Just maybe, I can help conquer political tribalism – one family dinner at a time.

Originally posted on Psych Central

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Do Kids Have Too Much Power?

Posted on January 26, 2018

by Lisa Marchiano, LCSW

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These days, there is a widespread tendency for children of all ages to have too much power relative to their parents. I realize it sounds a bit old-fashioned to say this, and in fact I believe this trend has developed in part as a reaction against overly authoritarian parenting styles that dominated earlier generations. However, the pendulum has perhaps swung too far.

In some circles, there appears to be an implicit assumption that children enter the world in a state of pure potential, which needs to be protected and sheltered by the parent so that it can emerge in its fullest form. Parents with this unconscious philosophy believe that it is their job to follow the child’s lead as much as possible. The aim appears to be to foster what naturally emerges rather than trying to shape or mold the child according to parental expectations and values.

Preschoolers don’t need to be consulted about their bedtime.

Though aspects of child-led parenting can work well for both parents and children, there are situations in which it is ill-advised. I once knew a woman who believed in letting her four-year-old take the lead in all things, including bedtime. According to this mom, imposing an arbitrary bedtime would be unnecessarily coercive and thereby do damage to his perfectly-formed little soul. So the little boy often stayed up until 11 pm or later. This meant he was often hours late for preschool. The mom would relate to me the long talks she would have with her son, discussing with him the reasons why going to sleep earlier might be preferable. She wanted to negotiate all of this with his input.

I recall feeling badly for the child in part because his unusual sleep patterns were disruptive and meant that it was difficult for him to participate normally with the things the other children did. But mostly I felt badly for him because of the enormous and wholly inappropriate degree of responsibility that had been placed on his shoulders. Deciding – or even substantially consulting on – when he ought to go to bed was not liberating. It was confusing and distressing for him. And it was unfair. He couldn’t possibly have the cognitive and emotional maturity to weigh the consequences of going to bed at 8 versus 11. And he couldn’t be expected to exercise judgment and restraint by making the wiser and less fun choice.

This mom would roll in several hours late for preschool, and I would watch her patiently negotiate with her son, readying him to join the other kids who had long been engaged together. It would take some coaxing, as he would be tired. He didn’t look happier or more care-free. He looked and acted care-worn.

Teens aren’t ready to make big decisions about their future solo.

When children become teens, the ways in which we give them too much power are likely to shift. These are somewhat more insidious, and unfortunately are also often supported by the wider culture. I sometimes speak with parents who have the mistaken assumption that, because their children have fully formed and loudly articulated opinions, they must be listened to and granted authority as if they were adults.

Teens can gain this kind of inappropriate power by claiming harm at our hands. “You’re triggering me, mom,” one teen I know said to her mother when discussing her lagging academic performance. “I don’t feel safe with you!”

One mother I worked with had a 13-year-old daughter who insisted that she had no intention of going to college and intended to start her own business at 18 instead. She was giving this as a reason for dragging her heels in applying to private high schools, which is what her parents had deemed in her best interest. For a brief period, the conflict on this issue became fairly intense in her household. This mother’s previous therapist encouraged her not to press the issue, instructing her that she shouldn’t expect to control every aspect of her daughter’s life! (This daughter is now a senior in high school, and is very much looking forward to going to college.)

Contrast this with advice given to me by a wise friend when I sought out her perspective on parenting my own teen. “Adolescence is the wrong time to take your hands off the wheel.” We all know this, right? Teens are not necessarily equipped to measure long-term consequences of their actions. They may not like us asserting parental authority when it comes to decisions with significant downstream consequences, but it isn’t fair to deprive them of the mature perspective of a caring adult just because we don’t want to upset them.

A Greek myth helps us know that this, like most things, is an ancient dynamic between adults and youth.

Phaethon

Helios was the god of the sun, who each day drove the fiery steeds across the heavens in his chariot. Helios had a mortal son named Phaethon, who was very proud of his Olympian father. One day, wishing to prove to taunting boys that he was indeed the son of a god, he begged his father to grant him whatever he wished. Helios swore on the river Styx to give him whatever he wanted because he wished to please his beloved son. Phaethon demanded that he be allowed to drive his father’s fiery chariot across the sky. Helios knew that this would be a terrible mistake, but he had already given his word. He tried to convince his son to change his mind, but Phaethon would not be dissuaded.

