Listening Is Love

We’re halfway through the second week of school.  It was in the first week that I concluded (again) that it’s not really a good idea to send your five year old to school for seven hours a day with people she doesn’t know at all. How is she supposed to process all the new when she doesn’t have any of her familiar to orient herself to? It feels like too much to ask of a child; it would be hard for me even as an adult with much more experience of navigating the world on my own. But one must choose from imperfect options and going the homeschool route and having just the three of us in the house fifty hours a week wasn’t a perfect, or even a good option for our family at this point.

She loves school and comes home every day with happy stories, but I know she’s under stress when small annoyances trigger big emotions.  And if you catch her at the right time with the right question she’ll cry and admit she’s missed home more than she thought she would.  And it makes me cry a little inside, and I wonder how I can love her well.

And then I read this post from the Storyline blog and as I thought it through I realized that I can love her just by listening.  And by listening I can completely undo some of the stress she experiences in her school day.  In the blog post Mike McHargue explains that science says when you remember an experience you actually create a new memory of it; the next time you remember that incident you will actually be remembering your memory of it.  I had heard that before and it didn’t feel like a good thing–it made memories untrustworthy because they could change.  But I didn’t think of it in the context of healing and didn’t realize how powerful for good it could be. Last week when my girlie cried and told me she missed us during art class that day, “because it felt like I was on a trip and you all weren’t along,” of course I held her close and told her something kind and comforting.  I didn’t realize that I was helping create a new memory for her, a memory of feeling alone, but this time not completely alone.  I didn’t realize I was actually rewriting her story and coloring it with love.

This puts a new perspective on so much, not just in parenting, but in any relationship.  After giving birth to my first child I realized the power of being with someone; I had experienced firsthand the amazing strength of loving presence.  There were times during labor when there was nothing my ever-loving husband or kind doula could do to make me feel physically better, but them being there and letting me squeeze their hands was enough.  I didn’t bring my daughter into the world on my own; literally, their strength added to mine helped me through the most exhausting thing I have ever done. It was because of kind, strong people being with me that the story of her birth is one of beauty and not one of trauma for me.

So put those thoughts together and think of the possibilities of being able to be with someone after their story happens. You get to be part of healing, you get to be present in times when people felt alone and sad, you get to be part of the undoing of pain.  Of course, I know that a story isn’t completely rewritten after one telling of it, but still, to be one small part of restoration is a beautiful thing.

Today may we invite people through kindness to tell their stories, stories of feeling alone in art class or of being betrayed by a lover, and may we listen with love. Today may we be brave enough to begin telling our stories to the safe people in our lives. Today may we move one step closer to a life of wholeness.