Never an abuser

My son is three-and-a-half. My daughter is two-and-a-quarter. I'm working hard to develop my patience, compassion and supportive coaching capacities, and they are my immersion program.

The other day, I noticed that they behave to me in ways not unlike a dog that's sometimes kicked by the owner it adores. I sense occasional resentment, quickly overcome by joy in the present happy mood, but with subtle anxious watching. If my mood changes unexpectedly, like if play gets too rough and I'm hurt, their response is a wail of heartbreak-mingled fear, becoming anguished cries and heaving sobs. They aren’t just crying to get on my nerves or be difficult, much as those things may result. They are heartbroken. For them, this moment of anger calls into subconscious question every belief they have in their own lovability. Every time I lose it and turn into Monster Mom, even if it only lasts 10 seconds, it breeds doubt while also instilling traits. I am the paragon of human behaviour for them. I show them what to do with these feelings, and they log it, learn it, and it becomes them. Over time it’s the family dynamic.

So if I know all that, why do I ever lose it? Why do I end up yelling out or whining at them when they do what can only be expected? Maybe because I feel impatient and bored with the same lessons over and over. By the 80th time we play out essentially the same scenario in a week, I want them to be on my agenda. I’m expecting them to learn my steps and needs, and they appear to be steadfastly focused on anything but. It's tedious, and the tediousness grates against my agenda, causing anxiety to cohabit with existing frustration. That's my side of it. What's theirs?

It’s important for them that I am happy. And, it’s imperative for them that they fulfill their immediate perceived need. They are programmed to learn; it’s a physical, psychological and emotional compulsion to do what the brain has settled on, try it in a very specific way, and try it themselves. This focus is no more aware of the “five minute warning” or the importance of getting to music on time than is my growling stomach when I’m hungry. He’s not wilfully ignoring me, he’s focusing on something he finds more fascinating than my agenda. That’s the word for it – they are fascinated with what’s in their now, to the exclusion of much else.

While my irritation is rising, he’s also becoming irritated by the mosquito-like distraction from his current sole purpose in life. He’s intent on his brain’s immediate food, whether or not I see it that way, and he isn’t in the headspace to listen to alternatives. He is working to stay focused on whatever it is, and I’m getting in the way. His first instinct is to swat at me, either in a whiny or angry tone, or sometimes with hands or feet. When I try to understand what he’s feeling, I remember the way my brain and body focus on going back to sleep when I can’t bring myself to get out of bed, despite escalating reasons to do so. Everything is irritating in that moment.

Breaking away from compulsion gets easier over time – the compulsion fades, and our ability to break improves. But still, if I’m in the middle of writing something and one of them is nagging, Mommy, Mooooommmmyyy, MOMMY!, I’m quite likely to turn on them and fiercely say “I’m BUSY, please WAIT,” scaring the hell out of them. So what do I expect from someone who has 1/10th of my experience, very little perspective, no real buy-in into the agenda, and a compulsion likely stronger than anything I’ve experienced in a long time? I expect more than I expect of myself, that’s what. Where is my compassion? How do I call it up every moment of every day so that I’m never an abuser, not even a tiny bit, not even hardly ever. Just never.

Depression as an element of Happiness

I'm exploring the idea that the unpleasant and sometimes debilitating feelings of depression are an opportunity for experience and practice. On the one hand, I need to learn how to exercise control that can reduce their interference with what's important. On the other hand, I need to provide myself with some "safe place" and time to explore and experience sadness, futility, worry, confusion, resentment, anger, fear and all the other emotions clamoring for my attention. My theory is that if I just shove those feelings aside in my focus on the unattainable goal of consistent happiness, I am shutting out a richness of experience that can strengthen me.

Maybe the feeling in my chest that comes with the perfect storm of emotion I associate with depression is like the aching of childbirth, as though the feelings are helping to open my spirit to empathy and understanding. Maybe fighting and avoiding depression keeps me emotionally and spiritually underdeveloped, stunted.

When they come along, I've wasted time seeking the cause of depressive emotions, or trying to immediately neutralize or eliminate them. When they come unbidden at inopportune times, I bribe them with food so they'll go away for the time being. I work hard to hold them at bay with deliberate positivity so that I can be a good parent, a good employee, a good partner, a good friend in the moment. I think this is important practice and will continue to use positive thinking to keep those feelings from taking dominance in my daily life. But still, eventually, they always come back for more, filling my head and sucking my patience, threatening my ability to keep all the balls in the air.

Recently, I had an opportunity to put down my burden of responsibilities for a few days, and my body demanded I pay attention by getting sick. With the kids safely away and vacation freeing me from work, I thought I would feel happy. I was frustrated and angry to find myself in unexplainable depression. When I stopped fighting it and felt it, I recognized my own sense of grief for my life before parenting, futility in the face of the world's complex issues, guilt about my children's first experience of separation from me, loneliness and longing for more true connection, and a host of other elements. It's like dissecting the flavours in a meal. Not a very pleasant meal, but still.

As I greeted each emotion, I danced with it, grieved with it, hugged it close - I fully FELT it without calling it "bad," without demanding its immediate retreat, and most of all, releasing permission to feel it. I realized I feel guilty for even having these emotions. Feeling sadness implies failure or dissatisfaction with my life, and the truth is, I have a perfect life. So what right do I have to feel these things, and if I do, does that mean I'm not happy?

I came to a place where I realized it doesn't have to be either/or. I can be both happy, and sometimes depressed. I anticipate one key for me is learning what to do with the difficult emotions when they are inconvenient or I can't take the time to experience them, without resorting to food or drugs. That will be a lifetime of learning, I think, and maybe I need to wean off the crutches while strengthening through emotional "physio."

Another key may be to accept the emotions I've called "depression" as integral to myself and my growth. I want to pay attention so these feelings can help me strengthen my empathy and through it, my compassion. I want to experience these feelings as a foil that amplifies my gratitude and appreciation, while keeping me honest about whether I'm taking care of my own needs in this life.

My hope is that living and even loving my "depression" as part of me will help me settle deeper into my self and my strength. It's an experiment!

Maybe we've got depression all wrong

I've been playing with the idea that "depression" isn't what I think. My impression of depression has been that it's the opposite of happiness, a plague to be avoided, something only the weak succumb to, and when not overcome in a timely manner, must be treated with drugs.

What if the feelings we sum up as "depression" actually represent elements of happiness? What if, in fact, experiencing depression offers opportunities to learn more about gratitude and empathy while strengthening our brain's synopses around adapting through practice? What if our goal wasn't to eliminate depression, but to find ways to incorporate it more effectively into our lives?

More thinking on this...