So Helios sadly crowned his son with his golden rays, and covered his son’s body with ointment to protect him from the burning heat. He barely had time to shout a few warnings about handling the fiery, spirited steeds, when the great gates opened and Phaethon flew up in the chariot of the sun.

For a while, all went well, and Phaethon stood beaming with pride in his father’s chariot, but the horses were not easily managed. Sensing a less steady hand upon the reins, they veered off the heavenly path, and careened too close to earth. Phaethon was unable to master the horses. Zeus saw that the sun chariot was in danger of creating great destruction. Sadly, he struck Phaethon down with a thunderbolt, killing him.

Grieving Helios never let anyone else drive the sun chariot again.

Phaethon was mortal, and was rashly asking to be treated as a god. Any parent of a teen will know that adolescents can be filled with an inflated sense that they are immortal and can do anything. Helios’s rash promise was made in part because he wanted to please his beloved son.

Undermining parents

Disturbingly, there are many in the wider culture who seem to share the view that kids have to be given more power, and even protected from their parents. In some subcultures, children are empowered by therapists, teachers, and other adults to view their parents as potentially harmful people with suspect motivations. When schools make major decisions at the request of a child without consultation with parents, the message gets reinforced that parents can’t be trusted to have their child’s best interest at heart.

When as a culture we overvalue the child perspective and undervalue that of the adult, we run the risk that young people won’t have the steady hand to guide their way to adulthood.

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Originally published on PsychCentral

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When Connecting with Kids is Hard

Posted on January 13, 2018

by Lisa Marchiano, LCSW

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Last week, I shared a fairy tale which explored a parent child relationship in which the parents are ashamed or embarrassed by their child. There is a similar tale that explores this – and darker themes. A recently published book by Orna Dornath entitled Regretting Motherhood: A Study explores the difficult subject of mothers who regret having had children. You can read more about Dornath’s study in this short article.

Dornath is exploring maternal regret through the lens of sociology, and her work is an important contribution to a neglected subject. As a therapist, however, I am more interested in the experience of maternal regret from the point of view of the individual. What is it like to find that you regret being a mother? In my experience, mothers who have difficulty attaching to their children have often themselves experienced extreme stress or trauma.

One of the most unusual and oddly lyrical fairy tales in all of Grimms touches on this taboo subject of poor attachment between mother and child. The beginning of the story is of most interest to us. Text of the full story can be found here.

Hans-My-Hedgehog

Once upon a time there was a peasant who had money and land enough, but as rich as he was, there was still something missing from his happiness: He had no children with his wife. Often when he went to the city with the other peasants, they would mock him and ask him why he had no children. He finally became angry, and when he returned home, he said, “I will have a child, even if it is a hedgehog.”

Then his wife had a baby, and the top half was a hedgehog and the bottom half a boy. When she saw the baby, she was horrified and said, “Now see what you have wished upon us!”

The man said, “It cannot be helped. The boy must be baptized, but we cannot ask anyone to be his godfather.”

The woman said, “And the only name that we can give him is Hans-My-Hedgehog.”

When he was baptized, the pastor said, “Because of his quills he cannot be given an ordinary bed.” So they put a little straw behind the stove and laid him in it. And he could not drink from his mother, for he would have stuck her with his quills. He lay there behind the stove for eight years, and his father grew tired of him, and thought, “if only he would die.” But he did not die, but just lay there.

Now it happened that there was a fair in the city, and the peasant wanted to go. He asked his wife what he should bring her.

“A little meat, some bread rolls, and things for the household,” she said. Then he asked the servant girl, and she wanted a pair of slippers and some fancy stockings.

Finally, he also said, “Hans-My-Hedgehog, what would you like?”

“Father,” he said, “bring me some bagpipes.”

When the peasant returned home he gave his wife what he had brought for her, meat and bread rolls. Then he gave the servant girl the slippers and fancy stockings. And finally he went behind the stove and gave Hans-My-Hedgehog the bagpipes.

