I asked my 12 year old for permission to write this post.
We travelled about 500 miles for a weekend snowboard race. It’s a discipline called bordercross – just imagine motorcross but downhill, on snow, and riding a snowboard. It is scary. The way this competition was organized separated the morning races (where three races determined your seeding) and ONE afternoon race. That’s the one, and only one, that counts.
Fearless, my 12 year old son, had done well all morning. If he kept it up he was sure to get on the podium. This matters a whole lot, because he is trying to qualify for the USASA National Championship held in Colorado.
Consequently, there was a lot riding on this 2 minute race.
Fearless started strong. Not only was he in second place, he was closing the gap to first place.
And then he fell.
I saw when it happened. It was a small wobble, but while on the ground getting up, the two other competitors who were behind passed him leaving Fearless in fourth (and last) place. I saw him place his hands on his head as if saying “nooooooooo.” With the chance of Nationals passing by him, just as his competitors did.
Now, Fearless is generally stoic. He doesn’t enjoy wearing his feelings on his sleeves. But a mama bear knows when her cub is hurt.
All sorts of good advice crossed my mind of how to console my child who was doing his best to keep it together.
The athletic coach in me was thinking: I should tell him how he still has two races to qualify for nationals, how the course was hard, how this is only his second winter, how he will learn from the experience, and I would analyze what he could do differently next time.
The mom in me wanted to ask for a “re-do” so my baby could do better. Or a way to get him a prize of some sort, or buy him a giant sundae because everything is better with chocolate.
The mindset coach in me, however, knew just what to do: hold space.
Hold space so he can feel the disappointment.
Hold space so he can feel the pain.
Hold space so he can slap his hand on his head and say “oh no, no, no.”
Hold space for him to feel all the feels.
And holding space is hard to do … especially when it comes to your child. But holding space is exactly what you should do, for anyone who is processing a difficult emotion from grief over the lost of a loved one to the loss of a snowboard race.
It is hard for us to see someone we love in pain. We want to fix things, we want them to feel better as soon as possible because their not feeling good makes us highly uncomfortable. We want to fix THEM because of what their emotion means to US.
But denying them the space to feel the hurt and the pain, is what really hurts them in the long run. They will try to move through discomfort as fast as possible by shoving the feeling deep down, somewhere hidden in the subconscious mind. But it WILL come out, at some point, and chances are in an inappropriate way. Maybe by eating or drinking too much, or by giving up in competition. Not holding space to feel the hurt will hurt our children more.
I can already hear you. “Do you mean to tell me that one loss of a snowboard race is going to create a future alcoholic?” Of course not.
But stuffing down the little disappointments in life, not feeling the feelings, and trying to trample over them will create big problems down the road.
So hold space. Let them go through it and they will come out the other side.
You don’t have to fix a child who is struggling with something, just so that you can feel better.
All you need to do when your child (or anyone for that matter) is struggling with something is hold space. What does that mean? Here’s what I did.
I told Fearless I understood how disappointed he was and I wish I could take it away but I couldn’t. I told him to feel everything he needs to feel, that he is safe, and that I would be right there for him as soon as he wanted or needed to talk about it.
Then I took my book out and began to read, while he sat in front of me with his head buried in his hand. Every once in a while I offered him water or food, both of which he declined with a shake of a head.
We were there for about an hour. And I was biting my tongue.
I’d tell myself … “hold space, hold space, hold space let him go through it so it can come out of him.” But boy was that hard!
Eventually, his goggles came off. And then he looked up. Eventually he asked for something to drink, and eventually it was time to watch the awards ceremony. He was still upset, but he was composed. He composed himself. I didn’t have anything to do with it.
Later that night, before heading to sleep, I asked him if he was feeling better. That’s when we were able to talk, about what went wrong, what he could do about it now, the future, and that’s when my “learn from your mistakes” sermon came out. At a time he was able to listen, when he was not lost in the emotion of a massive dissapointment.
So next time you are next to someone who is really struggling, offer them your love, your support, and space.
Lots and lots of space.
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Beautiful post Cristina. You’re a great mom.
When my son was in third grade, he won his classroom spelling bee and advanced to the next level. On the day of the school bee, I was beaming with pride. With only two more rounds to determine the school champion, he was given a word I knew he could spell. Thinking a celebration was nearing, my heart was bursting. He then spelled the homonym.
“Why didn’t you ask for the meaning? Why didn’t you ask for its use in a sentence”? I screamed to myself. With a disgusted, defeated look, he exited the school stage. I wanted to run to him, to console him, to tell him everything would be alright. We drove home in silence, not realizing I was holding space. I felt that as his mother, I had to take all pain away. I was wrong. I only have to help EASE the pain. Heal thy self.