Failure is acceptable, as long as you try again…
There’s really no better title than “Try Again” for this post. Especially given the fact that “Write some” has popped up everyday in my Bullet Journal this week. The task keeps migrating to the day ahead. Yeah, I’ll try to write again tomorrow.
In all fairness, it’s Spring Break (at least, at the time I’ve started writing this). We’re hosting Nathan’s brother right now who’s on a business trip. The teenager is out of the house, so I’m coming up for air. And, oh yeah, I have decided to try potty-training…again.
Only, this time, as much as I tried to avoid it, Nova has hopped on the potty-training bandwagon. Really, her signs of readiness are what kicked off this attempt, but it doesn’t matter. I’m still potty-training not just one, but TWO toddlers. Irish twins. Simultaneously.
Pray for me.
Anyway, Try Again has absolutely been the running theme in our house lately. And it’s dawned on me, as a result, just how transformative a Try Again theme can truly be.
Potty Party
Starting with what’s freshest on my mind. Obviously the potty-training.
Call me crazy, but with the teenager out of the house for a week, I felt a resurgence of mental stamina. Maybe correlation doesn’t equal causation, but I settled on it being a transient win. And the perfect time to put on my big girl panties to let my toddlers run commando for a while.
Having this renewed reattempt energy had me feeling gracious. I went into this attempt with a mindset of “This is the first time I’m training both of them, NOT my fourth attempt at training Orson. Fresh start. Let’s try this again.”
Maybe it helps that I’ve reached such a place of desperation to gain ground here that I really don’t care about cleaning up puddles of pee and piles of shit anymore. I already have countless water puddles I’m cleaning up daily from leaky bottles and spitting toddlers.
Might as well roll with it.
Oh, you had an accident? That’s okay. You’ll get it next time. You can try again…
As opposed to thinking that after three previous attempts, Orson should really know better. It really takes the pressure off.
After a week and some change, it’s felt like maybe some progress is being made, but it’s grueling. Nova has gotten lots of potty wins, but it’s always preceded by massive resistance. We’ll likely be backing off from her to try again later, but at least we have some hope. For now.
Orson is kind of getting there too. But he has some off-kilter reset days that give us pause. Surely he’ll be potty-trained before graduating high school at least…right? RIGHT?! Some days, your guess is as good as mine.
Patient Parents
At least, we’re trying to be. In this whole Try Again season, Nathan and I have been more intentional and mindful (at least on our good days) of being more patient. More gracious. Leaning into “Good Inside” Dr. Becky’s MGI approach.
MGI = Most Generous Interpretation.
It may sound saccharine and reductive at outset, but it’s pretty transcendent. Instead of being bewildered by a seemingly irrational and unprovoked Orson meltdown, using MGI begets a constructive curiosity.
He transferred to childrens’ church this morning with little to no separation anxiety. Which is a blissful change of pace. But Coen takes his empty Goldfish bag away when he starts shaking the crumbs out, and he completely loses it?? What gives?!
M. G. I.
Oh, sweet boy. You’ve been holding it together this morning. You’re growing and learning to be brave. To embrace adventures and a break in routine. But it’s still a new take. Holding yourself together, finding strength to emotionally regulate, takes a LOT of work.
MGI was like a lightbulb. Eureka. Here I was, instead of gritting my teeth and resentfully fighting off an overstimulation-induced headache, I was enthusiastically and compassionately cheering on my crying toddler.
Trying to make room for my children’s humanity again, as opposed to wallowing in hopeless, burnt-out annoyance. Understanding where Orson’s at developmentally, for example, but actually applying that knowledge to safely support him through the stage.
Yes, feel those feelings! You’ve been bottling it up, but you’re safe to let it out now. Wow! That’s a LOT that you’ve been holding inside. Those aren’t small feelings; those are BIG feelings, and it’s important to let them out. We’re so proud of you!
And something miraculous happened.
His cries got quieter. Instead of escalating to a high-pitched, blood-curdling shriek (probably because he didn’t feel heard), he pushed out a few half-hearted cries and wound himself down. By the time we got home and I embraced him, he was telling us how happy he was and forcing his best cheesy, toothy, squinty smile.
No, MGI doesn’t ALWAYS work, but it creates a certain balance in the parenting paradigm. When so often it feels like you’re saying “no”, being consistent, enforcing boundaries, MGI creates healthy wiggle-room.
In which you can see your child’s humanity. Meet them where they’re at developmentally. And build a healthy, safe, and, at the worst of times, at least more tolerant relationship.
“Try Again” vs. “Time-Out”
I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again. I’m trying to be a gentle parent.
G.E.N.T.L.E.
NOT pErMiSsIvE.
I’m still fairly authoritative. With little toddlers (and a static seventeen year old), you have to be. Either the toddlers will kill themselves or the teenager will die of inactivity. There has to be balance, and I’m starting to see the toxicity presented in much of the “gentle-parenting” pedagogy.
It’s just one more shame-spin. One more riptide to drown you in the perfect storm that is parenting. One more way to tell yourself (or have everyone else tell you) how much you’re failing as a parent. That you aren’t gentle ENOUGH. That you aren’t doing this right. Fail. Fail. And FAIL.
The inconvenient truth in parenting is, quite simply, this: it is NOT one size fits ALL.
That’s not a blanket statement of permission to parent however you want, mind you. Believe me. If you don’t, check out Born Evil or Do As I Say, Not As I Do. For starters.
I’m in no way condoning abuse. I am, however, condoning consequences. Firm AF boundaries. Enforced with grace and compassion.
I’ve trial-and-errored this parenting shit. I don’t have it all figured out. And those who think that they do are surely missing the mark.