When Hans-My-Hedgehog had them, he said, “Father, go to the blacksmith’s and have my cock-rooster shod, then I will ride away and never again come back.” The father was happy to get rid of him, so he had his rooster shod, and when it was done, Hans-My-Hedgehog climbed on it and rode away. He took pigs and donkeys with him, to tend in the forest.

Although the tale eventually ends, happily, I find that it contains some of the most heartbreaking images of any fairy tale. A hedgehog child is an eloquent metaphor for a child who is, for whatever reason, unlovable.

Attachment Trouble

Wikipedia tells me that hedgehogs are spiny mammals. When threatened, they roll themselves into a tight ball, causing their spines to all point outwards. Certainly, there are children – and adults – who show similar psychological defenses, such as is the case for those with reactive attachment disorder. Because of profound early trauma, children with RAD may be difficult to comfort. They find it difficult to attach to a caregiver, or receive love.

Imagine trying to nurse or cuddle a hedgehog!

Temperamental Fit

The image of child as hedgehog could also be an apt analogy for a poor temperamental fit between mother and baby. Researchers have noted that a baby’s temperament has a significant effect on the relationship between mother and child. Babies with difficult temperament may be hard to soothe, making parenting them more challenging and less rewarding. Some of that research can be seen here. It is instruction to compare and contrast the tale of The Little Singing Frog that we looked at last weekwith Hans-My-Hedgehog. Both animal offspring are redeemed in the end by a royal marriage and transformation to human form. The little frog’s redemption, loved as she is by her parents, is much less complicated and difficult than that of poor lonely Hans, who lives many years alone in the forest. This can indeed be the psychological experience of those whose parents were, for whatever reason, unable to love them.

The fairy tale is relatively silent on the subject of Hans’ mother and father. They want him dead. They want never to see him again. At the end of the tale, Hans finally reconciles with his father, who rejoices to learn of his son’s good fortune. By this time, the mother is not in the story at all.

I suspect that hers is a particularly difficult story to tell.

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Humble Gifts: On Knowing We’re Enough

Posted on December 15, 2017

by Lisa Marchiano, LCSW

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I had a conversation with a mother in my practice this week that brought up something important. As usual, I tried to find a fairy tale that captured the essence of what this mother was struggling with. The right tale did come to mind – it’s a 12^th century French legend – and it just so happens to have an association with Christmas, so consider this my holiday offering!

The mother I was speaking with is going through something very difficult with one of her children. On the day that we spoke, she was feeling very badly about herself, and how she has been handling the challenges she is facing. She has seen other mothers who, she thinks, have managed similar difficulties much better. She was berating herself for not being as gentle, wise, and confident as she has seen other mothers be.

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What Happens When We Don’t Like Our Kids?

Posted on December 7, 2017

by Lisa Marchiano, LCSW

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I am always a little surprised when a mother tells me with great shame and in great secrecy that she finds she doesn’t particularly like her child. Of course we don’t always like our children! It seems there is too much secrecy around this fact, and greater acceptance of the wide range of feelings that motherhood stirs up would reduce the shame and self-judgment that many mothers feel.

There are many reasons that a mother may find she doesn’t like her child at a particular time. For sure, we are likely to see our worst qualities reflected in our children. When this happens, it will be very hard for us to like them in these moments. How we handle these instances can make a big difference in our ability to be there for our kids – and for ourselves.

The film Lady Bird is a poignant portrayal of a wounded relationship between a mother and daughter. It explores that ways in which our self-judgment and shame keep us from being able to accept our children. In the film, Marion McPherson is a middle-aged woman raising her teenage daughter, working too hard for too little money. The family lives on the “wrong side of the tracks.” Marion had had hopes of moving her family to a larger house in a better neighborhood, but was not able to make this happen. Marion’s own mother was a violent alcoholic.

Marion emerges as a warm-hearted but troubled woman struggling with shame and self-doubt. At the emotional climax of the film, we learn that she has poured her heart out to her daughter in numerous drafts of letters, all of which she crumpled up and threw away for fear that her daughter would think her writing wasn’t good enough. Marion’s sense of inadequacy runs very deep indeed.

Marion’s 17-year-old daughter, who goes by the nickname Lady Bird, has inherited some of this shame. She dreams of living in one of the large, stately homes in the nicer parts of town. When she befriends a popular girl at school, she lies about where she lives, hiding her family’s modest circumstances.

