Field Note: Parenting in the Wild

I used to think co-regulation meant I was supposed to become Calm Mom.

Soft voice. Steady face. Unruffled nervous system.

I am the peaceful adult. You are the upset child. Borrow my calm.

Except sometimes teenagers do not want Calm Mom.

Sometimes Calm Mom feels like she doesn't get it.

My son was so irritated, and there I was being measured, reasonable and rational while his internal world was crumbling:

DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW BAD THIS FEELS? NO, YOU DON’T KNOW HOW THIS FEELS!

He didn't need me to mirror how badly he was feeling.

But he did need me to match the importance of what he was feeling.

Yep. You're furious.

Yep. This feels awful.

Yep. You hate this consequence.

Yep. You wish you could change it right now.

And you can’t.

URGH.

I hear you.

This sucks.

And he said ugly words. He made leaps of absurdity. I had to look underneath what he was saying and how he was acting and ask what was actually happening inside his head.

Chaos.

Hormones-meet-stress chaos.

That is different from agreeing with everything he says. It is different from letting him run the house. And it is definitely different from two people simply losing their patience together.

But there can be something that feels a little like co-dysregulation first.

Feel this with me.

Yes. We have to get you out of this feeling.

And maybe that's part of getting a teenager back to regulation.

They are standing emotionally at the top of a mountain, and I can't stand at the bottom calling:

COME DOWN! IT'S FINE DOWN HERE!

They can't get there yet.

I have to do the uncomfortable thing.

I have to climb high enough that I can feel some of the frustration, confusion and shame.

I have to tap into:

I messed up and got called on it.

Something I love was taken away.

I’m not in control and I hate it.

Then we can start down together.

And you don't descend a steep mountain by charging straight down its face.

First, some of that adrenaline has to discharge.

Then you zigzag.

Empathy.

How would I get myself out of this?

Space. Sanctuary. Fifteen minutes.

Then movement.

Walk. Bike. Swim.

Food helps.

Sometimes a sweet treat helps.

Quiet helps.

Music. Headphones.

A change of scenery.

A Slurpee.

A stupid joke.

Another little turn.

Another little drop in elevation.

Until eventually the kid who was screaming from the summit is sitting beside you watching anime and eating buttery popcorn, talking about the show, making jokes, sharing a moment with you.

You didn't do anything enormous.

You saw the sunset.

You watched the first stars come out.

You drove around.

And now you're on the couch with popcorn and a movie.

Ta-da.

Parenting in the wild becomes civilized again.

But in that scary beginning, you have to be willing to feel how thin the air is on Puberty Mountain.

How exposed it feels.

How frightening it is to stay up there—and how frightening coming down can feel too.

You have to loosen your grip on logic, morals and all those rules you've been taught about what a child should do next.

The world of instructions isn’t going to work here.

The landscape itself is shifting underneath their feet.

This is puberty.

Growth spurts.

Public embarrassment.

Impulse.

Self-regulation.

Wanting independence while still needing somebody.

Feeling lost.

Feeling unlovable.

And other people may only see the moment your kid lost control.

They may see the broken rule.

The ugly words.

The write-up.

They may never see the mountain.

They may never see the descent.

Well, I do.

You are lovable, kid.

Rules followed or rules broken.

You are very lovable.

And so am I.

And that was how we got back to good again.

Not before harsh words were hurled.

Not gracefully.

Not because I knew exactly what I was doing.

I just had to figure out how to parent in the wild.