I didn’t think I’d ever spank. But, hey, I give a couple warnings. My non-negotiables are endangerment to self or others.
Are you hitting, kicking, biting, intentionally shoving? Using your body to purposefully hurt someone else’s body? Do it one more time, and I’ll have to spank you. I don’t want to spank you. It hurts Mama’s heart to spank you, but you cannot hurt others just because you are having big feelings.
So… “Try Again.”
Oftentimes, that’s really where it ends. A reluctant “okayyy”, a sweet “sorry” or “you okay?” to a sibling later, and the whole thing has blown over. Buuuut every once in a while, they choose violence. Then one, quick swat to the booty is chosen. They’ve heard and acknowledged the warning. They do it again. I enforce the boundary.
BUTT…
But, I do NOT do it out of a heart of anger. I take a deep breath while I bend them over my knee, give one tame, quick swat that hurts their feelings more than their booties, and proceed to console, give hugs, and instruction. They calm quickly, and they move on to other things.
And I’m at peace with that. Knowing that kids are not as weak and fragile as many “gentle parenting” texts would have them seem. Knowing that I’ve not irreparably damaged our relationship. Or their precious booties.
In fact, the number of times that, within minutes, Orson will run up to me saying that his booty hurts, just to giggle, turn around, and tell me to “kiss it”… If you think a little butt swat is abuse, try again.
I’m certainly not pulling the sadistic shit my father did with me with “spankings”. Drawing out tension, instilling terror, humming the Darth Vader march… He was nothing if not creative. And as soon as I’d start nervously laughing, that’s when he’d drop the gauntlet. With the full force of his fury.
I, in no way, want my children to fear me. That should NEVER be the goal. I am their safe space. But I also am responsible for keeping them safe from themselves and, sometimes, each other.
End of the day, the peddled, extremist-brand of “gentle parenting” is for gentle, gentle children. I do not have those. But I love love love the ones I’ve got. And on that final note for this section, this Mamasaur chooses repair with her kids all the time, too. We all get the choice to try again.
Failure is acceptable, as long you try again…
Picture Perfect
Haha! My life ain’t it. I really just wanted to choose something that felt like it fringed on applicable while sticking with the PP word play for my subheadings. PP on the brain with potty-training. Who woulda thunk it?
Picture Perfect fringes on applicable in the sense that it has to do with the therapeutic skill of reframing. Get it?
Anywhooo… Reframing, as it relates to the Trauma-Focused Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (TF-CBT) I’ve been undergoing for the last several months, has been, well, mind-blowing.
Seeing everything through a filter of shame. Of self-condemnation. Of outright failure… It keeps me locked in a headspace of being unable to try again. I get trapped in this interminable cycle of shaming and mentally abusing myself, which leads to a desire to escape while feeling hopelessly trapped.
Why, hello there, my old friends! Dissociation and Depersonalization, come on in and make yourselves comfortable while I check myself out. Fight or flight to the rescue, am I right?
After consistently practicing reframing for a while, major breakthrough after leaving a therapy session. I’m driving home, and I’m struck by this vivid realization.
Years ago, after researching the potential benefits for clinical depression, I experimented with psilocybin. AKA: Psychedelic Shrooms. (Big asterisk here: NOT promoting recreational drug use, just recounting personal history. I write about it more here.)
I had this hallucination in which I felt trapped in my mind but unable to control my body… Powerless to stop the steamroller that repeatedly crushed me to death. I had already reconciled the obvious, though I’m ashamed it took me as much time as it did to see what it meant. This is how I felt all throughout my upbringing. Body keeps the score, indeed.
But after this therapy session in particular…
LIGHTBULB.
Why does it even make a difference whether I’m No Contact with my parents or not? I absolutely took the toxic torch from my mother and became my own abuser.
Among many consequences of this, I not only lived under a dark cloud of shame, but I also set this bar for myself unattainable by any human standard. Just so I’d have a valid reason to always remind myself what a despicable failure I am. As a wife. As a mother. And as a person in general.
THAT, my friends, was the pivotal moment where my reframing practice really started taking root. This has been my season to try again.
To admit my mistakes, not hold myself captive by them, and to try again tomorrow. Try again to make a new identity for myself. Try again to see my own dignity and worth. Not ONLY as a wife and mother, but as an accessible friend. As a Christ-follower. As a woman.
And when I tell you that my personal transformation has been transformative for my family, it’s an understatement. The reframing practice of asking simple questions like “Is this true?” and “Is this helpful?” has been leavening.
Insomuch that it’s a gradual process that feels too easy to write off, but it gets in and permeates. You find yourself easily leaning into that “try again” attitude seemingly overnight, as though the CBT seeds have just sprouted. It gets easier to find peace, to pick yourself up and move on, to mentally recover and bounce back with newfound resiliency.
If you’ve tried reframing before and felt like it didn’t work… Try it again.
Try, Try Again
Hopefully, you’ve found some valuable insight in this post. Or you at least feel caught up on what this Mamasaur’s been up to that kept her away a week. POTTY TRAINING.
We don’t have it all figured out. Far from it. But understanding that, as I’ve mentioned, failure IS acceptable and mistakes are OKAY, as long as you try again… That’s what I’m embracing in this season. And what I’m teaching my children.
Being able to repair, give grace to not only your kids, but your own fucking self (sorry, not sorry)! Modeling that it is okay to try again. And try again. Then, try again some more. Till you find out what works. Till you grow. Until something gives and changes and everyone is better for it.
The worst thing you can do is just stay stuck. Give up. Stay down. Not fight. Not repair. No reattempts. No compassion or grace.
Fuck that.
And try again.