Just as she can’t accept herself, Marion struggles to express her approval to her daughter. She is frequently cruelly critical. As the film opens, we see the two of them driving, discussing Lady Bird’s college choices. Marion tells Lady Bird she will never get into an East Coast college, and, with her work ethic, ought to “go to City College, and from there to jail.”

In an important scene, Marion takes Lady Bird to go shopping for a dress for the prom. Lady Bird tries on several dresses, critical of how she looks in each one until she finds one she really likes. As she stands admiring herself in the mirror, the lack of approval from her mother is palpable. Lady Bird challenges her mother to express her full, enthusiastic for how she looks in the dress. Marion cannot do it. “I just want you to be the best version of yourself possible,” she says, as a lame explanation. “What if this is the best version of me?” asks Lady Bird. (If you haven’t seen the film, this trailer samples a few of the scenes I have mentioned above.)

As viewers, we have empathy for Marion. We see that her limitations are a result of her own wounds. Yet we feel the ache of the gulf between her and daughter that is never quite bridged.

A fairy tale from Sierra Leone entitled “The Story of Two Women” contains an image of confronting our most shameful aspects while mothering, and the healing potential inherent in cultivating self-acceptance and compassion.

In the tale, two women find themselves childless. Seeking a remedy, one journeys to a village where there is an old woman who knows the medicine for having children. Before the old woman agrees to help her, she asks the young woman a series of questions about how she will treat the child. The young woman answers always in the affirmative.

“Will you wash of its filth?”

“Yes.”

“Will you allow it to wet on you?”

“Yes.”

“Will you be able to be vomited on?”

“Yes.”

“Will you like the vomit”

“Yes.”

“Well, sit down.”[i]

The young woman must go through several trials that night, but the next day, the old woman gives her a basket and some medicine. In the basket is a girl child covered with sores. The young woman carefully lifts the sore covered child out, covers her with kisses, and lovingly washes her with medicine. As a result, he sore covered child is healed, and in a little while, the young woman becomes pregnant with a child of her own.

Seeing her success, the second woman decides also to seek the old woman with the medicine for having children. This woman, however, does not answer in the affirmative to the old woman’s questions. She is insulted by them instead. She is subjected to the same trials, but complains about them bitterly. In the morning, the old woman gives her a basket with a sore covered child in it. Unlike the first woman, the second woman stuffs rags in the child’s mouth to keep her from crying. She doesn’t want anyone to know that she has a child with sores. The second woman not only doesn’t have a child – she quickly dies.

“The Story of Two Women” teaches us the necessity of accepting our own inner sore covered child. If we cannot accept those parts of ourselves that are shameful or disappointing, it will be much more difficult for us to accept the less likable aspects of our children.

When we can welcome with compassion what is most despised in ourselves and our children, this material can be transformed. Motherhood may provide a redemptive opportunity to reclaim rejected parts of ourselves because we are able to relate to them more compassionately when we see them carried by our children.

Marion is challenged to find and express unconditional love and acceptance for Lady Bird. At the end of the film, Lady Bird reads the crumpled up and discarded letters from her mother that her father rescued from the trash. Each letter expresses Marion’s profound love for her daughter.

Marion finds it difficult to accept herself – and Lady Bird – fully and unconditionally. But she tries. When we find ourselves experiencing irritation, embarrassment or disappointment with our children, we may find that cultivating greater self-acceptance is the healing factor.

[i] Ragan, K., & Yolen, J. (2000). Fearless girls, wise women, and beloved sisters: heroines in folktales from around the world. New York: W.W. Norton.

Photo by Gerome Viavant on Unsplash

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Originally published at PsychCentral.

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Gifts From Our Mothers

Posted on November 30, 2017

by Lisa Marchiano, LCSW

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When my client Rose was around nine or ten years old, she and her family were camping. With her parents’ permission, Rose set off on a walk through to woods to join up with friends at the lake. Rose remembers being suddenly startled by a large black bear rearing up in front of her. Frozen in fear, she didn’t know what to do. Then she heard her mother from behind shouting at the bear. Her mother pelted it with stones, and rushed at it brandishing a stick. The bear soon retreated.

