"We're all learning here"
Working through discord, part 6: On mutual accountability
Last time, I reflected on my current practices for connecting with my intention for the kind of parent I want to be when conflicts arise between my kids. This time, I want to reflect a bit on mutual accountability, with particular attention to the role of my accountability as a parent toward my children.
If I hope to help my kids learn to approach situations of conflict with greater generosity and trust, then I must have the courage and humility to re-learn how to do so as a parent. This is parental accountability in the broadest sense: the commitment to grow and deal when needed with my own baggage and shortcomings, in order to accompany my children wisely in their own growth.
Much of the work of upholding this commitment is done “backstage” without my children being aware of it. My kids don’t know about all of the reading, all of the journaling, the time spent meditating, the breathing practice, the conversations with my spouse, and everything else that goes into growing and learning as a parent, all so that I can show up in alignment with my values when it counts.
My kids don’t need to (and probably shouldn’t) know all of these particulars: this work is my responsibility, not theirs, and they do not bear any fault for it whatsoever. This is simply the work that parenting demands, the work that I committed to doing by having kids. That children cannot fully imagine or grasp the depth of the inner work that we parents do on their behalf is a gift that we give to them, one that provides for the stability and security of their experienced world.
But sometimes, situations call on us to embody our parental accountability on the “frontstage,” directly with our children. In these moments, we must have the courage to be honest with our kids about the fact that we are learning, too.
One day in the early summer, while sitting between my kids on the living room couch to help them draw meaning from a conflict, I said, “we’re all learning here.” I’d intended this statement as a reminder that each of us, as we grow, depends on the patience and grace of our loved ones.
“Well, you’re not,” my older kid Sprout said, as if this were an obvious truth about the asymmetric relations between parent and child. And truth be told, in my more reactive parental moments, my kids probably experience me in exactly this way: as expecting my kids to change without also changing myself.
This was an accountability moment, and I chose to reveal the fact of my own learning journey.
“How do I usually respond when the two of you start fighting?” I asked. “Do I usually sit calmly between you like this and help you hear each other?”
“No,” my younger kid Cub said matter-of-factly. “You yell.”
I won’t lie: Cub’s assessment of me with awful word, “yell,” cut me with knife-sharp efficiency. In that moment, part of me wanted to quibble, to save face, to wriggle from that awful word and explain it away.
But here’s the thing: if “yell” is how my action has been received in such moments in the past, then that’s what it is. I need to own it, even if it hurts.
This was another accountability moment, nested within the first, and I committed to seeing it through.
“Sometimes, yes, I do,” I said. “I’m learning better ways to navigate these conflicts, just like you. We’re all in this together.”
My younger one smiled. “Did you learn that from Respectful Parents, Respectful Kids?”
About a week prior, as the kids were getting ready for bed one evening, Cub had seen me reading Hart and Hodson’s book1 and asked me about it. This, too, had been an accountability moment. I could have simply said, “Oh, it’s just something I’m reading” or something similarly evasive. Instead, I’d shared honestly that I was reading the book to help me figure out better ways of navigating household conflicts, to help us feel more connected with each other. Cub had seemed fascinated by the fact that I was reading to learn as a parent, with an intention to change myself, and we ended up reading a little bit of the book aloud together. Each word spoken aloud felt like a promise to keep faith with my own intention to grow.
Back on the couch, grateful for this memory, I said, “In part, yes.”
An interesting thing happened during the hours and days that followed this conversation. When disagreements arose, my children responded to each other with more patience and grace. To the extent I needed to get involved, I did so with more ease and a calmer, softer demeanor. I could hear them more clearly, they could hear me and each other, as we all acted with greater trust and goodwill.
Our kids don’t need to know everything we go through on their behalf. But when the situation calls for it, embodying our parental accountability in full view of our kids is an act of faith that invites our children to respond in kind, in a context of welcome and safety. It takes courage, and it can be scary for any parent who yearns for control. But these opportunities, arising naturally in the flow of family life, are openings toward real cooperation and solidarity, freely given.
This faith that our conflicts are moments in a larger story of connection is a gift that we give each other.
Next time, I’ll reflect on that larger story of connection.
Sura Hart and Victoria Kindle Hodson, Respectful Parents, Respectful Kids, Encinitas, CA: PuddleDancer Press, 2006.