I was gone for 5 days a couple of weeks ago on a work trip. That’s the longest I’ve been away from my children. But they were in safe hands with their father so I shook my hesitation and put on a brave front. I know trips like these are going to happen often in the future and it is best to tackle them from a position of strength and courage.
I wasn’t really sure how my little one, who just turned 6, would handle this brief separation. The older girl has always been an overcomer, and as long as her needs are met, she can talk herself into coping with anxieties. She is also more open in expressing her feelings so she can communicate her emotions and receive timely suggestions. The little one is a happy camper for the most part but incredibly attached to me in more than one way. Of both parents, she picks me to discuss her deepest and darkest fears, lay out her botherations neatly on mama’s table and sits patiently for me to iron out all her kinks. But I was going to be gone for 5 days and while I was excited about my trip, a nagging discomfort had planted foot in my heart.
But life goes on and we must all go about our business, isn’t it? A child must be taught that there is strength in separation. Every step out of our comfort zone means there will be a struggle within us, that the pains of adjustment will eliminate fear and instill confidence that we so need.
So the 5 days pass and I return to a happy child that welcomes me with her usual giggles and tons and questions about my trip and flight…who I met and what I did, what I ate and what I liked best. So I’m relaxed and feel like I’ve won a new battle within my heart. However the following week had some nasty surprises for me. Every single day, my little kid would wake up crying and ask if she could skip school so she could spend the day with me. Then she’d come up with the strangest reasons why she didn’t want to go to school…reasons ranging from how she has very little time at lunch to eat her entire sandwich to how children bug her for spelling help. At first I was concerned, and even more so when she’d cling to my legs at the bus stop and just wouldn’t budge. A couple of days I’d drive her to school and wait with her until the bell rang, and then just watch her crying her way into the classroom. It would just break my heart to see that my little child was so bothered by something and that I couldn’t fix it.
I tried everything from helping her logically overcome the stress, explaining that it’s almost the end of school year, to comforting her in my arms and reassuring her that everything in her life is in order and that mama was with her now. But the week passed and it was getting even worse because she’d come up to me after school, in the evening, and go over reasons why she didn’t want to go to school the next day. Her teacher suggested that every child this age goes through these insecurities and while something may seem like a small reason for worry to me, I must remember that it is a big reason for her. Her teacher also mentioned that while I was on my trip, my kid brought up my not being home every single day at school and wanted to discuss that with everyone. It almost seemed like she had built up the sadness in her heart and this was her way of releasing it…perhaps a way of getting my attention in addition to slowing letting out her pent up feelings.
The next week, I realized that I had to tackle her with a dose of tough love. While I understood her situation, I also knew that she had started to enjoy all the attention her behavior was attracting. Even the neighborhood moms were calling to find out what was happening to this otherwise lively child and why there was a little drama at the bus top every morning. So as the new week started, I told her that she had to change her attitude because this wasn’t going to work. I was firm in my tone and I made sure my eyes met hers. I could hear her heart racing and as much as I did not want to add to her stress, I was sure that this had to be the approach. That night as I tucked her in and read her a story, I told her that I needed her to sleep with a happy heart and that when she woke up, she had to be a strong 6 year old who thinks and speaks right.
It worked. She lost the clinginess at the bus stop. Though she was working hard to control her tears, I know she was working hard. When she returned that afternoon, she told me proudly that she did not cry in the bus or at school and has decided that it is better this way.
Today I have a victorious child who feels proud to have gotten over a bothersome phase. I, however, can not let her know that even today, my heart hurts when I think of how she cried those few days. I reassure myself that the lesson is not just for her but for me as well for unless I become strong, I cannot pour any strength into her cup.