Parental Impotence

2024 Author: Harry Day | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 15:43

"Dad, I have a problem …". A part of the text that pops up on the screen dramatically pulls out of your thoughts. My heart beats faster and my fingers tremble, revealing the entire message.

"I had a fight with the teacher, he makes me call …", "I need to tell you unpleasant news …", "I told the psychologist about myself, she invites you to talk …"

Every time it jerks me like an electric shock. We must run, save, protect. And he is not sugar. He speaks insolently, any hint of injustice causes a storm of rage. But he's mine. All that is.

“Hello, your child does things like that! Influence him … "," I have no conflict with him, he just … "," He just lacks parental love and affection! "…

The boy is 14 years old. His best friend didn't invite him over for his birthday. They have been friends since the first grade … I did not understand right away - the quiet, incomprehensible howls did not allow me to work at home. I found a sound coming from the wardrobe in his room. For a long time, hysterically and quietly …

- To pity you?

- No, don't! … Come on! It's good that you came.

- I could hardly find you

- Yes, I hid in the closet on purpose, but I hoped that you would find me.

What's going on in his head? At school, he talks from fives to stakes, 12 twos in a row for homework in physics. "He's a smart boy, but …". The tutor shrugs his shoulders: "I don't know what to teach him, he knows everything, he decides half in his mind!"

He is sobbing into my shoulder, curled up on his knees, so small, heavy, unhappy. His only twists and turns. "This is all because of me, I am such a freak that it is impossible to be friends with me!" For a long time. Painful.

I pat him on the back, remember and tell how, at the age of 17, two friends from rich families promised to take me to a disco. They were in a car, a white five Lada like a limousine. Disco, girls, inaccessible and inviting adventures. 1994 - we lived from hand to mouth. I waited for them near the window for 2 hours and every minute it became more and more bitter and unbearable. They threw me! How could they! I guess I'm so terrible that with me it should be.

My inner wounded teenager hears my son's pain directly. But we must not fall into a hole, not let our melancholy roll in full force - now he needs help, my little boy with adult betrayal.

- I was at school, I need to talk …

- Maybe not?

- Alas, I have to.

- Do you believe them?

- I believe my eyes. I saw the video …

Sagging shoulders, an eloquent silent look, they say, come on, urine … But I'm a parent, I must, if I don't educate, then who will educate. Righteous, destructive, poisonous anger boils up in me.

- What do you not understand, or what ?! Yes you …

- (silent plea) Yes, I promise. Just stop it.

I can no longer hear my words - the text comes from somewhere from the depths of consciousness, about shame, about a janitor, about unworthy hamlet … It flows beautifully, like from a sewer.

I know, then it will be ashamed, then I will hate myself, but on the wave of righteous anger it seems so right, the only possible

Impotence. A terrible, sticky, difficult condition. I am powerless to change another person. I can beat you half to death, crush you emotionally - I can. I'm strong, and he won't survive without me. And he will learn that the strong is right, that to love is to beat, that his opinion is worthless …

Powerlessness makes me furious. I stamp my feet and knock on the table, and in my head “I'm terribly afraid for you! I hate to see you suffer. I can't help you get through this. " But the "auto-corrector" gives out some other text, about "Lies! How can you, then you do not respect! I will not help you anymore …"

How to combine the incompatible in one of my heads? How to support him when you most want to turn away? How to set limits and maintain them when he cries and prays for his own? How not to lose yourself, your parental authority? How not to trample on his love?

The youngest five-year-old son demands ice cream from his sister. Loudly. She refuses. She made it herself. "Mine, I won't!"Already I open my mouth to say the opposite: “Well, give him, it's a pity or something! You see it hurts! " She will give. At 10, she is still a good girl. And her hunched back will be a reproach to me. And he will hate his brother. I solved my problem. At whose expense?

I restrained myself, watching. The volume grows, the son beats his sister in the forehead with a spoon out of anger. Here and punch him, they say, you can't fight! What's next? I got in, did not give them the opportunity to behave the way they think is right. Arrogantly interrupted the flow of their lives.

Child psychotherapists taught me that if an adult intervenes in the showdown of children, then anger will flare up at someone else's interference. Such an interruption destroys the possibility of direct conflict resolution. But there is no way to show this anger, it is prohibited. And the children will bring all the anger at each other. The consequences in this case can be much more destructive.

It is one thing to know, and quite another to watch the conflict flare up. I feel like a disgusting dad - I allow, I do not separate. I tell them: "Only you yourself can build relationships with each other." It turns out it's hard to let the kids decide. Take off the crown of omnipotence.

Powerlessness again. I cannot help them build relationships. As Valery Panyushkin, a large family, wrote, "I make sure they don't get killed." Do not climb when not asked, do not preach, do not bore. Do not deceive yourself that you are doing good to children with your importunity and anxiety. Admit your helplessness.

And what to do? I know how to be clever, I can swear loudly and refuse support if the children do not do as I need. And all this is not the same. All this is not about them, but about me. This I cannot admit to myself that I do not understand how best to act. How to respect both your own and their interests. And stay a dad, to whom you can come, hug. And write sms "Dad, I have problems …"

Shl I put the children to bed. I hear the youngest say "Good night!" To his sister in a gentle voice. And she wishes him sweet dreams. Not a trace of the quarrel remained. I smile. This time it was successful. And the elder sticks, everything does not go away. “Dad, I posted the solution to a difficult problem on VKontakte, and three of them thanked me at once. For the first time!". My powerlessness is their capabilities. May God grant wisdom to remember this always.