Rose’s mother told her later that she had had a sixth sense that Rose might meet with danger, and had decided to follow her daughter to the lake. Rose admitted to me that she is not sure what would have happened if her mother had not been there when she met that bear.

Now Rose is an adult with a teenage son who is struggling with a debilitating and mysterious medical condition. Over the last few years, Rose has spent many hours at the local children’s hospital advocating on his behalf. She says that the memory of her mother shouting and hurling stones at the bear often comes to her when she finds herself needing to stand up to doctors or insurance companies as she oversees his care.

The Gifts of “Good Enough” Mothering

If we were lucky enough to have “good enough” mothering, we will likely find that that experience left behind a deep well of strength and courage that we can draw upon when we face parenting challenges. (Sometimes, good enough mothering doesn’t come from our own mother, but we may have gotten it from somewhere just the same.) We might not even realize that these resources are there until we need them.

The gifts given to us by our mothers often come to us in surprising ways. I read one story about a mother who had just given birth to her first child. As she held her newborn daughter in her arms, she was surprised to notice that she was singing to her in French, her own mother’s native tongue, which she had not realized she even remembered.

Vasilissa the Beautiful

The Russian fairy tale “Vasilissa the Beautiful” contains a poignant image of the way a mother’s gifts can serve as inner resources.

Once upon a time, a merchant lived with his wife and daughter in a forest. One day, when the little girl was eight years old, her mother fell ill, and it was clear that she would soon die. She drew her daughter to her, placed a small wooden doll in her hands, and said:

“Listen carefully and don’t forget what I am about to say. With my blessing, I leave to you this doll. Whenever you are sorrowful or distressed, give the doll something to eat and drink, and then tell it your troubles, and ask for its advice.”

So saying, the mother kissed the little girl and died.

Little Vasilissa grieved greatly for her mother, and her sorrow was so deep that when the dark night came, she lay in her bed and wept and did not sleep. At length she be thought herself of the tiny doll, so she rose and took it from the pocket of her gown and finding a piece of wheat bread and a cup of kvass, she set them before it, and said: “There, my little doll, take it. Eat a little, and drink a little, and listen to my grief. My dear mother is dead and I am lonely for her.”

Then the doll’s eyes began to shine like fireflies, and suddenly it became alive. It ate a morsel of the bread and took a sip of the kvass, and when it had eaten and drunk, it said:

“Don’t weep, little Vasilissa. Grief is worst at night. Lie down, shut thine eyes, comfort thyself and go to sleep. The morning is wiser than the evening.” So Vasilissa the Beautiful lay down, comforted herself and went to sleep, and the next day her grieving was not so deep and her tears were less bitter.

Here and throughout the rest of the tale, Vasilissa’s magical doll functions very much like a “good enough” mother’s psychological inheritance. “Good enough” mothering leaves us with a comforting inner voice that we can turn to in times of distress. Such inner resources help us find compassion for ourselves, and allows us to keep our problems in perspective so that we don’t become overwhelmed. They can be surprising sources of strength, resilience and courage.

As Rose struggles with her son’s illness, she has the gifts her mother passed on to her. These have allowed her to face adversity fearlessly and tenaciously. And she sees that she is passing such gifts on to her own children.

Photo by Rhendi Rukmana on Unsplash

Originally published on PsychCentral.com

Article

Helping Our Kids Become Whole

Posted on October 25, 2017

by Lisa Marchiano, LCSW

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“The right way to wholeness,” Jung wrote, “is full of fateful detours and wrong turnings.” And yet many mothers worry that there is a right way and a wrong way to parent. We spend time reading books and blogs. We listen to podcasts, and pay for expert advice, which is often contradictory.

Of course, there are general approaches in parenting that are superior to others, but we do ourselves a disservice when we overestimate our ability to control outcomes when it comes to parenting. Our children enter the world with their own distinct personalities and inclinations. Environmental factors that are out of our control shape their lives further. And even when we parent with intention, how can we know for certain what effect our efforts will have? Any parent of more than one child knows that the parenting technique that works wonders with one child has an entirely different effect on another child.

Though I am not advocating against parenting thoughtfully and with intention, I do think it is important to remember that we our ability to purposefully shape our children through our parenting has its limitations. Sometimes the ways in which are children are influenced are quite unintended.

