The Parenting Double Bind

Between stimulus and response, there is a space.
In that space is our power to choose our response.
In our response lies our growth and our freedom.
--Viktor Frankl
As quoted in: Promoting Responsibility & Learning #114, January, 2011, http://www.MarvinMarshall.com

Early this morning I received an email from my friend, Nats, with a link to an article on Chinese parenting [the word "Chinese" here refers to the traditional philosophy of parenting followed by the Chinese, as clarified by the author in the article]:
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704111504576059713528698754.html?mod=WSJ_Books_LS_Books_2

Not having a "life" [it's confirmed now - officially, Cathy has no "life"], I read the article, wrote back to Nats, who was still up on the other side of the world, shared the link with a group of friends that I explore family therapy with, received a response from the group leader, Shelja, read her blogpost on the same topic, responded to that, and then began to rapidly put down random-stream-of-consciousness thoughts that occurred in that irritatingly random way. Why is it, I wondered, that thoughts cannot be linear, logical or even literate? Not that I'm a control freak, of course, as I tell all my friends [and some day I hope that this will be true!], but wouldn't it be so much less incoherent if thoughts followed logic? Why do they go back and forth, ad nauseum, sometimes pendulum-swinging, at others roller-coastering, but never, ever, following a pattern that one can grasp, interpret, understand, and draw conclusions from?

Well, anyway, as it emerged, the thoughts centred around the problem of sibling friction as posed as an endless challenge to my mothering skills by my two offspring, Sara and Tyger. On this chillingly windy morning, the walk posed a challenge which, however, paled in intensity to the problem of: how do I help them to get along with each other? No, cancel that, how do I help them to co-exist? For, Sara, the in-the-throes-of-adolescence fifteen-year-old finds everyone and everything "irritating", especially her little brother. And Tyger, just out of the sensorimotor stage, wants to simultaneously emulate and reject his elder sister.

When they are deadlocked in some sort of combat, one has two impulses: the first, to tell them to have it out with "...and I'm not going to play the referee, either", possibly to flounce off to my room or a work-out at the gym; option two is to enter, full-force, into the situation, get them to talk it through, find a solution, help them be at peace with each other, at least till the next conflict erupts.

They say that children learn from their siblings to resolve conflict, a life skill they carry into adulthood. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, but you really want me to leave them at it so they can bash each others' heads in? On the other hand, the more I referee, the less effective I am as a parent - for, both end up feeling that I took the other's side [even if I remained completely and mindfully neutral!], retire with feelings of anger - but at least no one's head needed stitches. Which instantly reminds me of battles with my elder brother, in which my parents intervened only if we got too loud or noisy, and which [being of superior strength and older] my brother always won. Therefore, it's that much more difficult to remain in a position of neutrality, since Sara is approximately twice the size of Tyger, and naturally, I empathize with the one that will not come out on top. However, I do know for a fact that my greater affinity to the status of the younger, smaller sibling, is a myth in the mind of the elder - since, and I have this on record, Tyger also always feels that I'm on Sara's side!

So, here's the double bind: if I do nothing, one of them will definitely get hurt - and can I therefore, as a conscientious parent, allow a situation to develop to its logical conclusion; on the other hand, the more I intervene, the less chances they have of finding solutions that work for them. To compound the problem, I am practically allergic to high-frequency screeches delivered at 120 decibels or more, almost continuously through the conflict by Tyger - who, being a little lion, mewls like a cross between a cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof and an owl-going-for-the-mouse-in-the-field. If he didn't screech like that, I often feel, I may be able to approach the situation in a more stable-headed way. What does happen is that the yelling pierces my brain cells, each one pierced separately, or that's what it feels like, and I lose the ability to think at all till everyone is somewhat calmer. And here's the news, it doesn't get calmer since the issue is not resolved!

