Dads with Guns Need Compassion Too

February 13, 2012 By TheOrganicSister

Recently a video has been going around YouTube and Facebook of a very angry dad responding to a very angry daughter by using a gun against one of her possessions and eliciting some very angry responses from everyone.

I wasn’t going to reply to this at all for a few reasons, 1) I don’t want to perpetuate anger (which is why I’m not linking to any external sources) and 2) it didn’t feel right.

But I’ve been asked enough times – and prodded a few times to react – that I’m going to do my best to respond.

Here’s What I See

I only watched for a couple minutes – partially because my internet was just too slow and partially because it brought about so much sadness that I saw no purpose in continuing.

I can only reflect on what I see and what it triggers within me and what this circumstance is allowing me to learn.

So that’s what this is – my perspective and what I’m learning.

The very first thing I saw was the anger in that young girls words. It broke my heart to see the bitterness and resentment that came bubbling through her actions and words. Anger and bitterness like that takes time to develop and I could sense the pain that’s been festering and my heart ached for her.

I don’t see her as arrogant or bratty or selfish or out-of-line or disrespectful.

I see her as a human being with some deeply painful wounds and some painfully unmet needs and without the tools to move forward into resolution.

Anger is what happens when all other means of thriving have been shut down. Anger becomes the only viable means of survival. It doesn’t “just happen” and it’s not what happens when healthy alternatives have been nurtured and it’s not what grows when love flourishes. Anger is a place filler…it takes up space where something else is void.

The next thing I saw was pain, fear and desperation in the father. Parents don’t act out of anger because of love. They act out of love because of love. Anger comes from fear – fear of losing the last shred of hope you had, fear of what others will think of what his daughter said, fear of doing it wrong or not coming down hard and what conventional wisdom tells us that will mean.

And fear like that perpetuates the very thing we’re afraid of. From fear we make desperate and tragic attempts to turn things back using the same means that got us to that place.

But that doesn’t make me angry at him.

I know his anger perpetuates her anger.

I know anger shuts down communication and growth.

I know his love, patience, open heart, ability to listen deeper than his daughter’s actions to the source of her outbursts and willingness to meet her where she is is what will heal their relationship.

So why would I respond to him with the very thing I am disturbed to see in his responses – anger?

Why would I respond to the adult in a way that I would not respond to the teen?

Why would I perpetuate their sadness in my own life?

I see two hurting people without tools to touch that place within them that is aching, without tools to convey that pain to one another, without tools to find each other outside of the outbursts, the words, the triggers they are experiencing and the things they might need to unlearn together.

I see two aching hearts in need of deep love and connection, in need of validation, in need of autonomy and trust, in need of laughter and fun.

I’ve responded out of anger in the past.

I reacted to a father in a parking lot who threatened his daughter with abandonment and the wild woman in me was triggered bad and I said my piece without a shred of peace.

I saw the shock in his eyes. I saw the wonder in his daughter’s eyes. And for a moment I sat in my righteousness.

But that was my fear and ego speaking through me and not my love.

My heart began whispering within minutes what I needed to hear – compassion. First for myself and the fear and anger that had been triggered in me, compassion for the outburst that I was not proud of.

Then compassion for that father and all the things I wish I had said instead.

It’s hard to know when and how to respond. It’s hard not to simply “react”.

But again and again, Life is teaching me compassion…patience…empathy.

I cannot judge a person when I can first touch them with compassion, when I see them as human and capable of love and deserving of love and in a place so in need of love. When I recognize we all do the best we can with the tools we have. When I recognize anger and righteousness is a pretty limited tool.

I CAN disagree with someone with compassion in my heart. I can offer alternatives without judgment – although it’s hard. But I can rarely help anyone when anger takes over.

This is what this situation is allowing me to learn – Who I Am and how I can take one step closer to what I want that to look like.

Filed Under: Organic Parenting Tagged With: advocacy, anger, compassion, empathy, teens, tweens

Muddy Roads Lead to Good Reminders

July 7, 2011 By TheOrganicSister 14 Comments

It rained all day yesterday.

Which wouldn’t have been too big a deal had we not wanted to tow our 15,000lb 5th wheel and motorcycle trailer up a hilly country road lacking adequate gravel.

Try looking in your rearview mirror and seeing all that weight slowing skidding toward the ditch on the side of the road.

Note: You should not be driving straight
and see your rig off in another lane.

Terr. If. Fying.

Even more terrifying? Seeing the same look of Holy-shit-it-should-not-be-doing-that in your always confident husband’s eyes.

We slid, we skidded, we pelted giant clumps of mud all over ourselves in an effort to find traction.

My heart was racing, my stomach was clenched, and my voice was clear as I prayerfully reaffirmed – very loudly for all of the heavens to hear – that we are totally safe. Safe, I say, dammit!

By the time we made it into the campgrounds and my heart stopped racing, I was pissed.

