This is not a blog post about sweet, sappy love stories. It's not about puppies or butterflies or summer romances. It's about the basic human need to be nurtured, and the reciprocal need to be someone who nurtures others.
I will, without doubt, irritate or offend people with this post. Because I am going to posit that -- despite my status as a non-parent -- I have some legitimate insights about what good parenting looks like. So here goes...
A Soft Place to Fall
Everyone needs a soft place to fall. Not just when you're six years old (though probably especially when you are six years old). Workaholic, control-freak types (as my friend Scot calls me) are sometimes the most in need of that person with whom -- and that place where -- they can be vulnerable. All day long, I make decisions on behalf of colleagues and budgets and my organization. So, when I get home, sometimes (gasp!) I need my husband to decide what we'll make for dinner or whether we'll be getting a contract for TruGreen lawn service. And I always need a long hug. I need, at the end of it all, to feel safe. To feel at home.
I don't like to admit that I need to be vulnerable. I've spent most of my life trying to be achieve parity when it comes to salary or respect in my professional world. But I cry when I watch Oprah, and I sobbed when I read The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. And, at 36, I'm starting to feel less "weak" when I admit that.
We All Nurture and Accept Nurturing Differently
If you haven't read The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman, you owe it to yourself and your spouse/partner to do so. We recently had the opportunity to read this book in the company of a group of couples we met at a local church. What a wonderful experience it became for us. Without recapping the book in a way that doesn't do it justice, I'll just say that there are multiple ways in which we can love and be loved. It turns out that my primary love languages are "acts of service" and "physical touch." That shouldn't even surprise YOU as blog readers -- you've witnessed me writing about how much I value little acts like Robert toasting me a marshmallow for the perfect s'more, and how important a great massage or backrub can be.
Robert's love languages? "Words of affirmation" and "quality time." And now that we know each other's languages, we are loving each other in the best way possible -- that is, the way we want and need to be loved.
Children
I love them, but I don't want to give birth to them; not this year, and maybe not ever. I don't think that makes me less of a woman, nor do I think it means I don't have a keen understanding of what good parenting looks like. I fulfill my desire to nurture through my marriage and my friendships and my obsessive love for my dogs.
Robert and I are also fortunate enough to have wonderful children in our lives -- two nephews (and a third on the way), two nieces, and friends who have the most amazing children who we have become "honorary" aunt and uncle to. And I never cease to be enraptured by the experience of spending time with them. Even at the youngest of ages, they impress me with their intelligence. I am in awe of their curiosity and their trust in the world around them. And I am humbled by the love they give to us.
Here is what I have learned from these children -- and what I sometimes worry that their own parents don't always see.
1. They are as impressionable as wet cement. What you drop on them will leave an impression. Forever. An unkind word or a harsh hand or a raised voice or an indifferent demeanor -- especially in repetition over a period of months or years -- teaches children to believe that they deserve to be treated poorly. Who suffers in the long run? The children. The parents. Those children's future spouses, who will someday struggle to understand how to heal those scars and who will likely flee.
2. A full closet and a photo album full of contrived smiles during over-scheduled outings does not constitute a happy childhood (nor does it cover up for poor parenting). Children don't need Xboxes or Gymboree clothing or 27 trips to DisneyWorld for family photo opps. They need time, and love, and security. Most of all, they need to be listened to. I recently went for a walk with a 3-year-old, where I focused on being 100% present. We collected pine cones and talked about everything we saw along the way. We laughed and wondered and took our time. She never once asked me why I wasn't buying her a present or asking a video game to babysit her.
3. Every temper tantrum -- no matter how frustrating it is to witness -- is rooted in real, legitimate emotion and need. I once saw a little girl screaming at the mall, doing that whole "my legs won't work so I'm going to collapse on the floor, right here at Sears" trick. And instead of dragging her by her arm to the car, making a scene (and a fool of herself), this girl's mother did something that I will never forget. She stopped. She got on her knees, right there in the doorway between the department store and the rest of the mall, and she looked her daughter in the eyes and said "Honey, tell me why you are so upset. I'm listening." Turns out that this little girl had been promised an ice cream cone, but then Daddy called and needed them to come home right away. The whole interlude ended something like this: "Sweetheart, I know you're disappointed. I promised you ice cream. I wanted ice cream too. But Daddy needs us to come home, so we have to leave now and we won't be able to get the ice cream this time. Do you understand? But we'll go out for ice cream soon. Just not tonight. How about we take a deep breath and stand up, and go see Daddy?" To which the sniffling little girl rubbed her eyes, stood up, took her mom's hand and smiled. Alas, she had real emotion (disappointment, anger) and she wanted to be heard. She wanted to know that her mother understood that she was upset. That's all. In the end, it wasn't about ice cream at all. Whether we're 4 or 44, what we ultimately need and want is to be acknowledged.
4. Children won't be little forever. At some point, it's too late to nurture them in the way they need you to. My first husband's sister has two wonderful daughters. They're college students now. But when I met them, they were both in diapers. As they got older, we got closer. They loved me and I loved them; they lived just three blocks away and I saw them almost every day. They put my hair in crazy braids, and we went adventuring to the zoo and to the museums. We spent every holiday together for 11 years. When the older of the two got sick, I would pick her up from school. And then my marriage came to an end. Those little girls got caught up in the "he said, she said" of what happened to their aunt and uncle. And today, I have lost them both. I love them now as much as I ever did, but when they really needed me, I failed them. They are adults now, and I blew it. It has been a painful lesson.
5. Children have "love languages" too. I'd like to buy a copy of Chapman's book about how to love children for every parent I know. Newsflash: If you have two or three children, odds are that they have two or three different love languages. And it's also very likely that they don't express and receive love in the same way that you do. As their parents, it's your job to figure out how to love them best -- and then do it. (Re: #1 on my list, this is especially important for children whose love language is "words of affirmation." #2 is a reminder that most children don't have "receiving gifts" as their top love language. #3 is all about quality time. Etc.)
Talk about It
If you've never had a long conversation (not an argument or an accusation-fest) with your spouse/partner, sibling(s) or parents about how you need to be nurtured, there's a huge opportunity awaiting you.
It's never too late to teach people how to love us (and for us to learn how to love better and more deeply). When I was a teenager, my dad didn't know how to say "I love you" to me. So I started saying it first, and I kept saying it (through all the awkward silences and fumbled responses) until he learned to say it back. Now, he usually says it first. Old dogs, new tricks. It's never too late.
Try starting sentences with "I've probably never told you this, but I really feel loved when you..." You might discover that there are little things you can do (or keep doing...or stop doing) that make a world of difference in the heart of someone important to you.
I've committed myself to doing this with my husband, but probably haven't taken full advantage of the practice with parents or siblings or friends. For example, I'm not sure that my brother knows that, in all my years, he gave me the most meaningful Christmas gift I've ever received. I'm a word geek, and he is not. So imagine my surprise (and delight) when I found out that my brother took several hours out of a vacation to stand in line to get Gwendolyn Brooks (former US poet laureate) to autograph a book for me. He took it home and wrapped it and waited for Christmas. And while that package sat awaiting its presentation to me, Gwendolyn Brooks died. When I opened that book on Christmas morning, I was floored. Not that I was the owner of an autographed volume from a poet I admired. But by the humbling discovery that my brother -- despite any tough-guy exteriors -- knew me well enough and loved me deeply enough to stand in line for hours for something he probably didn't value for himself but that he knew would mean a great deal to me. That was many years ago, and I still cry every time I tell (or write) that story.
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