Spoiling Your Child - a Mother's Day post

What do we mean by spoiled? What is a spoiled person like? Is a spoiled child different to a spoiled adult? What specific behaviour constitutes spoiling a person? What effect does that behaviour have?

Often, in parenting, people like to throw words around that aren't really at all well defined. We accept conventional wisdom without questioning it.

If you spoil a child they will grow up spoiled and entitled. It isn't even questioned, and yet - what do we actually mean by it?

It isn't enough for me to simply base my parenting on blindly following the status quo. I want to break these things down and think about why we do them, and indeed if we even should. If my conclusion in the end is that yep, this one stands up to analysis and scrutiny, then fabulous. I not only know what I'm doing, but why. This helps me to be consistent, to be sure of myself, to be able to clearly articulate why I have chosen to parent this way. If no, well, then I can start to think about alternative ways of thinking and parenting, and to analyse those in the same way.

There tends to be two types of spoiling that people talk about, although many seem to consider these the same thing. They are, essentially: spoiling with too much stuff, and being too permissive/loving/protective (why are these so often lumped together??).

Today I'm primarily going to talk about the second one. The "helicopter parent", the yes parent, the doting parent, the unconditional parent. The parent who, like us, doesn't discipline.

We don't punish Audrey. I know this comes as a big shock to people for whom training like a dog is the only and best way to correctly raise children. That does not mean that we "let her get her own way" (wtf? do you talk like this about your spouse? Are children a different species?) but it does mean that we give her feelings and wants equal consideration with our own. And we don't put judgements on that - we don't decide that her wanting to finish playing her game before putting her shoes on "isn't important" and can therefore be ignored.

Listen, I know there are people in the world a lot worse off than myself. And yet, as an adult, I am still allowed to have my own wants, frustrations, sadnesses, impulses, whims, without anyone telling me that I'm spoiled for having them and I should think of all the poor people who don't have things as good as I do. Just because people are going through harder things than I am, doesn't mean I'm not allowed sympathy from my loved ones when I'm facing my own trials.

I am allowed to say "I am writing my novel, and right at the really important bit and it's going so well and I'm so in the flow of it right now, I will finish this chapter and have dinner half an hour later." I am allowed to say "You know what, I'm having a shitty day and I don't feel myself. I'll cancel my plans for today, my friends will understand I just need some me-time." Why can't Audrey have that?

We treat Audrey like another human being. With respect and consideration. And we ask in return that she treats other people with the same respect and consideration, while taking into account her age. We notice and thank her when she gets it right. We point out, gently and with kindness, when she gets it wrong and explain the consequences - how it made someone feel, that it meant something got broken.

When she gets something wrong we don't assume she was trying to "be naughty". We assume she is trying her best and, like all of us, not always managing. We try to support her to do her best, rather than always putting her down for getting it wrong. We spend a lot of time fostering empathy in her, because I really believe that's the basis for "good" and moral behaviour that is internally motivated rather than motivated by fear of punishment.

I love Audrey and want her to feel good. She loves me and wants me to feel good. With a lot of mutual respect, we work together every day to make each other happy. What does that look like? Well, a lot of the time it isn't easy for either of us. A lot of the time we fall far short. But we keep trying, and many days are lovely and many moments are beautiful, and both of us are learning to be more compassionate people with more communication skills.

Is that spoiling? Certainly my parenting style is what would be considered permissive by many. If Audrey wants to do something we try to find a way to say yes if at all possible. Our only "rules" are be safe and be kind. If there's something she wants to do that I would rather she didn't, which one of the two of us gets to decide whether she should do that? If I want to do something and she would rather I didn't, which one of us gets to decide? These are complex questions that I try to think about deeply every day. I will often tell her if I don't like something, and why, but ultimately leave the decision in her hands. How else will she learn to make decisions?

If I force her to do things, how will she learn that it's not okay to force people to do what you want by overpowering them? By being bigger and stronger, you get to make all the rules. The littlest have no voice. I know this isn't perhaps the nicest language, but seriously FUCK those playground bully rules. That's not how I choose to live. That's not what I want to teach my child. Let's model diplomacy and talk this out, listening to each other, understand each other's feelings. So what if it's about a sandwich or finger paint or something YOU have decided isn't important. On a grand scale, your problems are not that much more important - and yet don't you want to be listened to and validated and taken seriously?

I think the kind of permissive parenting people think of when they get that extreme negative reaction is the kind where the parents have given the child anything they want as long as they shut up and leave the parents alone. A kind of neglectful parenting, where the parents talk a good talk and buy lots of things and don't like to do the hard work of conflict, discussion, respect. In many ways it's similar to the punitive parenting systems, in that it is an easy answer. An easy way out. And yes, perhaps then you end up with a person who has never learned about empathy, safety, kindness, community, compromise, respect.

But can you see how these things are not the same?

Parenting right, like living right, is difficult. We all fail, we all need other people's grace and understanding, but ultimately we should at least be aware of what goal to aim for.

Yes, I can "fix" things that my child does that are frustrating or difficult for me by punishing/training her like an animal. Yep, that will work, for the specific behaviour we are talking about. But can't we get to the root of things a bit more? Can't I look at myself - why do I have such a problem with this behaviour? Is it her that needs to be fixed, or me?

