"Because to take away a man's freedom of choice, even his freedom to make the wrong choice, is to manipulate him as though he were a puppet and not a person.”
~ Madeleine L'Engle
I cannot begin to count the number of people who, upon learning my daughter's age, knowingly nod and say in a tone of deep commiseration, "Ah, the terrible two's."
Perhaps it is my own independent streak and stubborn nature, but I appreciate this period where my daughter is exerting herself and testing her boundaries. It can be exhausting and often frustrating (notice I said "appreciate" not "love"), but I admire the traits of independence, self-confidence, and a touch of audacity. They are excellent qualities, no less so because they are combined in the form of a vocal toddler staring boldly back at me through all too familiar brown eyes.
When the tears brim up in those eyes and her lips slowly form into a pout (another oddly familiar expression) because the request to have chocolate before breakfast was kindly, but firmly, denied, I hold her through the yelling and sit by her through the stomping. Haven't there been times when I've wanted to eat candy for breakfast? And haven't there been times when I have because no one can tell me I can't?
The freedom of choice is an empowering gift. It makes us feel in control of ourselves, our bodies, our lives, our destiny. Take away that choice and we are left feeling like less than a person.
Eric Erikson was a psychologist known for his theory on the social development of human beings which involved eight different stages, beginning in infancy.
Beginning in the second year, children move into the stage he classified as autonomy vs shame and doubt. The dreaded "terrible two's." The point where a child has established, hopefully, the trust needed to start venturing out and developing independence.
Toddlers aren't capable of complete independence. Far from it, in fact; ay, there lies the rub, if I may borrow from a long-winded Hamlet soliloquy.
Paityn was experiencing a bit of this struggle between independence and being told a version of "no" the other day. I was sitting with her, waiting for her to get to the inevitable hold-me-while-I-cry part of her tantrum, and I realized something about her face looked familiar. Suddenly, I remembered watching my husband struggle to put up curtains in her (never-used) nursery. The look on her face mirrored the one I watched him display for about two hours.
He was so frustrated when he encountered multiple problems, including not being able to get any help from his extremely pregnant wife who was making the irrational request. I was glad our daughter wasn't born yet because words were uttered not appropriate for baby ears.
I wouldn't have equated his behavior to a temper tantrum because I understood why he was frustrated and upset; it was visibly obvious that the work required two people and he was only one. It was obvious he was upset at being asked to do something that he thought was particularly frivolous and unnecessary (being asked at 9:00pm on a weeknight probably added to his irritation).
Instead of getting angry or demanding completion, I sympathized with him, offered limited help, and understood when he decided to put off the job until another person (in the form of my handyman father) would be there to assist. At a reasonable time of day. (What can I say? The pregnancy nesting urge knows no clock.)
His frustration was justifiable. I understood the reasons behind it so I didn't view it as a tantrum.
When my daughter gets upset when she can't get the cap on her toothpaste after multiple tries or is unable to reach the toy on a shelf or is told that it's bedtime and playtime is over, that anger is justified, too. There's a very real reason for her feelings.
It's tempting as a parent to demand respect, to kibosh what we deem as inappropriate behaviors, and to firmly set down rules and limit choices. There's a litany of statements that could be made to defend those actions. I'm the parent. She has to learn. She needs to respect me. When I was her age, I knew better.
I majored in biology in college (mashed up with a minor in chemistry and psychology... yeah, I had no idea what I was going to be). Perhaps it's that ingrained logical and scientific part of me that sees the obvious connection between growing independence and tantrums.
Choice equals power. Independence equals desire for power. Tiny little person experiences this dawning revelation. Big person likes things her way. Power struggles ensue. Anger reigns. No one wins. End scene.
Adults do not handle limitations and lack of choices very well; just check out the menu at Cheesecake Factory. Apparently, we thrive when given eight pages of options for our meals. A child is no different simply because they are small and incapable of full independence.
They are still human with all the desire and drive for autonomy and not enough of the power or ability to fully achieve it.
Instead of taking away the power from our growing toddlers, it's amazing what happens when we give some of it back to them. Decisions like what to wear or which cereal to eat for breakfast can have a major impact on empowering a child.
After all, it isn't the result of the choice that empowers us, but the act of making that choice that makes us feel as though we have an amount of control over our lives.
Allowing Paityn to choose between two different cereals for breakfast has the same end result as me choosing for her: she gets breakfast. The former method, however, radically changes the process from one in which she feels controlled to one in which she is empowered to control her own destiny. A small destiny, yes, but remember how much the small things mattered when you yourself were small?
Providing more room for autonomy doesn't end all the tantrums. There are times when Paityn wants to make choices that I simply cannot allow her to make. When that happens, I sit with her through the anger, reminding myself how much we all desire someone to hear us vent our frustrations.
Her feelings are valid. It's the expression that requires modification.
It's ok to have "bad" feelings. It's ok to be angry, frustrated, or feel that someone isn't being fair. It's my job as a parent to teach her how to handle those feelings; from my perspective, that doesn't include punishment.
One day, Paityn will be making much bigger choices than deciding between granola or Cheerios for breakfast. She will be amongst her peers, making life-changing decisions that could impact the rest of her life. My mama's heart is filled with fear when I think of those times, and as much as I would like to put of thinking of them until tomorrow, Scarlett-style, I know that what we do as parents today greatly impacts that tomorrow. I cannot make her choices for her forever. And I can't be there always to deal with the aftermath of that choice.
So today, I hold out the two boxes for her to decide which one, not simply to help alleviate temper tantrums, but to empower her with the ability to learn to make her own choices. When she gets angry because we don't have granola, I hide my sigh, and we work through the disappointment together.
Her life is in my control for a very short time; all too soon, the reins will be in her own hands. She will have become fully autonomous.
My control as a parent is granted to me not for the sake of teaching conformance and adherence to my rules and my decisions, but instead to teach my daughter, within a safe environment, how to make her own choices and lead her own life.
In the midst of the tantrums and "Let me's" and demands for greater independence is an opportunity to truly parent my daughter. It's my chance to teach her, my moment to have a greater impact upon her future by my reaction today. Although it doesn't make dealing with the tantrums suddenly easy or simple, it changes my perspective to one of empathy instead of frustration and the moment to one of opportunity instead of punishment.