“That’s not effing cool.”

“Someone should’ve warned us about that road.”

“They’re gonna hear it from me at the office.”

I wasn’t exactly freaking out (on the outside) but you could say I was ready to make a statement.

As we walked up to the office – me mentally practicing what I intended to let them know – a man got out of his car and walked up with us. He had driven behind us up that muddy hill and had watched us work to keep control of our rig.

Chuckling, he said, “You guys looked like you were making a Ford commercial! Built Ford Tough!”

And that’s all it took.

One moment of laughter to break through my tension. One reminder of just how thankful I am that our truck could make it up that slippery road.

I laughed. I breathed. I remembered.

I was taken out of my anger and my self-inflicted suffering to remember the bigger picture: That small moments only have the power I give them. That living in the past, in What Could’ve Happened, does nothing for The Now, what IS happening.

Thank goodness for the reminders of muddy roads.

Filed Under: Life on the Road, Things To Remember Tagged With: 5th wheel, anger, fear, Jazz, laughing, mindfulness, scary

Highly-Sensitive Transitioning: Before The Move

January 30, 2010 By TheOrganicSister 14 Comments

Zeb, making a list of our dreams: places and people we want to see
and things we want to do on the road.

When we first started discussing the decision to travel full-time and eventually settle outside of Vegas, we included Zeb. How could we not? He’s one-third of our family and his experience will be as life-changing as ours.

So, we sat down. We talked over our situation and our choices as best we could without overwhelming him or stressing out an easily-stressed soul. We told him every pro and con of full-time RVing we could think of, we gave him a timeline for being on the road but were honest that it could change, we discussed the potential challenges. And we asked what he thought.

He was hesitant, for sure. Thoughtful and questioning. But after some time, and a promise we’d make room for his Legos, he told us it would work for him.

And then he was excited…for about a week. That’s when his real transitioning began.

Zeb is an emotional, highly-sensitive child. He creates strong attachments to animals, friends and family, as well as things that hold special significance. For years he kept his school reports and certificates on his walls because it reminded him of *something* good from those difficult years. So it’s really no wonder that this transition – away from loved ones, best friends, his hometown, all that he knows, even his pets – would hit him hard.

All at once he was torn between sadness and anger. This isn’t to say he wasn’t simultaneously excited. But he realized how much he would miss his friends and family. He worried that he’d be bored. Truthfully, I think he was a bit afraid of such a Huge Unknown. In his ten years, he’s experienced some pretty difficult stuff and it’s left him leaning heavily toward the hesitant side of life. Now here we were, and he was feeling as if the security we’ve built for ourselves was being stripped away. It’s a big world out there and it’s already proven to sometimes be scary.

This went on for awhile. Some days – many days – I didn’t handle it well. Truthfully, my own excitement was building and I was feeling resentful for his raining over my parade. I didn’t want to be pulled into the emotional upset and away from the budding joy. Internally, I didn’t think I had the energy to handle it.

On those days I tried to rationalize with him, remind him how much fun we’d have, how many more friends we’ll see and make, how many things we’ll have the opportunity to do. I took lots of deep breaths and left the room countless times. It’s not that I didn’t understand him. It’s that I was too wrapped up in my own expectations to react to his needs.

He doesn’t need to be rationalized with or reminded that he had once agreed. He needs to mourn what we are leaving behind, so that he can be prepared to move ahead.

Zeb has always needed a slow transition. He’s slow to get out of bed, slow to stop one thing and start another. We work with this by giving him plenty of notice before we leave, before we eat, before company comes.

And this anger and sadness was the beginning phase of a very big transition. All he needed from me was a place to vent, some validation over what will surely suck and some patience. So I finally stopped rationalizing or talking him out of his emotions. I stopped trying to fix it. (Wait. I thought I learned this one already?)

I allowed myself to be his emotional punching bag.

He needed a safe place to let it all out. And with lots of deep breaths and quiet reminders to myself to keep my mouth shut, I became that place. Sometimes he yelled, other times he cried. Sometimes he questioned and voiced concern. Some days he talked excitedly and made plans. At one point he blamed us for ruining his life and called us names, hating us with conviction. And that’s about when I was suddenly able to see past my own expectations and look with compassion on my son who was grieving a loss in advance.

And as soon as I managed to stay present and compassionate during his storm, it passed. In a matter of an hour he went from total meltdown to cuddling in our arms. In the end he gave us a look that resembled a Thank You, a hug that said I Love You Too and he was off to conquer the day without the heavy emotional load dragging him down.

I’m not about to assume we’ve seen the end. He’s not that kind of kid. And he still has his moments of fear amid the moments of excitement, although they aren’t as explosive now. But if I can remember to breath and not take it personally, I know we’ll get through them, too.

There is plenty more to say on the subject of transitioning/moving/traveling with a highly-sensitive child. You could probably consider this Part One.