As an example, I get very upset when Audrey cries. I'm talking about the loud screaming-crying. It makes me incredibly anxious and triggers that fight/flight adrenaline response and I feel freaked out. But that is my own problem to work through, which I am in therapy, and I have to own that and not give a massively out-of-proportion shouting response to Audrey when she cries.

She is allowed to cry. She is allowed to feel sadness and frustration and anger. The way I parent Audrey doesn't mean I try to "protect" her from these feelings so that she never ever has them, it means I have empathy for her, I show her I'm there if she wants to talk or wants a hug. I let her feel what she's feeling without making her feel bad for being upset.

It's hard. It's so hard, the hardest thing I've ever done. And I'm grateful for it, because it is pushing me every day to be a better person - not just a better parent.

Today is Mother's Day and I'm feeling lucky and in love with motherhood. It's a transformation, a refinement, like metal in a furnace. It's beautiful, and I'm so grateful to her.

March

Today, after music class, we went to the canal. In our favourite place, there by the metal ducks and wooden benches at the very end of the water, a young man came and sat beside us in the cold sunlight and asked if it was all right if he practised his guitar for a while.

Audrey watched him very carefully. The man laughed and asked why she was pulling faces at him. "Her granddad used to play guitar for her a lot," I answered him with a smile. "He passed away a few weeks ago."

I hadn't been sure I was going to write about that here. I'm still not really sure what exactly I'll say. But it was a really nice moment, today, and I know that we were both thinking about him.

Team Us

We've recently been away from Edinburgh for the longest amount of time since Audrey was born - about two weeks. Audrey coped beautifully, even though it was a very difficult time for her. For both of us.

Sometimes when I'm caught up in my own issues and interests and problems it is easy to let empathy slip away - if she wants my attention then it annoys me, I start to think she's being selfish. If she cries I call it a tantrum, I feel myself getting angry. If she interrupts me I make a snappy or even sarcastic comment, as if there is any way she could understand that. If she spills something I make her feel bad about it, as if she did it on purpose. If she is loud, I pull a face. If she makes a mess, I sigh loudly and comment that "I just spent all morning cleaning, you know".

Maybe what I want is for her to sit very still and be very quiet. To do nothing and say nothing.

Maybe what I want is for her to go away.

To go away so I can be by myself and do whatever I like, instead of playing this game again or telling this story again or folding this laundry for the fifth time.

Ouch. It hurts to see it written down like that. How much more must it hurt her to feel it? I can say to her "I love you. I like being your mama. I like playing with you." But how does she know if that's true? How would I know if I was her? I have to show her, constantly, with my actions and the way I treat her. I have to show her empathy and understanding. She is only two years old.

She is only two years old. If she cries, there is a reason. Slapping the word "tantrum" on it only makes it easy for me to ignore it and pretend that there are no real feelings happening. If she shouts, maybe that's because I'm not listening when she tries to talk to me at a more reasonable volume. If she interrupts me maybe it's because if she didn't I would spend all day doing my own things instead of putting everything aside so I can play for half an hour. If she spills or makes a mess I know - I KNOW - that she doesn't mean it and feels bad enough about it without me saying "See? I TOLD you to be more careful." She is learning. Part of that involves making mistakes. That's what it's all about, that moment right there. That's where I make my choice about what kind of parent I want to be, how I want her to look back and remember her childhood with me, how she grows up viewing her own mistakes and the confidence with which she attempts new things.

I try, every day, to see things from where she's coming from. I pretend that she's my friend, I think about how I would react and what I would say if I saw my friend upset. If my friend was trying to tell me something important to them. If my friend came round to spend the day with me I wouldn't spend hours in another room doing housework. I wouldn't shout at them for spilling a cup of water.

You know what? It makes a big difference when I remember these things. It feels a lot more like we're on the same team. I show her that I understand by repeating back what has happened and how she feels about it, and I ask her what I could do to help her feel better. I ask her how she's feeling often, whether she seems happy or sad. I verbalise my own feelings, without worrying that she is too young to understand. Of course she understands - they are just feelings, and she has them too. Talking about them normalises them, makes them less scary and more manageable. It plants the seeds of empathy.

Then - and this is the magic part - I gradually notice that she is starting to do it too.

She notices when I'm sad and asks how she can help.

She tells me with her words when she's feeling upset. When I tell her how I am feeling she says "well done for using your words, mama".

When she's feeling something complicated or strong, she comes to me and asks me to "talk about it".

When other people (or animals) feel bad, she feels empathy.

When I really do need time to do my own thing, she listens and tries her best to respect that. The other night when she woke up, my back was aching. I said "Please just go to sleep, Audrey. My back hurts too much to cope with this." She lay down beside me and stroked my hair very gently. She said "don't worry, mama." We fell asleep together.

When I nurture instead of discipline, when I let her lead the way and be her own person without worrying about "moulding" her into something else, when I prioritise our relationship and being kind and respectful to her as she is right now, great things happen. And I'm a lot more able to notice them and celebrate them. We are both happier, we smile more, we trust each other. We don't assume that everything has a bad motivation. We accept that we are trying.

She is always trying her best, really. Just like we all are. I want to be kind to her, just like I try to be kind with myself. And she makes that so easy, so rewarding. "I really love you, mama."