Patricia was raised by a single, alcoholic mother. Due to heavy drinking and erratic behavior, Patricia’s mother had difficulty keeping a job. The two of them moved frequently, and Patricia recalls that life was chaotic and unpredictable. Every now and again, she would stay with her father and his wife and children. Her father’s family lived a much more stable life. “The children always had clean clothes. They lived in a house, and it was neat and orderly. When I stayed with them, we ate together at the dining room table.”

From these brief visits with her father, Patricia learned that there was another way of living than that she knew with her mother. “I remember being very young – maybe around ten years old – and realizing all of sudden that my mother was kind of a wreck. I loved her, but I knew she wasn’t taking good care of me, and that a different kind of life was possible. Somewhere inside of me, I resolved to myself that I was going to create that different life for myself just as soon as I could.”

Patricia became a stellar student. She excelled in school, and advocated for herself successfully. She was skipped a grade, allowing her to graduate and leave home to attend college when she was barely 17, and had a PhD by 25. Today, she is highly respected in her field.

Though her chaotic early life took its toll, she can look back and see that the deficits of her childhood also created a firm resolve in her to take advantage of the opportunities life offered her.

This is a common theme in fairy tales as well. One of the central paradoxes of psychic life is that it is often the witches, dragons, and ogres that stand in our way that eventually lead us to into a discovery of our own depths. It is no coincidence that the confrontation with these dark elements almost always leads to a discovery of the treasure.

In the Hungarian fairy tale “The Boy Who Could Keep a Secret,” a child is beaten by his mother, and sits crying.

For a long time the child sat sobbing, and the noise was heard by the king as he was driving by. ‘Go and see who it is that is crying so,’ said he to one of his servants, and the man went. In a few minutes he returned saying: ‘Your Majesty, it is a little boy who is kneeling there sobbing because his mother has beaten him.’

‘Bring him to me at once,’ commanded the monarch, ‘and tell him that it is the king who sends for him, and that he has never cried in all his life and cannot bear anyone else to do so.’ On receiving this message the boy dried his tears and went with the servant to the royal carriage. ‘Will you be my son?’ asked the king.

By the end of the tale, the boy has become the King of Hungary, and he acknowledges his gratitude to his mother for the beating that set him out on his path. “If you had not beaten me, nothing would have happened that has happened, and I would not now be King of Hungary.” The mother’s beatings were in fact the thing that set him on his hero’s journey.

Of course, we shouldn’t beat our children! And parental alcoholism has well-documented negative effects on children. But the fairy tale makes it clear that we can’t always predict with certainty the outcomes – either positive or negative – of our parenting interventions. The day to day cultivation of a human personality is such a complex task that there can’t possibly be one right way.

Originally published on PsychCentral.com.

Photo by Peter Hershey on Unsplash

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Listening to Our Instincts

Posted on October 14, 2017

by Lisa Marchiano, LCSW

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I suspect that parenting is more difficult than ever because of the proliferation of expert advice everywhere one turns. Advice can certainly be helpful. There are those who have done this before, who figured out things that can be helpful. There are scientists who have studied children and their behavior. There are therapists who have spoken with dozens of parents, so have an enriched context for understanding.

However, sometimes sources are untrustworthy. There are political agendas that drive the way we see certain issues, such as the impact of daycare on a child, or the benefits of preschool. Older parents or even therapists have their own biases, or may simply never have seen a situation quite like ours. Research often creates an incomplete picture, and in any case, the population level information that research yields may not be relevant to the unique person that is our child.

As a therapist, it can be easy to assume you know the right thing for someone else. When I work with parents, my orienting goal is to help my client attend better to her own intuitions about her child. “What do you think is going on?” I’ll ask. “What do you think you ought to do? What is your gut telling you?”

There is an exception to this, however. Most of us judge our children with the same overly harsh lens with which we judge ourselves. If a mother comes to me despairing that her child can’t seem to manage himself, I often try to help her see the strengths the child is manifesting in his unruliness. Whatever the problem, there are usually a number of ways of coming to understand it. Some of these are going to be more pathologizing, and some less. In the case of our kids, often our negative assessment of ourselves – and them – can override our intuition.

