Dysregulation, Repair and Beauty
Lather, Rinse, Repeat
Three stories. Unrelated. Cyclical.
Dysregulation
A couple of weeks ago, early evening, I returned from Seattle, where I had spent the night and then a day in the study wing having blood drawn every hour on the hour and consuming drugs that make me a) tired, b) whole body-achy, c) irritable, d) sensitive, to everything.
I walked from the garage into the laundry room with my bags. The first kiddo came round the corner to greet me but collapsed on the floor sobbing, with their face in their hands. I slid the bag straps from my shoulders and sat against the dryer. When they were ready, I pulled them into my lap as they cried.
Through the noise, I registered that second kiddo was also dysregulated somewhere nearby.
Matt poked his head around the corner and I waved to him in a gesture that I hoped conveyed, Hi, I love you, nice to see you and don’t worry I don’t judge your parenting because I’ve walked into dysregulationville. That’s hard to do with a wave. It may have come across as haughty dismissal.
Even when we’re doing the best we can, it’s still messy. The mess, the emotions, the sad, the angry, the dysregulated are because we’re human. That’s not changing. I want human, not robots.
But, for transparency, that’s not why I was calm or open. It would be sweet if I had that level of presence in that moment. Really, when I’m drugged up with poison that’s hopefully knocking back this cancer, sitting on the floor is all I’ve got if I, myself, am not going to melt as well. In those moments I have no clue what else to do. I have finally gotten to a place where my alarm centers will sometimes direct me to sit with the kids and hear the upset. And it was all this kiddo needed.
As Mona Delahooke says, our coregulation is the scaffolding for their, later, self-regulation.
After a bit, I was able to move further into the house and see that second kiddo had barricaded themself in the pantry with a wall of paper towel rolls, a Costco-sized box of soup, and a box of trash bags. They hate everyone, especially me and it’s all my fault and Daddy is mean and nasty and everything is horrible. It was also past six o’clock and they were hungry. I kept this to myself and offered to make a cup of tea for us all. Over the next half an hour I handed them two cups of tea, kiddo angrily but willingly cleaned the pantry floor after the first one spilled, they drank one cup of tea and then we all made it to the dinner table where we each managed to say at least one thing we were grateful for.
Repair
Sitting at the dining table, just me and the kiddos, after a morning of intense, drug-induced irritability for me.
Me: “Kiddies, both of you, I am so sorry for how irritable I have been. It’s not how I want to be.”
K1: “It’s okay.”
Me: “Well, it’s not okay, and I don’t know when or how I will get better at this because I think it’s because of the drugs. It’s not how I want to be. I want to be kind to you.”
K1: “You are!”
Me: “Well I want to always be kind to you. I want to you to grow up in a home where you are safe and loved and cared for and understood.”
K1: “We are, Mummy! We are!”
K2: “I’m not.”
K1: “What? Why?”
K2: “Well you’re always mean to me.”
Aaaand it got derailed.
But I’m okay with that. It’s the repair that’s important because the misattunement is inevitable. Speedy repair gives our kiddos the experience that misattunement isn’t for ever, and they can still have a sense of being seen, heard, understood.
Beauty
Bedtime.
“I wish Ron and Hermione and Harry were real.”
Me: “Oh yeah?”
“I really like Ron.”
Me: “You do?”
Wistfully, “yeah.”
Me: “I wish he was kinder to Hermione.”
“I think he just has a hard time expressing his upset.”
A takeaway that helps me, and I think it will help us all to deal with our guilt: “It’s the repair that’s important because the misattunement is inevitable.”
This is just so tender and beautiful, Sarah: the harsh impacts of your drug trials, your kids greeting you with dysregulation, your presence, attunement and dedication to providing them with an emotionally safe household.