Anyhow, stepping back, an exercise that is often touted as the panacea but very difficult to practice with pierced brain cells, does afford a bird's eye view of what is really going on. So this is my meta mirror exercise. And instead of stepping in with a response, the Frankl Space [if one may be allowed the coinage] comes in handy. In that space, here's what I see:
Sara: You idiot! If you don't know how to play the game why do you want to play it? Mamai and I will play it without you. (what she really means, probably, is "I wish you were older and we could enjoy each others' company more." or "I miss the days when I had my mother all to myself and didn't have to share her with you.")
Tyger: (screaming and throwing his arms around) I'm not an idiot! I know how to play! I don't want to lose! I want to win! (that's probably exactly what he does mean)
Sara: You can't win unless you know how to play the game! You're an idiot! (Why couldn't you be older and more sensible?)
Tyger: I can win! I can! I can! (exactly that!)
Sara: I wish you hadn't been born. (exactly that!)
Tyger: I wish YOU hadn't been born. (ditto)
Sara: Ha ha, you can't wish that! I came before you! (You've divided our mother into two. She has to care for you as well, now.)
Tyger: I can! I can! I can! (exactly that)
Me: TIME OUT! (Stop yelling, both of you!)
There is silence for a second or two before it starts up again.
Sara: I'm not going to play with you if you can't be a sport when you lose. (It's bad enough that I have to share my mother with you; you can't even be a good loser!)
Tyger: Then I'm not your brother anymore.
Me: Hey, this is not happening. (Really, that's what I mean - I can't have you both dissociate like this from each other. My breathing has quickened, I'm very nervous because I really want the two of you to get along with each other, be friends, because I'm not going to live for ever; and I would really like to die feeling secure that the two of you are there for each other.)
The Stepped Out Me: There are no guarantees in life. They may end up on different sides of the world. They need to be able to form relationships with other people as well.
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): Well, how are they going to form meaningful relationships with other people if they can't co-habit this house? If they can't get through a game of Uno without sticking knives into each other?
The Stepped Out Me: It's not always like this.
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): No, because she's locked up in her room and he's playing in his. Whenever we play or have a meal or are in any way near each other, this erupts.
The Stepped Out Me: Well, it hasn't always been like this.
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): True enough. But it just seems to be getting worse. And I feel so ineffective, so helpless. In this situation I'm the adult around; it's up to me to help them get along.
The Stepped Out Me: Who decided that?
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): Sorry? I mean, isn't that a given? I'm their parent. The most important lessons they learn are at home.
The Stepped Out Me: That's an assumption. It may not reflect reality. They could be learning a great number of important lessons when they are playing with friends, or even by themselves.
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): So what should I do? Let this carry on?
The Stepped Out Me: Why not? Unless they start hurting each other physically.
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): But what about emotionally? What Tyger said just now was really hurtful.
The Stepped Out Me: Do you think Sara believes that for a moment? Even if she did, at the moment she probably doesn't give a jot. And when she does, she will have forgotten that he ever said it.
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): How do you know that?
The Stepped Out Me: You remember anything you said to your brother when you were kids and fighting or stuff he said to you?
Pondering.
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): Not really. But I grew up feeling that he was the most awful bully.
The Stepped Out Me: Presumably you don't still feel the same way.
Me (to The Stepped Out Me): No, but it took an awfully long time.
The Stepped Out Me: I rest my case.
Me (to the kids): Would you guys like another game? Tyger, I know that you'll get better the more you play. Sara, perhaps you could shuffle the cards, or do you want me to?
Sara : I'm not playing with him!
Tyger: I'm also not playing with her!
Me: OK, no problem. Maybe we could try this again tomorrow. (And I'm OK with this. We can try this tomorrow. Maybe it'll work - perhaps we will have more fun than conflict. This is not the end of the world and tomorrow is another day.)
Sara: I never want to play with him again.
Tyger: I also never want to play with her again.
Me: Fine. That's not a problem at all. (I really mean it. If the two of you want to lead separate lives now or in the future, I have no issues with it. I've taught you to swim, so even if you find that you can't cross the bridges you come to, you can certainly try swimming across the river, or tarzan-swing or whatever. You're both beautiful and strong kids, and right now you are physically dependent on me for many things, but you will grow up and be independent because that's the way I'm bringing you up.)