The Scottish fairy tale “The Stolen Bairn and the Sidh” can be instructive about how precious our own knowledge and instincts are when it comes to mothering our children.

A poor young woman was out wandering with her infant son. She laid him down for a moment while she went to fetch him some water, but while she was gone, two members of the fairy folk known as the Sidh came and took the boy away. The mother was distraught. She asked everyone she could what had happened to her child. A wise woman in the village discerned that he had been stolen by the Sidh, and advised the mother to give up her search, for no one ever returns alive from the fairies’ realm.

“I will not stop until I have found my son,” the young mother said. At last, the wise woman told the mother that she might have a chance of gaining back her child if she were to sneak into the fairy realm on a particular night. “Remember, the Sidh cannot produce anything themselves, but must steal and beg everything. They want to own all that is rare and precious.”

“But I am poor, and own nothing!” cried the young mother. “What can I offer them?”

Nevertheless, she did as the old woman suggested. She gathered eider down from ducks at the seaside and made a cloak as soft as a cloud. She found bones along the shore bleached to brightest white, and used these to make a harp. She had nothing to use for strings for the harp, however, so she plucked her own golden hairs and strung the instrument with these.

By stealth, she was able to sneak into the fairy kingdom. The Sidh were so delighted with her cloak that they agreed to take her to their king if she would give it to them. When the fairy king saw the harp, he had to have it. He agreed to give the woman back her child in exchange for it.

When the king played the harp, the Sidh were so spellbound by the beauty of the music that they didn’t even notice the mother escape with her child.

This beautiful tale uses the eloquent language of symbol to show that what our children most need is what we alone can offer them. Our love, our knowledge of them, and our instincts about them are uniquely ours, and cannot be replaced by the dictates of any expert, no matter how wise.

Originally published on PsychCentral.com.

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Cultivating Creativity While Mothering

Posted on October 6, 2017

by Lisa Marchiano, LCSW

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Sasha entered treatment with me when her back pain became unmanageable – and nothing else she had tried was working. Sasha was trained as an opera singer, but had stopped performing when pregnant with her daughter. Though she had intended to go back to music in a professional capacity after her child was born, one thing after another got in the way – her husband’s job required them to move; she had difficulty finding reliable childcare; and then another baby came along. It had been more than four years since Sasha had performed, and as she admitted to me tearfully, she had begun to think she never would again.

Being a mother can indeed interrupt a creative life. When others need so much from us daily, it can be difficult to find the time and energy to invest in our creativity. In an article entitled Portrait of the Artist as a Young Mom, the author quotes a photographer, who explains that she has not been able to pursue her art since having kids.

There are moments when I feel like I’m dying a little more every day. I feel like a fish that’s been caught and then abandoned on a dock, lying there, flopping and gasping, each gasp weaker than the last.

Sasha, too, felt as if a part of her were dying. We wondered together whether she could reclaim her deep connection with music while continuing to mother. Is it possible to mother and live a creative life? Could it ever be that motherhood could feed a woman’s creativity?

Sheila grew up the only daughter of an alcoholic single mother. Her mother was harshly critical, and Sheila suffers from crippling doubt. The first time she ever experienced a sense of trust in her own creativity was shortly after her daughter was born.

“The first person who ever gave me any confidence was Crystal, because I could see that what I did by instinct was working,” Sheila told me. Being a mom to Crystal was not a panacea that restored Sheila’s creative self to her once and for all. However, it did begin a process that years later led her to work in a creative field that fed her soul.

The novelist Fay Weldon found that being a mother put her in touch with her own wellspring of creativity. In a 1978 interview, she stated that “the process of being pregnant and then of having the baby and getting up in the night only puts one more in touch with the fecund part of one’s self. …It reminds one that there is always more where that came from and there is never any shortage of ideas or of the ability to create.[i]”

In our work together, Sasha was eventually able to find ways to honor the importance of her creative life. Though it was difficult to hold the tension between investing in herself and being present for her children, she found that doing so paid off. She felt more at home in her body, and capable of accessing joy once again.

What makes the difference between mothering that helps a creative process versus one that hinders it? Might it sometimes be a little of both? I recently explored this topic further in a podcast episode of “Launching Your Daughter.” In it, I discuss some additional case examples, and talk about creativity in motherhood using the fairy tale “Rumpelstiltskin. ” I hope you like it!

[i] Nina Winter, Interview with the Muse, Moon Books, 1978, p. 40.

Originally published on PsychCentral.com.

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When Motherhood Defeats Us

Posted on August 3, 2017

by Lisa Marchiano, LCSW

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It is a human need to experience ourselves as competent. When we are mothering children, whether we feel competent can play a significant role in determining how satisfying we find this role. While some women come by a sense of competence easily after becoming a mother, others may have a more difficult time. Some women find the infant and baby stage easy, but feel at a loss when their child becomes a toddler. Others may not feel as though they hit their stride until their child is older.

Whatever our initial experience of motherhood may be, it is undeniably true that we will face defeat again and again as we parent our children. Some defeats are small – we throw up our hands and give up on trying to switch from white to whole wheat pasta. Other defeats carry grave and permanent consequences that alter the shape of our lives.

An Algonquin tale illustrates how we are defeated by motherhood, and gives us an idea of how we might grow from this experience

Glooscap and the Baby

Glooscap was the mighty hero of the Algonquin people. He had conquered a race of giants, and cunning sorcerers, wicked spirits, fiends, cannibals, and witches. He boasted that there was nothing left for him to defeat.

But an old woman laughed. “Are you so sure, oh Great One? There is one adversary who remains unsubdued, and no one can conquer him.”

Dismayed, Glooscap asked the name of this foe.

“His name is Wasis, but I advise you not to have any dealings with him!”

Wasis was a little baby who sat on the floor sucking a piece of maple candy and cooing to himself as he slobbered. Glooscap had never married, and had no idea how children were to be managed, but he was very confident that, if he could handle a race of giants, and a pack of witches, and some cannibals, he would make out just fine with one small baby.

He smiled at the child. “Come here, Wasis!” said the great Glooscap.

The baby smiled back, but didn’t move. Glooscap tried to coax the child by imitating a beautiful birdsong. Then he motioned again for the baby to come to him. Wasis laughed in delight, but still did not do as he was commanded. He just went on sucking on his candy.

Now Glooscap worked himself in a terrible rage. He was not used to being defied in this way! He shouted angrily at Wasis, demanding that he okay, but this only made the child erupt in deafening wails that were so loud and distracting, Glooscap could barely hear himself.

Then the mighty warrior summoned all his great powers. He recited all the magical incantations he knew, and recited all of the most powerful prayers. But Wasis just sat and sniffled a little.

Finally, Glooscap rushed from the hut in utter defeat, while Wasis the baby went back to cooing.

For women who may have lived heroically before becoming having kids, motherhood can pose special challenges. If we have defeated the giants and witches of academic or professional challenges, we may be very used to feeling competent. For some women who fit this description, having a baby can indeed mean finally meeting their match.

Defeat

My client Aimee was a successful attorney. When she became pregnant with her first child, she was excited to become a mom. She shared that she wasn’t particularly worried about juggling parenting and work, because she had identified a trustworthy nanny, and her husband had a flexible schedule. She first came to see me a few months after her daughter was born.

Aimee had a difficult birth, and healing from it took many weeks. She hadn’t expected that labor would carry such lingering physical difficulties. She was also unprepared for how all-engrossing caring for a newborn would be. Her physical difficulties, sleeplessness, and postpartum hormonal soup left her profoundly disoriented. Though she had hoped to go back to work after six weeks, she found that wasn’t possible. This significant defeat caused her to re-evaluate assumptions about herself and her life she had long taken for granted.

For Aimee, the reality of motherhood and birth was a significant defeat for that part of her determined that life should go on as before. She had to admit that things would never be the same for her. This admission opened her up to question values previously taken for granted. It gave her a chance to re-evaluate her priorities and engage with aspects of herself that had long been neglected.

Aimee did return to work eventually, though she admits she is a different person now than before her daughter was born. Though she did lose aspects of herself, she gained others.

“I have a broader perspective now. I think I am more accepting and understanding of the people I manage. Overall, I think I’m a better lawyer now because of this.”

Photo by Tim Bish on Unsplash

Originally published on PsychCentral.com.

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